Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
“Camille knew my wife before she died.”
Dominic repeated the words slowly, staring at the photograph on Sophie's camera.
Three years ago, Theodore Whitmore had brought his daughter into the Moretti lake house.
And neither of them had ever mentioned it.
When Dominic met Camille eighteen months after Anna's funeral, she'd introduced herself as someone who admired his work rebuilding the family businesses.
She'd been charming.
Patient with Sophie.
Respectful toward Evelyn.
At least in the beginning.
Now Dominic understood that their supposedly accidental meeting might never have been accidental.
“Daddy?” Sophie asked. “Why was Camille with Mommy?”
Dominic looked at his daughter.
“I don't know yet.”
“Did Mommy like her?”
He glanced at the photograph.
“I don't think they were friends.”
Sophie considered that.
“Then why did Camille say Mommy would want me to call her Mom?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Camille had told him Sophie was becoming attached to her.
She'd suggested it might help the little girl move forward.
Dominic had believed her.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “you never have to call anyone Mom unless you want to.”
Sophie leaned against him.
“Good. I already have a mommy.”
Dominic kissed her hair.
“Yes, you do.”
Evelyn turned away to hide her tears.
Emily quietly placed a glass of water beside her.
But when Emily examined the photograph again, something bothered her.
“Mr. Moretti, can I ask something?”
“Please.”
“Why is Camille holding medicine labeled for Mrs. Moretti?”
Dominic enlarged the bottle.
The prescription label was partially visible.
It carried Evelyn's name and Dr. Bell's clinic information.
Evelyn frowned.
“I remember that bottle.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“Bell changed my blood pressure prescription shortly before Anna died. He said the new medication would make me less tired.”
“Did it?” Dominic asked.
“No. It made me dizzy. Anna noticed and called him.”
Evelyn paused.
“She said the label didn't match the instructions he'd given me.”
Dominic looked at the photograph again.
Two women.
Two medication concerns.
The same doctor.
And the Whitmores standing between them.
He called his security chief into the room.
“Marco, I want every original photograph copied without changing the files. Keep the camera secure.”
Marco nodded.
“Understood.”
“Then find out whether Camille has left the estate.”
“She hasn't, sir. She's packing in the west wing.”
“Bring her to my study. No one else.”
Emily gently touched Dominic's arm.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He turned.
“Don't let Sophie hear another argument.”
Dominic looked at his daughter, still holding Anna's pink ribbon.
“You're right.”
It startled Emily that he agreed so quickly.
For years, she'd worked in houses where powerful men considered disagreement an insult.
Dominic was different tonight.
Not perfect.
But finally listening.
Twenty minutes later, Camille sat opposite him in the study.
Without her engagement guests and expensive smile, she looked exhausted.
Her makeup had smudged beneath her eyes.
“Are you really throwing away our future over this?” she asked.
Dominic placed the photograph between them.
Camille's face drained of color.
“Where did you get that?”
“Anna's camera.”
She stared at the image.
“You told me you never met my wife.”
“I didn't know her socially.”
“That's an interesting distinction.”
“Dominic—”
“Why were you in my lake house?”
Camille folded her hands.
“I worked for my father then. He asked me to accompany him to a meeting.”
“About what?”
“The shoreline development.”
“And the medicine?”
Camille looked down.
“Dr. Bell had sent revised prescriptions. My father wanted me to bring the bottles from his office.”
“Why would your father handle my family's medication?”
“He was coordinating a private medical consultation. Your brother asked him to.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Camille, you were standing beside my wife's medicine case the day before she died.”
She began crying.
“I didn't know what would happen.”
The words stopped him.
“What does that mean?”
“I thought Anna would be taken to a hospital for observation. My father said Bell needed her to rest because she was becoming unstable.”
“Anna wasn't unstable.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you know it then?”
Camille couldn't answer.
Dominic pushed back his chair.
“You courted my family while hiding that you were involved in the last days of my wife's life.”
“My father told me you knew!”
Dominic froze.
“He said Anna had suffered a breakdown and you wanted everything handled quietly. He said you approved the medical arrangement.”
“I approved nothing.”
Camille shook her head.
“He showed me an authorization with your signature.”
“What authorization?”
“A medical-access agreement for the lake house. It allowed Bell and the security team to restrict visitors until Anna recovered.”
Dominic felt sick.
He had been in New York when Anna collapsed.
He'd rushed home after receiving Michael's call.
By then, she was dead.
“I never signed anything like that.”
Camille wiped her cheeks.
“Then somebody used your name.”
For the first time, Dominic believed she might be telling part of the truth.
But she had still locked Evelyn away.
“You knew my mother was perfectly capable of making decisions tonight,” he said.
Camille's expression hardened.
“Theodore has personal guarantees on Michael's debts. If that property isn't transferred, he can destroy your brother financially.”
“That doesn't give you the right to imprison my mother.”
“No. It doesn't.”
She looked toward the floor.
“But my father has spent my entire life telling me that being useful is the only reason anyone keeps me around.”
Dominic studied her.
There was a frightened young woman beneath the expensive clothes.
But there was also an adult who had chosen to hurt people with less power than herself.
“Your father doesn't get to decide what kind of person you become,” he said.
Camille looked up.
“And neither does loving you.”
“Then I wish you'd remembered that before tonight.”
He opened the study door.
Their engagement was over.
After Camille left, Dominic went to his father's old office.
The room had remained mostly untouched since Edmund's death.
A photograph of his parents stood beside the desk.
Beneath it lay the original family trust agreement.
Anna had helped revise it before Sophie was born.
Dominic read the relevant section carefully.
The lakefront property couldn't be sold while Sophie was a minor without a court-approved exception.
Evelyn served as trustee.
If Evelyn became legally incapable of managing her affairs, Michael was the designated successor.
Suddenly, the guardianship petition made perfect sense.
“They don't need Mom's signature,” Dominic whispered.
“They need the court to take away her authority.”
Marco entered carrying a sealed storage box.
“Mr. Moretti, I found the old estate-access records you requested.”
“From Anna's final evening?”
“Yes. The security contractor retained archived entry logs because the death occurred on the property.”
Dominic opened the report.
At 8:42 p.m., Anna's bedroom had used the emergency assistance button.
At 8:44, the property gate received a request to admit emergency personnel.
At 8:46, the gate was placed on restricted access.
Dominic stared.
The restriction remained active for eleven minutes.
“Who issued it?”
Marco looked uncomfortable.
“That's the problem.”
Dominic read the final column.
The command had been entered using a personal security code.
A code reserved for the head of the Moretti household.
His code.
Dominic's hands began trembling.
“Someone used my authorization to keep help away from Anna.”
Marco nodded.
“There's more, sir.”
He showed Dominic the original access record.
Beside the security command was a note entered by the dispatcher.
Restriction confirmed by family representative. Patient receiving private medical care.
Dominic read the timestamp again.
Eleven minutes.
His wife had waited eleven minutes while someone deliberately kept the gate closed.
Then Marco pointed to another entry.
“Your brother's phone was used to confirm the restriction.”
Dominic gripped the desk.
“But the instruction wasn't issued in his name.”
Marco shook his head.
“No, sir.”
May you like
He turned the page.
“It was recorded as a direct order from you.”
