Chapter 3 - THE BABY IN THE HOSPITAL PHOTOGRAPH
“Stop talking about my mother.”
Sophie's voice cut through the dining room.
Richard Sinclair stood beneath the chandelier holding the photograph, apparently pleased that he'd finally found something capable of frightening her.
“She never told you, did she?”
Sophie stepped toward him.
“My mother is sick. Whatever you're trying to do, leave her out of it.”
Richard tilted his head.
“Then perhaps she should have told you why she spent twenty-six years hiding from my family.”
Alessandro moved between them.
“That's enough.”
Richard laughed.
“Of course you'd defend her. You Rom anos always preferred believing the servants.”
“Marco,” Alessandro said quietly, “escort Mr. Sinclair to the library. He'll remain there until the police arrive.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“For what?”
“Threatening employees, interfering with evidence, and whatever else an investigation establishes.”
“You wouldn't dare.”
Alessandro didn't answer.
Marco stepped forward, accompanied by another security officer.
Richard glanced at Vanessa.
“Tell him to stop.”
Vanessa stood halfway down the staircase.
For the first time that evening, she didn't obey her father.
“No.”
Richard stared at her.
“You ungrateful little girl.”
Vanessa's face tightened.
“You taught me to be afraid of you. Don't confuse that with loyalty.”
Marco led him away.
Alessandro turned to Sophie.
“Are you hurt?”
“My wrist is fine.”
But it wasn't her wrist she was looking at.
It was the photograph.
“My mother never mentioned Margaret Sinclair.”
Daniel slowly approached from the staircase.
Sophie recognized him immediately.
Her face drained of color.
“You're the man in the hospital picture.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes.”
“But you're supposed to be dead.”
“I know.”
Sophie looked from Daniel to Alessandro.
“I don't understand any of this.”
“Neither do I,” Alessandro admitted.
He handed her the photograph.
“You deserve to know where it came from. But we shouldn't assume Richard was telling the truth.”
Sophie studied the young woman holding the baby.
Her mother looked barely twenty.
Her hair was longer, and she wore a plain blue hospital gown.
Beside her stood Margaret Sinclair.
Something about the photograph bothered Sophie.
“That's my mother's necklace.”
She pointed at a small silver pendant resting against the woman's collarbone.
“I've seen it my whole life.”
“Does she still have it?” Daniel asked.
Sophie nodded.
“She keeps it in her jewelry box.”
“What shape?”
“A little bird.”
Daniel looked at Alessandro.
“A swallow?”
“Yes.”
Daniel sat down heavily.
“Margaret gave those necklaces to the women she helped relocate.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Relocate from where?”
Daniel looked toward the library.
“Richard's first company.”
Twenty-seven years earlier, Sinclair Development had owned several luxury hotels and private properties throughout New England.
Richard employed young women as servers, housekeepers, receptionists, and personal assistants.
Some were offered apartments.
Others were given financial assistance.
But Daniel explained that the benefits often came with impossible conditions.
When women complained about harassment or unwanted attention, Richard threatened their employment and housing.
“He kept records,” Daniel said. “Photographs, employment contracts, personal information. Everything he could use to frighten them.”
Sophie's stomach turned.
“My mother worked for him?”
“I believe so.”
“Did he hurt her?”
Daniel hesitated.
“I don't know what happened to your mother specifically.”
Sophie's eyes filled.
“Then why did Margaret tell her to keep me away?”
Nobody answered.
Alessandro pulled out his phone.
“You should speak to your mother.”
Sophie shook her head.
“She's at the hospital tonight. Her chemotherapy was this afternoon. She's exhausted.”
“Then we don't have to disturb her.”
Sophie looked at him.
“He knows where she is.”
Alessandro understood immediately.
Richard had mentioned Sophie's mother deliberately.
He knew her illness made her vulnerable.
He knew Sophie couldn't afford to lose her job.
And he'd counted on that fear to keep her quiet.
“I'll arrange additional security at the hospital,” Alessandro said. “Only if your mother agrees.”
Sophie nodded.
“Thank you.”
Vanessa descended the remaining stairs.
“I need to show you something.”
Alessandro turned.
“You've had several opportunities.”
“I know.”
She looked at Sophie.
“And I owe you an apology.”
Sophie didn't respond.
Vanessa accepted that.
“My mother kept a green coat in a locked wardrobe at our old house,” she continued. “After her funeral, my father ordered everything donated except that coat.”
Daniel looked up.
“The dark green one?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“In my dressing room.”
She led them upstairs.
Inside Vanessa's dressing room, the coat hung behind several expensive evening gowns.
Its dark green wool looked ordinary.
The pearl buttons matched the earrings Margaret had worn in the hallway recording.
Vanessa reached into the lining.
“My mother told me never to remove the stitching near the left pocket.”
Alessandro examined it.
A section had been repaired with slightly darker thread.
He handed Vanessa a small pair of sewing scissors from the dressing table.
“Open it.”
Her hands trembled.
Inside the lining was a thin packet wrapped in waxed paper.
It contained three old photographs, two hotel receipts, and a narrow strip of handwritten names.
Rebecca Hayes appeared on the list.
So did a woman named Laura Miller.
Sophie caught her breath.
“That's my mother.”
Beside Laura's name was an address in Boston.
Below it appeared a date from twenty-six years earlier.
And beside that date, one word:
PROTECTED.
Daniel took a step closer.
“Margaret maintained a list of women who'd agreed to testify.”
“Against Richard?” Sophie asked.
“Yes.”
Vanessa stared at the page.
“My father told me she was collecting money from employees.”
Daniel shook his head.
“She was trying to protect them.”
Alessandro studied the hotel receipts.
One was dated three months ago.
It bore the name of a small rehabilitation facility outside Boston.
The other was much older.
Across its back, Margaret had written:
Daniel must never discover who signed the original transfer.
Daniel read the note.
His expression changed.
“What transfer?”
Alessandro showed him the receipt.
“Does this mean anything to you?”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“It might.”
He looked at Vanessa.
“Your father moved money out of Romano Shipping seven years ago. I thought I'd traced the transfers to his development company.”
“And?”
“I found a second authorization. Someone inside our family had approved it.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Who?”
“I never discovered the name.”
Sophie looked again at her mother's entry.
“Why would my mother know about financial transfers?”
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“She worked in Richard's administrative office before she became a housekeeper. She may have handled correspondence.”
Vanessa turned toward the jewelry case she'd brought downstairs.
“The bracelet.”
She retrieved the gold bracelet and examined its clasp.
“Rebecca told my mother that the R stood for Records.”
Daniel shook his head.
“It was Rebecca's initial.”
“That's what Father told you.”
Vanessa pressed the clasp.
A narrow compartment opened.
Inside was a tightly rolled strip of photographic film.
Alessandro stared.
Daniel reached for the bracelet.
“Margaret said Rebecca had copied something before she disappeared.”
He carefully held the film against the light.
Tiny numbers lined the strip.
Near the end appeared a handwritten notation.
ROMANO EXECUTIVE APPROVAL — G.R.
Alessandro felt the room shift.
G.R.
Their father's initials.
Giuseppe Romano.
Daniel looked at his brother.
“Alessandro, the money started moving while Dad was still alive.”
“That doesn't mean he authorized it.”
Daniel's expression darkened.
“No. But someone used his name.”
Sophie was still holding the list of protected women.
Suddenly, she noticed a second line beneath her mother's name.
It had been written in smaller letters.
LAURA MILLER — ORIGINAL LEDGER WITNESS. CHILD: SOPHIA.
And beneath that:
IF LAURA SPEAKS, THE ROMANO BROTHERS WILL LEARN WHO PAID FOR THE BOAT.
Sophie raised the paper.
“Mr. Romano?”
Alessandro turned.
“What is it?”
May you like
She pointed to the final sentence.
“My mother knows who arranged your brother's accident.”
