Chapter 3 - THE FATHER WHO DIED TWICE
My father had been alive after his funeral.
That was the first thought I couldn't escape.
For nine years, we had visited a grave.
Placed flowers.
Celebrated birthdays without him.
Watched Mom break a little more every year.
And now a photograph suggested Michael Reed had been standing beside Vincent Moretti two days after his reported death.
I showed the image to Vincent.
His face drained.
“I remember this.”
My stomach tightened.
“You remember my father?”
He nodded.
“Not his name.”
“Then what?”
“The meeting.”
Vincent looked toward Teresa.
She closed her eyes.
“Hannah deserves the truth.”
I stared between them.
“What meeting?”
Vincent took a breath.
“Nine years ago, someone contacted me after my father died. Said they had proof that one of our senior people was stealing from family-controlled projects.”
My heart pounded.
“Was it my father?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“You met him?”
Vincent nodded.
“In a church basement on Halsted.”
“And then?”
“He gave me part of the evidence.”
“Where is it?”
Vincent looked toward the floor.
“I never received the rest.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Because he died?”
Vincent didn't answer.
That silence hurt more than words.
Then Teresa spoke.
“Michael wasn't supposed to die.”
I turned sharply.
“What does that mean?”
She looked devastated.
“Vincent agreed to help him disappear temporarily.”
My mouth went dry.
“What?”
“He believed whoever was behind the fraud would come after your family.”
I stared at Vincent.
“You helped fake my father's death?”
His face was tight with guilt.
“I helped arrange protective transport.”
“You let us bury an empty coffin?”
He looked away.
“I was twenty-nine. My father had just been murdered. I thought secrecy would protect everyone.”
I stood.
“You thought wrong.”
“Yes.”
One word.
No excuse.
That made it worse somehow.
“Where did you send him?”
Vincent swallowed.
“A safe house outside Milwaukee.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“And then?”
“He vanished.”
I stared.
“Vanished?”
“The security team said the house was empty when they returned the next morning.”
My hands trembled.
“You never told my mother?”
“I didn't know whom to trust.”
I laughed angrily.
“So you let us believe he was dead.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, I wanted to hate him.
Maybe I did.
Then Teresa reached for my hand.
“Hannah, Michael left a message.”
I looked at her.
“What message?”
She removed a small key from her purse.
“I've kept this for nine years.”
My breathing stopped.
“What does it open?”
“I don't know.”
Then she turned it over.
Three letters were engraved into the metal.
S.A.R.
I recognized them immediately.
St. Anne Research.
The hospital where my mother was waiting for her heart scan.
My stomach dropped.
Teresa whispered:
“Michael said if anything happened to him, this key would prove the hospital wasn't only treating patients.”
Then Vincent looked at me.
May you like
And I suddenly understood why my mother's medical procedure had been delayed over $1,860.
The same hospital connected to my father's disappearance was now controlling whether my mother received care.
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