Chapter 5 - THE SON THEY STOLE
“Isabella Moretti — Alive.”
Alexander read the words three times.
For six years, he had visited a grave bearing his wife's name.
For six years, he had blamed himself for not answering her last phone call.
And now a transfer receipt claimed she had been alive that very morning.
Emily gripped his arm.
“Alexander?”
He couldn't speak.
Marcus checked the document.
“The aircraft departed at six. Its registered owner is a transportation company controlled by Victor.”
“Where did it land?”
“We're working on that.”
Alexander looked at the photograph of the newborn.
Gabriel.
His son had a name.
For years, Alexander had believed he had lost every chance of becoming a father.
Now he had learned that a child existed somewhere.
A child who had probably been told that his father was dead.
Or worse.
That his father had abandoned him.
Alexander looked at Emily.
“Why would Isabella name him Gabriel?”
Emily smiled through tears.
“Our mother used to say Gabriel meant God had sent a message.”
Alexander looked at the photograph again.
Isabella had always loved names with meaning.
He remembered a conversation they had once had beneath their Christmas tree.
“If we ever have a son,” she had said, “I want a name that sounds like hope.”
He had kissed her forehead.
“Then we'll call him Hope Moretti.”
She had laughed until she cried.
The memory nearly broke him.
Marcus returned from the corridor.
“Boss, we've got another problem.”
Alexander looked up.
“Victor has been notified we're here.”
“How?”
“Mrs. Price called him before we entered the old wing.”
The administrator began protesting.
“I was following protocol!”
Alexander turned toward her.
“Did you know my wife was here?”
Mrs. Price's lips trembled.
“I knew a woman had been admitted under a protected identity. I didn't know she was your wife until tonight.”
“Who authorized her confinement?”
“Dr. Whitcomb.”
“Did she ever try to leave?”
Mrs. Price looked away.
Alexander's voice lowered.
“Answer me.”
“Several times.”
Emily covered her mouth.
Mrs. Price began crying.
“She asked for her husband. She said he would come for her. Dr. Whitcomb told us she suffered from delusions after a traumatic childbirth.”
Alexander gripped the edge of a wooden shelf.
“And you believed him?”
“He showed us medical evaluations. Her medication made her confused. Sometimes she didn't remember what day it was.”
Emily stepped forward.
“Did anyone ever ask her what happened?”
Mrs. Price said nothing.
The silence was answer enough.
Alexander felt his anger become something colder.
Purpose.
He was no longer interested in punishing someone quickly.
He wanted every person involved held accountable.
But first, he needed Isabella and their son alive.
“Marcus, contact the state authorities,” he ordered. “Secure the records. Nobody destroys anything.”
Mrs. Price looked startled.
“You're calling the police?”
Alexander met her eyes.
“Yes.”
He had spent years solving problems outside the law.
That approach had made him powerful.
It had also created the darkness in which Victor had hidden his wife.
This time, Alexander would not give anyone an excuse to bury the truth.
Emily watched him carefully.
“You're serious?”
“Completely.”
Back at the penthouse, Noah was asleep on the sofa beneath a soft blanket.
Dr. Bennett sat nearby reading.
When Emily approached, the child opened one eye.
“Did you find the lady?”
Emily kissed his forehead.
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
Noah frowned.
“She said she misses her boy.”
Alexander crouched beside him.
“What boy?”
Noah rubbed his eyes.
“The one in her picture.”
Alexander's heart thudded.
“Did she show you a picture?”
Noah nodded.
“His name was Gabe.”
Alexander looked at Emily.
She covered her mouth.
“Did she say where Gabe was?” Alexander asked.
Noah thought carefully.
“With the man who has a red car.”
Alexander's expression changed.
Victor owned several luxury vehicles.
One of them was a vintage red Ferrari.
But that didn't prove anything.
“Did you see the man?”
Noah shook his head.
“The lady said he took Gabe away.”
Alexander swallowed.
“Thank you, Noah.”
The boy reached for his hand.
“Are you sad?”
Alexander looked at their joined hands.
“Yes.”
Noah considered that.
“Mommy gets sad too.”
“What helps her?”
“Hot chocolate.”
Despite everything, Alexander smiled.
“Does it?”
“With marshmallows.”
Alexander nodded solemnly.
“I'll remember that.”
Emily watched the exchange.
The feared man she had expected to meet was not the man kneeling beside her child.
That frightened her in a different way.
Because kindness could make trust feel possible.
And trust had nearly destroyed her once already.
Later, in the kitchen, Alexander found her making hot chocolate.
He stood quietly beside the marble counter.
“Daniel worked for my uncle,” he said.
Emily stopped stirring.
“Yes.”
“Was he a good husband?”
She looked surprised.
“He tried to be.”
Alexander waited.
Emily sighed.
“Daniel was ambitious. He thought Victor could give us a better life. He liked expensive things. But he loved Noah.”
Alexander nodded.
“What happened when he discovered the payments?”
“He became frightened. He told me there was a child being kept away from his family.”
“Gabriel?”
“I believe so.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
Emily stared into the mug.
“Because he thought you knew.”
Alexander felt the words like a wound.
“Daniel believed I had ordered it?”
She nodded.
“He said Victor told him everything was being done under your authority.”
Alexander looked away.
His reputation had become a weapon against him.
Victor had relied on the world believing Alexander capable of anything.
And Alexander had spent years making sure that belief remained strong.
Emily handed him a mug.
He accepted it.
For a moment, they stood together in silence.
Then she said, “My sister loved you.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“I loved her.”
“I know.”
“She thought I would come.”
Emily's voice softened.
“Then you still can.”
Alexander looked at her.
Something passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Only the fragile recognition of two people carrying the same grief.
Marcus entered.
“We found the aircraft.”
Alexander set down his mug.
“Where?”
“An airstrip in western Massachusetts. The passengers transferred to two vehicles.”
“Two?”
“Yes. One continued north. The other returned toward Connecticut.”
Alexander frowned.
“Why split them?”
Marcus placed two surveillance photographs on the counter.
The first showed a woman being helped into a dark SUV.
Her face was partly hidden beneath a scarf.
But Alexander recognized her hands.
Isabella wore her wedding ring on a chain around her neck.
The second photograph showed a young boy stepping into a red car.
A boy with dark hair and gray eyes.
Alexander's breath caught.
Gabriel.
Alive.
Then Marcus placed a third image beside them.
It showed Victor standing next to the red car.
And beside him stood Dr. Whitcomb.
Between them was Gabriel.
The boy was smiling.
Not frightened.
Not struggling.
Smiling.
Emily studied the photograph.
“Why does he look so comfortable with Victor?”
Alexander couldn't answer.
Marcus turned over the printout.
On the reverse was a handwritten notation copied from the airfield's vehicle log.
GABRIEL MORETTI — TRAVELING WITH FATHER.
Alexander stared at the word.
Father.
Then his eyes moved back to Victor.
May you like
And he understood the cruelest possibility of all.
His son had been raised to believe that Victor Moretti was his father.
