Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE THAT SHOULD NEVER HAVE EXISTED
“Why is your signature on my wife's death certificate?”
I asked the question quietly.
But the woman standing in my study looked as though I had struck her.
Emily Carter gripped the nurse's arm for support.
Her face was nearly colorless.
“Mr. Moretti, I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
Behind me, three-year-old Nora sat on the leather sofa, holding the warm towel I'd wrapped around her hands.
She watched her mother with frightened eyes.
“Mama?”
Emily immediately tried to straighten.
“I'm okay, sweetheart.”
She wasn't.
The nurse had already told me Emily had a serious respiratory infection, a high fever, and signs of exhaustion. She needed medical attention, not another threat.
I turned to my security chief, Daniel Russo.
“Take Nora to the kitchen. Have Mrs. Bell make her something warm.”
Nora caught my sleeve.
“Is Mama in trouble?”
I crouched beside her.
“No, sweetheart. Your mother hasn't done anything wrong by telling me the truth.”
Emily made a small sound.
I looked up.
She was crying.
Daniel gently escorted Nora away.
Once the door closed, I turned back to Emily.
“My brother says you signed my wife's death certificate.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I signed something at the hospital four years ago.”
“What?”
“A witness statement.”
My chest tightened.
“Witnessing what?”
“Your wife's death.”
For four years, I had believed my wife, Sofia, died from complications following an emergency medical procedure.
I had been told she never regained consciousness.
I'd buried her beneath a white marble angel at our family cemetery.
And every Sunday, I brought fresh flowers to her grave.
Now the woman who cleaned my house was telling me she had been present during my wife's final hours.
“Were you a nurse?”
Emily shook her head.
“I worked as a hospital records assistant. Mostly overnight shifts.”
“Then why were you witnessing anything?”
She swallowed.
“Because the doctor asked me to.”
“Which doctor?”
“Dr. Arthur Bellamy.”
I knew that name.
Bellamy had been the physician who explained Sofia's death to me.
He had retired two years later.
I hadn't spoken to him since.
Emily continued.
“Your wife arrived at the hospital shortly after midnight. She was conscious when I first saw her.”
I stared at her.
“Conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Bellamy told me she arrived unconscious.”
“I know.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Emily reached into the pocket of her cardigan.
Slowly, she removed a small folded piece of paper.
It was a photograph.
The edges had been worn from years of handling.
She handed it to me.
Sofia was sitting in a hospital bed.
Her dark hair fell across her shoulders.
She looked exhausted.
But she was smiling.
And in her arms was a newborn baby wrapped in a pale-yellow blanket.
I stopped breathing.
“Sofia was pregnant?”
Emily nodded.
I shook my head.
“No. She wasn't.”
“She was, Mr. Moretti.”
“She would have told me.”
Emily looked at me with unbearable sadness.
“She tried.”
I remembered the last argument we'd had.
Sofia had been sitting beside the bedroom window, holding something inside her closed hand.
She'd told me she needed to discuss something important.
But my brother, Matteo, had called about an emergency at one of our businesses.
I'd left.
I never saw her alive again.
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Where is the baby?”
Emily didn't answer.
“Emily.”
Her lips trembled.
“Please understand. I didn't know what they were doing until it was too late.”
Before I could ask another question, the study door opened.
Matteo Moretti entered.
My younger brother was thirty-seven.
He wore an expensive charcoal suit and the gold watch our father had given him before he died.
For years, Matteo had been my closest adviser.
I'd trusted him with everything.
He glanced at Emily.
Then at the photograph in my hand.
His expression changed.
“So,” he said quietly. “She finally told you.”
I crossed the room.
“Where is Sofia's child?”
Matteo closed the door behind him.
“Luca, you need to understand what happened.”
“Where is the child?”
He looked toward Emily.
“Ask her what she did with the hospital bracelet.”
Emily began shaking.
“I didn't take it.”
Matteo gave a bitter laugh.
“You signed the discharge paperwork.”
“I was told the baby was being transferred.”
“To where?” I demanded.
Neither answered.
I stepped closer to my brother.
“Four years, Matteo. You let me spend four years believing my wife died without ever holding our child?”
His face hardened.
“You don't know what Sofia was involved in.”
“Then tell me.”
“She found something she wasn't supposed to find.”
“What?”
Matteo glanced at the photograph.
“Something involving our father.”
Our father, Antonio Moretti, had died six years earlier.
He had built the organization I inherited.
He was ruthless in business, but I had believed he loved his family.
Matteo slowly removed his gold watch.
He placed it on my desk.
“Dad gave me this three days before he died.”
“I know.”
“He told me there would come a day when protecting this family meant keeping a terrible secret.”
I stared at him.
“You think that excuses what happened to Sofia?”
“No.”
For the first time, my brother's voice cracked.
“I think it explains why she was afraid.”
Emily suddenly gripped the nurse's arm.
“Mr. Moretti, the baby wasn't the only thing they removed from the hospital.”
Matteo turned sharply.
“Emily, don't.”
She looked directly at me.
“Your wife left a letter.”
My heart hammered.
“A letter?”
“She gave it to Dr. Bellamy. She told him it was for you if anything happened.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
“And Bellamy gave it to Harland,” he said.
I looked toward the security monitor on my desk.
Harland was standing downstairs beside the front entrance.
He appeared calm.
But his hands were shaking.
I pressed the intercom.
“Richard. Come to my study.”
There was a long silence.
Then Harland answered.
“Of course, sir.”
Emily began crying harder.
“He knew everything,” she whispered.
“About Sofia?”
“About the baby.”
Matteo lowered his head.
I turned to him.
“Did you know where my child went?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me more than any answer.
“Matteo.”
He looked at Emily.
Then back at me.
“I knew where she was supposed to go.”
My voice became barely audible.
“She?”
Matteo nodded.
“A little girl.”
I looked down at the photograph.
A daughter.
Sofia had given me a daughter.
Somewhere, a little girl was growing up without knowing her father.
Then Emily said something that made my blood run cold.
“Mr. Moretti, there's something else you need to know.”
I faced her.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
“The doctor told us the baby had died.”
I looked between them.
“What?”
“But three years ago,” Emily continued, “I found a hospital transport record proving she was alive.”
Matteo stared at her.
“You never told me that.”
Emily shook her head.
“Because I found out who had taken her.”
“Who?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She looked toward the hallway where Nora had disappeared.
And suddenly, I understood why she had endured Richard Harland's cruelty rather than leave my estate.
May you like
Emily whispered five words.
“The little girl is Nora.”
