Chapter 11 - THE CHILD THOMAS NEEDED
My baby had become the most valuable unborn child in Manhattan.
I hated that sentence.
The old Bellini trust had been designed by my mother after the crash but before she disappeared.
If I ever had a child, my inherited voting rights would transfer into a protected generational trust.
Nobody could sell them.
Nobody could seize them through marriage.
Nobody could alter them without my consent.
And if anything happened to me after the child was born, those shares would remain locked until the child turned thirty.
Thomas could no longer steal the company permanently.
Unless he acted before the baby was born.
Adrien read the clause and went frighteningly quiet.
“You’re not meeting him.”
“We decide together, remember?”
His eyes met mine.
“I remember.”
“Then stop deciding.”
He rubbed his face.
“I don’t know how.”
That honesty disarmed me.
For most of our marriage, Adrien solved fear by controlling logistics.
Cars.
Security.
Schedules.
People.
Now every instinct told him to lock me somewhere safe.
Instead, he sat across from me.
“What do you want to do?”
It was the first real choice he had given me in months.
“I want my mother.”
“So do I.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“She made you.”
His voice softened.
“And right now that’s enough.”
We built a plan.
Daniel would provide copied stock certificates.
Federal agents would monitor from a distance.
Luca, surprisingly, agreed to help.
He arrived at dusk.
Adrien and his brother stood facing each other for a long time.
Luca finally said, “So I’m older.”
Adrien almost smiled.
“Apparently.”
“Explains why I’m better looking.”
“Nothing explains that.”
The tension broke for three seconds.
Then Luca looked at me.
“I accessed your medical file.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not enough.”
“I know.”
For once, nobody demanded instant forgiveness.
We prepared to leave.
Then Vanessa received an alert from the Moretti servers.
Someone was moving funds from a dormant account belonging to Alessandro Moretti.
Twenty million dollars.
Recipient:
MARGARET BENNETT.
My mother.
The account was active.
“She’s controlling it?” I asked.
Vanessa shook her head.
“Biometric authorization.”
“What does that mean?”
“Somebody used her fingerprint less than ten minutes ago.”
She traced the location.
Manhattan.
Not a remote prison.
Not Connecticut.
The authorization came from Moretti Global headquarters.
Adrien stared at the screen.
His office.
Floor seventy-two.
Then the private elevator registered movement.
Someone had just entered using a credential that had been inactive for nineteen years.
MARGARET BENNETT - EXECUTIVE ACCESS.
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My mother wasn’t waiting for us somewhere hidden.
She was walking into my husband’s building.
