Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER WHO GREW UP INSIDE A LIE
“That's impossible,” Luca whispered.
He took the photograph from Daniel.
Anthony couldn't have been Thomas Mercer's son.
Anthony had been raised in the Moretti household.
He had eaten at the same dinner table, attended the same schools, and called the same two people Mom and Dad.
Their grandfather had introduced him to everyone as the youngest Moretti boy.
But the photograph was unmistakable.
Even at two years old, Anthony had the same distinctive gray eyes and deep dimple in his left cheek.
And the watch wrapped around his tiny wrist was the one he'd worn at the courthouse.
Emma studied the photograph.
“Maybe your grandfather wasn't telling you everything.”
Luca shook his head.
“Thomas was our driver. My grandfather said he died in an accident.”
“Did you ever meet his family?”
“He said Thomas didn't have any.”
Emma looked at the child in the photograph.
“Then who took care of that little boy?”
Luca had no answer.
He remembered Anthony arriving at the family estate when Luca was eight.
His mother had said there was a new baby brother.
Luca remembered being confused because he hadn't seen her pregnant.
But children accepted explanations adults gave them.
And nobody ever discussed it again.
“Find out who owns that shop now,” Luca told Daniel.
Within an hour, Daniel returned with an unsettling discovery.
The building had passed through several owners after Thomas Mercer's death.
Three years earlier, it had been purchased by a holding company connected to Anthony's real-estate business.
Six months ago, Vanessa had become an authorized manager.
Luca stared at the records.
“She's been involved longer than I thought.”
Emma looked toward the photograph of Sofia on the mantel.
“Your sister knew.”
“Apparently.”
“Then why didn't she tell you?”
Luca didn't answer immediately.
There had been a time when Sofia told him everything.
After their parents died, she was the one who reminded him to eat, attended his school meetings, and kept him from getting into trouble.
But as Luca became more deeply involved in the family's businesses, they grew apart.
She disliked the armed men.
The closed-door meetings.
The way Luca treated loyalty as more important than honesty.
Their final serious argument had occurred shortly before her death.
Sofia had begged him to make the household safer for Ben and Rosie.
He had accused her of exaggerating.
Now he was beginning to understand why she'd been afraid.
That night, he moved the armed security team from the main house into the separate gatehouse.
He also instructed Daniel to remove several men associated with his more dangerous business dealings.
“Some of them won't like that,” Daniel warned.
“Then they can stop working for me.”
“You're changing thirty years of arrangements.”
Luca looked toward the upstairs bedrooms.
“Thirty years is long enough.”
The next morning, Emma visited her mother.
Joan Sullivan lived in a modest assisted-care residence west of Boston.
The stroke had weakened her left side and made speaking difficult.
But when Emma entered, Joan smiled immediately.
“My girl.”
Emma kissed her forehead.
“Hi, Mom.”
Joan noticed the bandage.
Her smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
“An accident at work.”
Joan reached for her hand.
“Bad?”
Emma tried to smile.
“Not as bad as it could've been.”
Joan studied her daughter's face.
Then she slowly shook her head.
“Don't lie to your mother.”
Emma laughed softly, though her eyes filled with tears.
Joan had lost some of her strength.
She hadn't lost her ability to recognize when Emma was hiding something.
They sat together beside the window.
Emma told her about Rosie.
About the urn.
About Luca stopping the engagement dinner.
She left out the frightening details of the guardianship battle.
Joan listened quietly.
Then she said, “You saved a child.”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Emma squeezed her mother's hand.
For the first time in two days, she felt something other than fear.
But the feeling didn't last.
When Emma visited the billing office, the administrator gave her an uncomfortable look.
“Miss Sullivan, someone contacted us about your mother's account.”
Emma froze.
“Who?”
“A woman who said she represented your employer's family.”
“What did she want?”
“She asked whether your mother could be transferred to a lower-cost facility if your employment ended.”
Emma felt sick.
“Did you tell her anything?”
“We confirmed that a transfer would require a new care assessment. We didn't release medical records.”
Emma nodded, struggling to keep her voice steady.
Vanessa was still trying to frighten her.
Even after the engagement had been canceled.
That afternoon, Luca went to Mercer Clock & Jewelry with Daniel.
The shop was open.
Behind the counter stood an elderly watchmaker named Harold Finch.
He had worked there for forty-two years.
When Luca showed him the photograph, Harold slowly removed his glasses.
“Good Lord.”
“You knew Thomas Mercer?”
“Knew him well.”
“Was Anthony his son?”
Harold looked toward the front window.
Then back at Luca.
“Thomas loved that boy more than anything.”
Luca felt his chest tighten.
“What happened to Thomas?”
“That's a question your grandfather didn't like people asking.”
Harold reached beneath the counter and brought out an old repair ledger.
He found an entry from the previous Sunday.
Vanessa Ashford had brought Anthony's gold watch in for urgent work.
“What did she ask you to do?” Luca asked.
“She said the back had come loose and something inside was rattling.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
Harold hesitated.
“She wanted me to remove the inner plate anyway.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
“An old paper strip folded beneath the movement.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Where is it?”
“The woman took it.”
“What did it say?”
Harold shook his head.
“I didn't unfold it. But I saw the writing on the outside.”
“What writing?”
Harold looked directly at him.
“For Anthony, when you're ready to know why your father died.”
Luca stood motionless.
Thomas Mercer's death had never been explained beyond the word accident.
Now Sofia's warning, Anthony's watch, and Vanessa's visit to the repair shop were beginning to connect.
But Harold wasn't finished.
“There's something else,” he said.
He turned the ledger around.
“Your fiancée didn't pay with cash.”
Luca looked down.
The transaction had been charged to an account belonging to Mercer Development Group.
Anthony's company.
And directly beneath the payment authorization was a second entry.
A request for certified copies of the watch's repair history.
“Who requested those?” Luca asked.
Harold swallowed.
“Your sister. About two years ago.”
Luca stared at him.
Sofia had been investigating the watch before she died.
He asked Harold whether any other records remained.
The watchmaker brought out a folder containing correspondence from his former business partner.
Inside was a letter Thomas Mercer had written shortly before his death.
Most of it concerned routine repairs.
But one sentence made Luca's blood run cold.
Vittorio says Anthony will be safer living as one of his boys, but he still hasn't explained what happened to the partnership money.
Luca read the sentence aloud.
“Partnership money?”
Harold nodded.
“Thomas wasn't just a driver, Mr. Moretti. He put his savings into your grandfather's first company. He believed they were partners.”
Before Luca could ask more, Helen called about the children's trust.
Her independent accountant had discovered an unusual collateral agreement executed eighteen months earlier.
It used Sofia's assets as security for a loan benefiting Anthony's development company.
“Was Sofia's signature forged?” Luca asked.
“Possibly. But that's not the biggest problem.”
“What is?”
Helen hesitated.
“The agreement required a second authorization from an adult Moretti family member.”
Luca waited.
“Who signed it?”
“You did.”
He gripped the edge of the counter.
“That isn't possible.”
“I've examined the original authorization.”
“And?”
“Luca, the signature appears genuine.”
May you like
Helen paused.
“The document was signed on the morning of Sofia's funeral.”
