Chapter 3 - THE LITTLE GIRL VANESSA HAD ALREADY CHOSEN
“Don't close that door!”
Claire's voice cut through the study before Dominic could move.
Everyone turned toward her.
Mia was clutching the paper heart with both hands.
Claire stood between her daughter and Vanessa Sinclair.
“No more closed doors,” Claire said. “Not around my child.”
Dominic looked at her for a moment.
Then he nodded.
“Daniel, leave it open.”
Vanessa forced a nervous laugh.
“This is ridiculous. I visited a school as part of the Sinclair Foundation's children's program. Are we really interrogating me because a little girl misunderstood a conversation?”
Mia lowered her head.
“I didn't misunderstand.”
Claire knelt beside her.
“Sweetheart, you haven't done anything wrong.”
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“Children repeat things. Sometimes they make stories bigger than they are.”
Dominic turned toward her.
“Then explain the paper.”
“What paper?”
“The one with your number. The one telling a seven-year-old to call you if her mother becomes frightened.”
Vanessa's face hardened.
“I was trying to help.”
“Help whom?”
“Claire.”
Claire gave a bitter little laugh.
“By threatening to take my daughter?”
Vanessa looked away.
Dominic stepped closer.
“You knew exactly who she was before tonight.”
Vanessa said nothing.
“And you deliberately brought her into this house.”
Finally, Vanessa whispered, “My father told me she'd started asking questions again.”
Claire stared at her.
“I haven't contacted your family in six years.”
“Someone requested the fire investigation records last month.”
“That was me,” Dominic said.
Vanessa blinked.
He continued.
“Every year, around the anniversary of Isabella's death, I ask whether anything new has surfaced. This year, I asked for the original security reports.”
Vanessa sat heavily in a chair.
“My father thought it was Claire.”
Dominic's voice became colder.
“So you went to her daughter's school.”
“I wanted to know whether she still had anything from that night.”
Claire instinctively touched her handbag.
Vanessa noticed.
There it was.
The real reason she had arranged tonight's humiliation.
Not a stained gown.
Not broken champagne glasses.
A frightened waitress could be dismissed, searched, accused of theft, and sent away without anyone questioning a billionaire heiress.
Dominic understood immediately.
“You wanted security to search her bag.”
Vanessa said nothing.
“You were looking for Isabella's phone.”
Vanessa's eyes filled.
“My father said that recording would destroy everything.”
“Everything you've built?” Claire asked. “Or everything you've hidden?”
For the first time, Vanessa seemed older than her expensive makeup and diamonds allowed her to appear.
“You don't understand what happens when my father decides someone is a threat.”
Claire tightened her arm around Mia.
“I understand perfectly.”
Dominic called his security chief, Marcus Bell, into the room.
“Arrange a car for Vanessa. She is leaving.”
“Dominic—”
“Tonight's gala is over for you.”
Vanessa stood.
“You're making a terrible mistake.”
“Maybe,” Dominic replied. “But I won't make it at the expense of another child.”
As Marcus escorted Vanessa out, she stopped beside Claire.
“I never wanted Mia hurt.”
Claire looked at her.
“Then why is she frightened of you?”
Vanessa had no answer.
Twenty minutes later, Claire and Mia were riding through Chicago in one of Dominic's cars.
Dominic sat opposite them.
Matteo had been ordered to remain at the estate with Marcus.
He had protested until Dominic asked one simple question.
“Would Isabella have trusted you with Sophie that night?”
Matteo hadn't answered.
Now, as the city lights passed outside, Claire watched Mia fall asleep against her shoulder.
“Where are we going?”
“To my house. Sophie's there with her grandmother.”
Claire stiffened.
“I don't think that's appropriate.”
“Claire, you and Mia need somewhere secure until we understand how far Vanessa has gone.”
“You barely know me.”
Dominic looked out the window.
“Six years ago, my daughter was five years old. She had a stuffed rabbit named Rosie and refused to sleep without the hallway light on.”
He swallowed.
“For three months after the fire, she wouldn't let anyone close her bedroom door.”
Claire remembered that little girl.
The smoke.
The screaming.
The way Sophie had buried her face against Claire's neck as they stumbled down twelve flights of stairs.
“She kept asking me where her mommy was,” Claire whispered.
Dominic closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“She thought I could go back and get her.”
He said nothing.
“I wanted to, Mr. Moretti. I really did.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You were carrying my daughter. You made the only choice you could.”
Claire turned toward the window.
She had needed to hear those words for six years.
When they arrived at the Moretti estate, eleven-year-old Sophie was waiting in the entrance hall.
She had her father's dark hair and Isabella's serious brown eyes.
An elderly woman stood beside her.
“My mother,” Dominic explained. “Elena Moretti.”
Elena took one look at Mia sleeping in Claire's arms and immediately called for warm blankets.
Sophie studied Claire.
“Dad said you knew my mom.”
Claire nodded.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Sophie stepped forward.
“Were you the lady who carried me downstairs?”
Claire's throat tightened.
“Yes.”
For a moment, the girl simply stared.
Then she reached into her cardigan pocket.
She pulled out a small silver wristwatch.
Its glass was cracked.
Its hands had stopped at 10:14.
“Mom gave me this before you picked me up,” Sophie said. “Grandma says it's why I always remember her.”
Claire recognized the watch immediately.
Isabella had removed it from her wrist while helping Sophie put on her coat.
“Keep this safe for Daddy,” she had told her daughter.
Claire bent down.
“Your mommy loved you more than anything.”
Sophie looked at the scar on Claire's hand.
“Did you get hurt helping me?”
“A little.”
Sophie gently touched the uninjured side of Claire's wrist.
“Thank you for not leaving me.”
Claire couldn't speak.
Dominic turned away, blinking hard.
That night, after Mia fell asleep in a guest bedroom, Sophie brought Claire an old cardboard box.
Inside were photographs, birthday cards, and a faded drawing.
The drawing showed a hotel hallway.
A little girl.
A woman in a blue dress.
And a large black door.
“Is that your mommy?” Claire asked.
Sophie nodded.
“I drew it after the fire.”
Claire noticed something unusual.
Beside the black door, Sophie had drawn a woman wearing a red coat.
“Who's this?”
Sophie frowned.
“I don't remember.”
Dominic came closer.
“Is that Vanessa?”
Sophie looked at the drawing again.
“I think so.”
Claire felt a chill.
“Was Vanessa at the hotel that night?”
Dominic nodded.
“She helped organize the charity event.”
Sophie touched the drawing.
“Aunt Vanessa used to come to my room after the fire.”
Dominic looked at his daughter.
“When?”
“When I was staying with Grandma.”
“What did she say?”
Sophie shrugged.
“She said Mommy had an accident.”
Dominic sat beside her.
“Anything else?”
The girl hesitated.
“She told me not to tell people about the black door.”
Claire felt her heartbeat quicken.
Dominic kept his voice gentle.
“Why not?”
Sophie stared at the old drawing.
“Because she said I remembered it wrong.”
Claire looked at Dominic.
He reached for his daughter's hand.
“Sweetheart, you can tell me whatever you remember.”
Sophie bit her lip.
“Aunt Vanessa said the stairwell door was open. She made me practice saying it.”
Dominic went completely still.
That exact statement appeared in the official fire report.
A five-year-old child had supposedly confirmed that the west stairwell was clear.
Claire had always wondered how investigators could ignore her testimony.
Now she understood.
Someone had taught Sophie what to say.
Dominic's voice broke.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Tears rolled down Sophie's cheeks.
“Because she said something bad would happen if I didn't listen.”
Dominic pulled his daughter into his arms.
“Nothing bad is going to happen because you tell the truth.”
Sophie held him tightly.
Then she whispered something that made Claire's blood run cold.
“Daddy, Aunt Vanessa said if I told anyone the door was locked, the police would take you away.”
Dominic pressed his lips against his daughter's hair.
May you like
Sophie looked toward Claire.
“And she said Uncle Matteo would make sure they believed her.”
