Chapter 7 - THE GRANDFATHER WHO LEFT A MESSAGE FOR EMILY
Vincent’s father had died five years earlier.
Officially, Carlo Moretti had been killed during a robbery outside a private club.
Nobody believed it was random.
Nobody had proved otherwise.
Until now.
The Moretti family vault was beneath an old bank building in downtown Chicago.
Vincent had not entered it since his father’s funeral.
Emily walked between us holding my hand.
“I don’t have to come, right?”
“No,” I said immediately.
Vincent nodded.
“No.”
She looked at us.
“But the letter is mine.”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to see it.”
I crouched.
“Sweetheart, this might contain upsetting things.”
Emily thought about that.
“Can you read it first?”
My heart softened.
“Yes.”
Vincent watched us.
He looked like every minute with her taught him something he should have learned years ago.
The vault required Vincent’s fingerprint and my signature.
Giovanni had designed it that way.
Inside were dozens of sealed files.
One envelope bore Emily’s full name:
EMILY GRACE MORETTI
Vincent stared at the surname.
I noticed.
“Don’t.”
He looked at me.
“She’s Bennett.”
“I know.”
“If she ever wants Moretti added, that will be her choice.”
His answer came immediately.
“Of course.”
Progress.
Small.
Painful.
Real.
I opened the letter.
Giovanni’s handwriting was shaky.
Emily,
If you are reading this, then the adults around you finally stopped lying.
I almost laughed.
Vincent looked miserable.
The letter continued.
Your grandfather Carlo believed the Moretti name could be cleaned of the violence that built it.
Anthony disagreed.
My pulse quickened.
Carlo discovered Anthony had been using family companies to finance illegal weapons shipments through Lake Michigan.
Vincent went rigid.
He intended to expose him.
Three days later, Carlo was dead.
There was no direct accusation.
Then the final paragraph.
I could never prove Anthony ordered my son’s murder.
But one person could.
Her name is Sophia Reynolds.
I stopped reading.
Everyone looked at Sophia.
She sat across the room.
Her face had gone completely white.
Vincent whispered:
“What did you see?”
Sophia began shaking.
“Nothing.”
I handed the letter to Vincent.
He read it himself.
Then looked at her.
“My grandfather named you.”
“I didn’t see the murder.”
“What did you see?”
She covered her mouth.
“I was twenty-five.”
“Tell me.”
She looked at Lucas through the glass wall of the adjoining room.
Then started crying.
“Anthony came to our house.”
“When?”
“The night before your father died.”
Vincent’s face became stone.
“What happened?”
“He argued with Carlo.”
“You were there?”
“I was dating you. I came by looking for you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Anthony saw me.”
Sophia wiped her face.
“He followed me into the garage.”
“What did he say?”
“That if I repeated anything, he would make sure my parents lost everything.”
Vincent stared.
“And?”
“He showed me photographs.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
A whisper.
“He said he could have you killed too.”
For once, I believed her fear.
Vincent asked:
“What did my father and Anthony argue about?”
Sophia looked at him.
“Your father said, ‘If you touch those shipments again, I’ll give everything to the federal government.’”
Vincent inhaled slowly.
“And Anthony?”
“He said, ‘You won’t live long enough.’”
Silence.
Matteo’s phone rang.
He answered.
Then went pale.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Anthony’s jet never landed in Geneva.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Where did it go?”
“Flight plan was fake.”
“Then where is he?”
Matteo turned the screen.
A security camera showed Anthony Moretti entering St. Catherine’s Hospital twenty minutes earlier.
My stomach dropped.
“Why would he go there?”
Matteo enlarged the image.
Anthony was not alone.
May you like
My mother was walking beside him.
And she was carrying Emily’s original hospital file.
Related Stories
