Chapter 8 - MY FATHER'S LAST ORDER
My father had been dead for four years.
Apparently, his cruelty had survived him.
We moved the conversation inside, far from the twins.
My mother sat at Nathaniel's dining table as if she owned it.
I remained standing.
“Start talking.”
Victoria looked older suddenly.
“Your father discovered something about Evelyn's family shortly before his death.”
“What?”
“That her grandfather, Thomas Carter, had once been a federal prosecutor.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She nodded.
“I learned after I came to Boston.”
Mother continued.
“Thomas Carter spent twenty years building cases against organized crime. One of those investigations involved your grandfather.”
“So?”
“Your father believed Evelyn married you intentionally.”
Evelyn stared at her.
“That is insane.”
“I know that now.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
My mother removed a key from her purse.
A bank-deposit key.
“Your father kept a private archive. Samuel was instructed to destroy it after his death. Instead, I told Samuel to disappear and preserve everything.”
That explained the fake death.
“You were protecting Evelyn?”
“At first, I was protecting you.”
She looked at Evelyn.
“Then I realized she was pregnant.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father's orders hadn't died with him.”
A chill passed through the room.
“Who was enforcing them?”
“I never knew.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“Someone inside the organization?”
“Yes.”
Mother pushed the key toward me.
“The box is in Chicago.”
“What's inside?”
“Records. Payments. Names.”
“Whose names?”
“Men your father trusted.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That's most of the people around me.”
Mother's eyes lowered.
“Which is why I couldn't trust you with the truth.”
That sentence almost started another argument.
Then Evelyn asked, “Why the guardianship documents?”
Victoria looked ashamed for the first time.
“Because if Adrian brought you back to Chicago before we found the person carrying out his father's instructions, I wanted legal leverage to move the children somewhere safe.”
“You planned to take my children.”
“I planned to keep them alive.”
“You could have asked me.”
“And would you have believed me?”
Evelyn had no answer.
Neither did I.
My phone rang.
Vincent.
I answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
His breathing was ragged.
“I'm at Dad's old lake house.”
“Why?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
Behind him, I heard glass break.
“Vincent?”
His voice dropped.
“Someone's here.”
I stood.
“Get out.”
“I can't.”
A door slammed on his end.
Then Vincent whispered:
“Adrian, Dad didn't hate Evelyn because of her grandfather.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He hated her because of her mother.”
My blood went cold.
“Why?”
A long silence.
Then Vincent said:
“Because Evelyn's mother had a child with him before either of us were born.”
The call disconnected.
Evelyn stared at me.
Neither of us spoke.
May you like
Because if Vincent was telling the truth, then somewhere in the world was a hidden Moretti heir.
And that person might have spent years believing Evelyn's children stood between him and everything my father had promised him.
