Chapter 6 - THE FAMILY THAT KNEW TOO MUCH
“That's your father.”
Vincent took the photograph from Daniel.
His expression changed.
I watched him study the three people standing beside the jet.
Richard Hale.
An unfamiliar man wearing a maintenance uniform.
And Anthony Moretti.
Vincent's father.
The same man who had once told me I was an unsuitable wife because my family didn't have connections, property, or influence.
“What was my father doing at the airport?” Vincent whispered.
Daniel shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I stared at the picture.
“Why was it hidden inside Sophia's necklace?”
Nobody answered.
Then Vincent noticed something written on the back.
A date.
Three days before our flight.
Below it were four words.
Ask about the inspection.
Vincent read them twice.
“This photograph was taken before the accident.”
Daniel nodded.
“Apparently.”
My mother touched my shoulder.
“Anna, we should go.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Find out what happened. But don't expect me to stay while you do.”
He started to speak.
Then stopped.
For once, he let me leave.
The drive to Rhode Island was quiet.
My mother kept one hand resting near mine.
When we reached her house, she carried my bags inside and made tea.
Nothing expensive.
Nothing elaborate.
Just the chipped blue mug I'd used as a teenager.
And somehow, sitting at that familiar kitchen table, I felt safer than I had in my enormous mansion.
For two weeks, Vincent called every evening.
I answered only when we needed to discuss my pregnancy.
He asked about appointments.
He asked whether I was eating.
He offered to send a private nurse.
I declined.
Then one afternoon, a package arrived.
Inside was my grandmother's necklace.
A note from Daniel explained that investigators had finished documenting it.
He had included the photograph separately.
I examined the picture again.
Something bothered me.
Not Anthony Moretti.
Not Richard.
The third man.
His work jacket bore a small embroidered name.
CALDWELL.
I remembered that name from somewhere.
At first, I couldn't place it.
Then I recalled an argument Vincent had once had with his father.
It had happened during our first year of marriage.
Anthony had been angry about a contract involving Moretti Aviation.
I'd heard him say, “Caldwell knows too much. Pay him and let him go.”
Vincent had insisted the man deserved a proper retirement settlement.
I hadn't thought about it again.
Now I wondered what Caldwell knew.
I called Daniel.
“Do you know anyone named Caldwell?”
There was a pause.
“Martin Caldwell?”
“Yes.”
“He was the company's former chief maintenance inspector.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was dismissed four years ago.”
“Why?”
“Officially, unauthorized equipment purchases.”
“And unofficially?”
Daniel hesitated.
“He reported that maintenance budgets were being reduced while the paperwork showed full inspections.”
My heart sank.
“Did Vincent know?”
“I don't think so. Caldwell filed his complaint directly with Anthony Moretti.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Then why was Caldwell standing beside the jet?”
“That's what investigators are trying to establish.”
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Anna, I've learned something else. Sophia wasn't the only person who received an altered medical report.”
I sat straighter.
“Who else?”
“Your husband's father.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Anthony?”
“Yes.”
Daniel explained that the false report had been sent through a Moretti family administrative account.
The email included a note saying the pregnancy might complicate Vincent's leadership responsibilities.
I felt sick.
“My daughter was described as a complication?”
Daniel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
That evening, Vincent arrived unexpectedly.
My mother opened the door.
I heard her tell him he could stay for fifteen minutes.
He entered the kitchen looking exhausted.
His expensive coat was damp from the rain.
“Anna.”
I remained seated.
“Did you speak to your father?”
He nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He claims Richard arranged the entire trip.”
“And the photograph?”
“He said Caldwell wanted to discuss an old maintenance dispute.”
I studied him.
“Do you believe him?”
Vincent looked down.
“No.”
It was the first completely honest answer he'd given me.
He sat opposite me.
“My father admitted he had concerns about your pregnancy.”
“Concerns?”
“He said having a child might distract me from the company.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“And what did you say?”
Vincent swallowed.
“I told him that if he ever spoke about our daughter that way again, he would never be welcome in our home.”
I wanted those words to matter.
But they came after everything.
Then Vincent removed an old black notebook from his coat.
“My father kept records of private meetings. I found this in his office.”
He opened it to a marked page.
Beside the date of our flight was a handwritten entry.
Flight delayed? Confirm V remains with S.
I read it again.
“V means Vincent.”
He nodded.
“S means Sophia.”
My voice shook.
“They wanted you with her.”
Vincent looked devastated.
But then I noticed another line beneath the entry.
Written in smaller letters.
Passenger A must not learn of revised manifest.
I looked up.
“Vincent, what revised manifest?”
He stared at the page.
Then he slowly turned to the next sheet.
There, attached with a paper clip, was a passenger list.
My name had been crossed out.
May you like
And beside it was a handwritten instruction.
REMOVE ANNA BEFORE DEPARTURE.
