Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW SHE WOULD DIE
“If my car crashes, it will not be an accident.”
I stared at Elena Moretti's statement until the letters blurred.
Detective Mitchell carefully lifted the page.
Gabriel stood behind me, one hand resting on my shoulder.
Helen Brooks looked as though she had been carrying the weight of that envelope for twenty-two years.
“Why didn't you give this to the police?” Mitchell asked.
Helen's eyes filled.
“I tried.”
The detective looked up.
“When?”
“The week Elena died. Two men came here claiming to represent her family. They said the contents were private and demanded the cabinet be emptied.”
“What happened?”
“I refused.”
“And the police?”
Helen swallowed.
“An officer came afterward. He said there was no evidence of wrongdoing.”
Mitchell examined the document.
“Do you remember his name?”
Helen nodded.
“Patrick Reynolds.”
Richard Reynolds's younger brother.
My heart hammered.
“So Richard's brother worked for the police?”
“He was a detective then,” Gabriel answered.
Mitchell wrote the name down.
“The original accident investigation will need to be reviewed.”
She turned toward me.
“Claire, I know this is upsetting, but we need to establish a clear chain of evidence.”
I nodded.
For years, I had imagined Elena as the elegant woman in the portraits hanging throughout Vincent's childhood home.
Now I understood that she had been frightened.
And brave.
Just like my mother.
Helen showed us the rest of the cabinet.
There were letters, donation records, and receipts.
But no ledger.
“Richard may have taken it,” Gabriel said.
Mitchell shook her head.
“We can't assume that.”
I looked at the child's drawing again.
Three figures beneath a yellow sun.
The little boy had drawn himself between two adults.
One had dark hair.
The other wore a blue dress.
But something about the drawing bothered me.
The dark-haired figure had no face.
I turned it over.
On the back, beneath the warning about Uncle Richard, was another sentence.
Mom says the man with the watch is bad.
I showed it to Mitchell.
She photographed the drawing.
“What watch?”
I remembered Vincent's father.
In every portrait, Antonio Moretti wore a heavy gold watch.
Vincent had inherited it after Antonio died.
He kept it in a safe because it no longer worked.
“Antonio had a watch,” I said.
Gabriel looked at me sharply.
“A gold one?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Your mother mentioned it once.”
“What did she say?”
“That Antonio never took it off, even when he slept.”
Mitchell made another note.
“We'll need to examine it.”
Back in Chicago, Vincent was facing a different kind of reckoning.
His company's board had requested an emergency meeting.
The fire, the allegations of unlawful confinement, and the renewed questions surrounding his family's financial dealings had become public.
For the first time, his reputation was costing him something he couldn't intimidate into returning.
A senior executive named Paul Henderson spoke first.
“Vincent, investors are concerned.”
“They should be.”
Paul blinked.
“We need a statement denying these accusations.”
Vincent looked around the table.
“I won't deny what I did.”
Silence.
He continued.
“I locked my wife in our bedroom and left her alone. She was injured in a fire. We lost our baby.”
One board member lowered his eyes.
Vincent's voice remained steady.
“I'm cooperating with investigators. And until this matter is resolved, I'm stepping back from day-to-day management of the legitimate businesses.”
Paul stared at him.
“That could cost you control.”
“I understand.”
“You've built this company for fifteen years.”
Vincent looked at the wedding ring still on his finger.
“And I destroyed my family in one evening.”
After the meeting, Daniel Russo approached him.
“Boss, Richard Reynolds wants to see you.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Where?”
“Your father's old office.”
Vincent considered it.
Then he called Detective Mitchell and told her about the request.
She advised him not to meet Richard privately.
Vincent agreed.
Instead, he sent Richard a message declining the meeting and asking that all communication go through attorneys.
Richard responded with three words.
You're making mistakes.
Vincent showed the message to Mitchell.
That afternoon, Sophia arrived at Vincent's office unannounced.
She looked exhausted.
Her makeup was minimal.
For once, she wasn't wearing expensive jewelry.
“Vincent, my father is furious.”
Vincent remained seated.
“What did he tell you?”
“That you're turning against the family.”
“Which family?”
Sophia looked away.
“You know what I mean.”
Vincent studied her.
“Did you visit my mansion before the fire?”
She froze.
Then she nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why did you lie?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
She sat down.
“My father.”
For a moment, Vincent saw the girl he had known since childhood.
Sophia had grown up under Richard's control.
Her father chose her schools, her friends, even her career.
Vincent had always believed she enjoyed the privilege.
Now he wondered how much of it had been a cage.
Sophia wiped her eyes.
“He told me to collect something from your office.”
“What?”
“A security access card.”
Vincent went still.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to him.”
Vincent reached for his phone.
Sophia caught his wrist.
“Please. I didn't know he would hurt Claire.”
Vincent pulled away.
“What did you think he wanted it for?”
Sophia began crying.
“He said he needed to retrieve old business records before federal investigators found them.”
Vincent stared at her.
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
He looked away.
For years, he had treated Sophia's feelings as more important than Claire's safety.
Now he understood that he had mistaken familiarity for trust.
“Did you know Claire was pregnant?” he asked.
Sophia hesitated.
“Yes.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
“How?”
“She told me at lunch three weeks before the fire.”
He stared at her.
Claire had told Sophia.
Sophia had known.
And when Vincent accused his wife of inventing the pregnancy, Sophia had said nothing.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Sophia's face collapsed.
“Because I was jealous.”
Vincent stood.
She continued through tears.
“I knew you were married. I knew I had no right. But every time you chose me over her, I felt like I still mattered.”
Vincent's expression was devastated.
“You knew she was carrying my child.”
“I know.”
“And you let me believe she was lying.”
Sophia looked down.
“I can't undo it.”
“No,” he said. “You can't.”
He called Detective Mitchell.
Sophia gave her statement that evening, with an attorney present.
She admitted taking the access card.
She also admitted seeing Richard speak with an unknown man near the mansion's service entrance.
But she insisted she hadn't known about the fire.
Detective Mitchell arranged to verify her account.
Meanwhile, I returned to the medical residence with Gabriel.
My body hurt.
My heart hurt more.
That evening, Madison called with an update.
“Sophia admitted knowing about your pregnancy.”
I closed my eyes.
For a long time, I couldn't speak.
Then I said, “I kept wondering whether Vincent would have believed someone else.”
Madison's voice softened.
“Claire, he should have believed you.”
After the call, I opened my mother's bracelet.
The silver key charm hung beneath the lamp.
Something about the heart charm looked different now.
I remembered how Mom used to press it between her fingers whenever she was worried.
I examined it closely.
The heart wasn't solid.
A tiny seam ran along the center.
I pressed the star charm against it.
There was a click.
The heart opened.
Inside was a rolled strip of thin paper.
My hands trembled as I unfolded it.
There were six numbers.
May you like
And three words.
“Antonio's watch. Turn backward.”
