Chapter 8 - THE PERSON WHO KNEW OUR ADDRESS
“Someone from my family?”
I looked at Sophia.
“Say the name.”
She shook her head.
“Marcus wouldn't tell me. He said I had to see the proof first.”
I turned toward Madison.
My parents had received photographs of Emily for years.
Now someone claimed they might be involved in sending them.
The thought made me sick.
Vincent picked up the locker key.
“We're going to Union Station.”
I looked at him.
“Together.”
He nodded.
“No more decisions without you.”
We left Emily at the hotel with Eleanor and two security officers Madison personally approved.
Before leaving, I knelt beside her.
“Sweetheart, I need to handle something important.”
Emily looked at Vincent.
“Are you going too?”
“Yes,” he answered.
She hesitated.
“Then can you both come back for dinner?”
Vincent glanced at me.
I nodded.
“We'll try.”
Emily shook her head.
“Mom says trying is okay, but you should tell the truth.”
Vincent crouched.
“Then here's the truth. We'll do everything we can to be back. And if we're delayed, we'll tell you.”
She considered that.
“Okay.”
She handed him a folded piece of paper.
“For you.”
Vincent opened it.
A drawing.
Three people standing beneath a yellow sun.
One tall man.
One woman.
One little girl.
Above them were the words:
MAYBE SOMEDAY.
Vincent stared at the paper.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“Thank you, Emily.”
She nodded seriously.
“Don't lose it.”
He folded it carefully and placed it inside his jacket.
At Union Station, the locker stood near an old corridor lined with vending machines.
Vincent inserted the key.
Inside was a battered leather portfolio.
No money.
No weapon.
Only papers and a small velvet pouch.
Madison opened the portfolio.
The first document was the original Moretti family trust.
The second was an amendment signed by Carlo three years before his death.
The amendment attempted to replace the firstborn beneficiary provision with a male-line inheritance requirement.
I felt furious.
“He tried to erase Emily because she was a girl.”
Daniel, who had accompanied us, examined the signatures.
“There's a problem with this amendment.”
Vincent looked up.
“What?”
“It required approval from the independent trust protector. I don't see that signature.”
“Who was the protector?”
Daniel turned to the final page.
His expression changed.
“Eleanor Whitcomb.”
I stared at him.
“The housekeeper?”
Daniel nodded.
“Your grandfather appointed her decades ago. She was his most trusted employee, and she had no financial stake in the family.”
Vincent looked stunned.
“My father never told me.”
“That was likely intentional.”
I remembered Eleanor keeping the bracelet.
Eleanor watching Lucas.
Eleanor quietly standing up for Emily in the auditorium.
Perhaps she had been protecting more than she let on.
Inside the velvet pouch was a small gold pendant.
A tiny tree with three branches.
On the reverse were engraved the initials:
E.W.
Beneath it lay a note in Marcus's handwriting.
Mrs. Whitcomb has the authority. Claire has the right. Vincent must make the choice.
Vincent read the words aloud.
“What choice?”
Madison turned another page.
There was an affidavit from Marcus.
It described Carlo's attempts to pressure Eleanor into approving the amendment.
It also documented threats against my parents.
But one passage stood out.
Carlo learned that someone close to Claire had been providing updates about Emily's whereabouts. This person claimed the information was necessary for the child's protection.
My heart pounded.
The next page contained copies of messages.
Some were old.
Some recent.
All sent to an address associated with the Bennett family.
The sender was identified by initials.
M.B.
My mother's name was Margaret Bennett.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“No.”
Madison touched my arm.
“Claire—”
“No. She already admitted she signed the affidavit. Now this?”
Vincent said nothing.
I kept reading.
There were messages describing Emily's school.
Her friends.
Her medical appointments.
Even her favorite park.
One message mentioned that Emily had recently started taking piano lessons.
That had happened only four months earlier.
Long after Carlo's death.
I sat down on a nearby bench.
My mother hadn't merely betrayed us seven years ago.
She had continued giving someone information.
Vincent crouched in front of me.
“Claire.”
I shook my head.
“She knew where we lived. She knew everything.”
Madison looked at the final page.
“Wait.”
Her tone changed.
“These messages may not be going to Carlo's network.”
I looked up.
“What?”
She pointed to the dates.
“After Carlo died, the recipient address changed. The old account was replaced.”
Daniel examined the printout.
“The new recipient belongs to a private family office.”
“Whose?” Vincent demanded.
Daniel hesitated.
“Your mother's.”
I stared at him.
“Mine?”
“No. Vincent's mother.”
The room went silent.
Vincent's mother, Beatrice Moretti, had lived in Switzerland for most of our marriage.
She rarely visited Chicago.
She disliked public appearances and had never involved herself openly in the family businesses.
I remembered her sending a small embroidered blanket after Emily was born.
It was the only gift anyone in the Moretti family had given our daughter.
I still had it.
Vincent frowned.
“My mother doesn't manage trusts.”
Daniel looked grim.
“She does manage a private charitable fund.”
Madison reread the messages.
“Margaret may have been reporting to Beatrice, not Carlo's people.”
I felt a terrible confusion.
“Why would Beatrice want updates about Emily?”
Vincent took out his phone.
This time, he didn't call anyone.
He opened an old email from his mother.
It was dated shortly after Carlo's death.
He read it silently.
Then he handed it to me.
Vincent, one day you may learn that the daughter you lost was never gone. When that day comes, ask yourself why everyone around you needed you to believe otherwise.
I stared at the screen.
“Your mother knew.”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“She knew Emily was alive.”
“And she never told you?”
His expression was stricken.
“No.”
A strange thought began forming.
Maybe Beatrice had been protecting Emily.
Maybe she had been monitoring her.
Maybe the truth wasn't as simple as villain and victim.
But one question remained.
Why hadn't she contacted me?
Daniel unfolded the final sheet from the portfolio.
It was a notarized instruction written by Beatrice Moretti.
The date was six years earlier.
The document authorized a protected education fund for Emily Bennett.
I felt my breath catch.
Beatrice had been providing money secretly?
I had never received anything.
Madison examined the account references.
“These funds weren't paid to Claire.”
“Then where did they go?” Vincent asked.
Daniel traced the transfer history.
His face changed.
“The money was deposited into an education endowment.”
He swallowed.
“The same endowment that awarded Emily her scholarship.”
I stared at him.
“Vincent's foundation?”
Daniel nodded.
“The foundation was established with a restricted contribution from Beatrice.”
Vincent looked as stunned as I felt.
His mother had created the fund that brought Emily back to Chicago.
The very award that exposed everything.
Then Madison turned over the final page.
May you like
On its back, Beatrice had written one sentence.
WHEN EMILY WINS, VINCENT WILL FINALLY HAVE TO CHOOSE BETWEEN HIS FATHER'S LEGACY AND HIS DAUGHTER.
