Chapter 3 - MY MOTHER'S SIX-YEAR LIE
“Come home.”
Those were my mother's first words.
Not who?
Not how?
Come home.
I hung up.
Elena watched me.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“That makes one of us.”
I deserved that.
I called Arthur, my security chief.
“Run Elena Carter.”
Her head snapped up.
“No.”
“Not against you.”
“You don't get to investigate me.”
“I'm trying to find out who else knew where you were.”
She stared.
Then reluctantly nodded.
Arthur called fifteen minutes later.
Elena had not been difficult to find.
Lease records.
Employment.
School registrations.
Tax filings.
She hadn't hidden under another identity.
She'd simply moved.
Which meant my professional security network could have found her in hours.
If anyone had actually looked properly.
“Who handled my search six years ago?” I asked.
Arthur hesitated.
“Your mother.”
My blood turned cold.
“I told her to use everyone.”
“She told us she'd hired a private firm.”
“What firm?”
“No record.”
Because there was no firm.
My mother had told me she'd searched.
I believed her.
For months.
Then years.
I had eventually accepted Elena wanted no contact.
Another convenient truth.
At 8:03, Sloane entered the restaurant.
Perfect red dress.
Perfect posture.
Fury barely hidden behind elegance.
“There you are.”
She stopped when she saw Elena.
Then the boys.
Her eyes moved from their faces to mine.
Sloane was not stupid.
“Oh.”
One syllable.
Enough.
I stood.
“Sloane.”
She looked at the ring-shaped outline in my jacket.
“Please don't humiliate me further by explaining.”
The boys watched.
I lowered my voice.
“Can we speak outside?”
“No.”
Her attention moved to Elena.
“Are they his?”
Elena answered honestly.
“Yes.”
Sloane closed her eyes.
Then laughed softly.
“Of course.”
Her reaction confused me.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at me.
“You really don't know.”
Apparently the phrase of the evening.
“Know what?”
Sloane reached into her handbag and pulled out her phone.
“My father told me there was a problem before tonight.”
“What problem?”
“He said someone from your past had resurfaced.”
I turned toward Elena.
She looked equally confused.
“How would Barrett know?”
Sloane's father, William Barrett, controlled banks, development firms, and enough political influence to rival my family without technically being criminal.
She opened a message.
From William.
TONIGHT MUST HAPPEN. IF DOMINIC HESITATES, REMIND HIM WHAT THE MERGER PROTECTS.
Below it was a photograph.
Elena.
Walking four boys into their school in Portland.
Taken six weeks earlier.
My rage became very calm.
“Your father was watching my sons.”
Sloane went pale.
“I didn't know who they were.”
“But he did?”
“I don't know.”
Elena stood immediately.
“We're leaving.”
I agreed.
Then Sloane caught my arm.
“Dominic.”
I turned.
“My father said if the engagement failed, people would start asking about the Moretti Harbor Trust.”
“What trust?”
Her expression changed.
“You don't know about that either?”
No.
I didn't.
Sloane whispered:
May you like
“The one that transfers control if you have legitimate male heirs.”
Four legitimate biological sons could change ownership of half the Moretti empire overnight.
