Chapter 3 - THE SIGNATURE SHE NEVER WROTE
“Then tell me how to stop it!”
Vincent caught Brianna by the shoulders before she could retreat.
She looked toward the nursery, then at Emily.
“I don't know everything.”
“You knew enough to threaten her mother.”
Brianna's eyes filled, but her expression remained stubborn.
“Ask my mother.”
Vincent released her.
“Your mother is coming here.”
“No.” Brianna shook her head immediately. “If you bring her here, you'll make everything worse.”
Emily stepped between them.
“My mother is seventy-four years old. She needs help walking, and she sometimes forgets what day it is. Whatever game your family is playing, leave her out of it.”
Brianna's lips trembled.
For one moment, she looked ready to explain.
Then she folded her arms.
“You don't understand what you're involved in.”
Emily answered quietly.
“Then explain it.”
Brianna said nothing.
Vincent turned to Marco.
“Stay with her. No threats, no locked doors. But document anything she tries to remove from the house.”
He looked at Emily.
“Let's get your mother.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Vincent's black SUV pulled into Willow Creek Care Center.
The building stood behind carefully trimmed hedges in a quiet Philadelphia suburb.
Emily usually felt relief when she saw its familiar brick entrance.
Tonight, the illuminated windows frightened her.
She hurried inside.
Ruth Ellis, the night nurse, stood behind the reception desk.
Her face changed when she saw Emily.
“Emily, I was going to call you.”
“Where's my mother?”
“She's in her room.”
“Has anyone moved her?”
“Not yet.”
Emily gripped the counter.
“What does that mean?”
Ruth glanced toward Vincent.
“The administrator approved an emergency transfer this afternoon. They say your mother's condition requires specialized supervision.”
Emily shook her head.
“Her doctor never mentioned that.”
“I know.”
Ruth lowered her voice.
“Her regular medication was changed three days ago. Since then, she's been sleeping most of the day.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Who authorized the change?”
“A consulting physician. The order came through corporate.”
“Which corporation?”
Ruth hesitated.
“Collins Residential Health.”
Emily felt cold.
“Brianna Collins?”
Ruth nodded.
“Her mother, Diane Collins, owns the company.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
Now Brianna's threat made sense.
She hadn't been exaggerating.
Her family controlled the building.
Emily hurried toward Room 214.
Her mother sat beside the window in a pale pink cardigan, staring at the parking lot.
Margaret Parker had once been a strong woman with dark, curly hair and quick hands.
She had worked two jobs after Emily's father died, sewing wedding gowns during the day and altering uniforms at night.
Now her hair was white.
Her fingers were bent with arthritis.
But when she saw Emily, she smiled.
“There you are, sweetheart.”
Emily crossed the room and hugged her.
“Mom.”
Margaret patted her back.
“You smell like rain.”
Emily almost cried.
They had driven through a light autumn shower.
Somehow, her mother still noticed the smallest things.
Vincent remained near the doorway.
Margaret studied him.
Then her smile disappeared.
“You're one of them.”
Vincent frowned.
“One of whom, ma'am?”
“The Morettis.”
Emily held her mother's hand.
“Mom, his name is Vincent. He helped me tonight.”
Margaret stared at his face.
Then she noticed the family signet ring on his hand.
She pulled away.
“Get him out.”
“Mom—”
“Don't let him touch the blue dress.”
Emily froze.
“How do you know about the dress?”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“Rose cried while I sewed it.”
Vincent entered slowly.
“You knew Rose?”
Margaret gave a bitter laugh.
“Knew her? I loved that woman like a sister.”
“Why did my grandfather pay you to leave?”
Margaret looked toward the window.
“He thought money could make people forget.”
Emily sat beside her.
“Forget what?”
Her mother gripped her wrist.
“The babies.”
Vincent exchanged a glance with Emily.
Margaret continued.
“Enzo ran the charitable home. He told mothers their children had been placed with loving families.”
She swallowed.
“Some were. Some weren't. And some women never agreed to give up their babies at all.”
Emily's hand tightened around hers.
“Rose found out?”
Margaret nodded.
“She worked there as a volunteer. She thought the Moretti money was helping children.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“When she discovered what Enzo was doing, she started writing down names. Real names. Birth mothers. Addresses. Everything.”
Vincent looked sick.
“My grandfather never told me.”
“Your grandfather didn't want to know.”
Margaret suddenly looked frightened.
“Where's the little bracelet?”
“What bracelet?” Emily asked.
“The thirteenth one.”
Emily stared at Vincent.
They had found twelve.
Margaret began twisting the edge of her cardigan.
“He kept it. The man with the gold watch.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Enzo?”
Margaret shook her head.
“His boy.”
Before Vincent could ask another question, Ruth appeared.
“Emily, there's a problem.”
She held a medication chart.
“The transfer order lists your mother as unable to make decisions for herself.”
“That isn't true,” Emily said.
“She has periods of confusion,” Ruth answered. “But her attending physician hasn't declared her incapable.”
Vincent examined the chart.
“Who submitted the supporting assessment?”
Ruth pointed to a name.
Dr. Howard Bellamy.
Vincent recognized it.
Bellamy had attended Moretti charity dinners for years.
He also sat on the medical advisory board of a family foundation.
A foundation administered by Graham Vale.
Vincent took out his phone and called his grandfather's private physician.
“I need an independent examination arranged for Margaret Parker tonight.”
Ruth nodded approvingly.
“I'll request that no nonemergency transfer happen before her attending doctor reviews this.”
Emily felt the first hint of relief.
Then Margaret reached into her cardigan.
She pulled out an old photograph, folded into quarters.
“I kept this because I knew somebody would come asking.”
Emily opened it.
Rose stood in a nursery holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
Margaret stood beside her.
On the baby's wrist was a silver bracelet marked thirteen.
A man's reflection appeared in the window behind them.
He wore a dark suit.
A gold pocket watch hung from his vest.
Vincent leaned closer.
“That looks like Enzo.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No. Enzo took the picture.”
Emily studied the reflection.
“Then who is that?”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“His son.”
Vincent stared at her.
“That child would be almost sixty now.”
“Yes.”
“What's his name?”
Margaret tried to answer.
But her expression clouded.
Her fingers began shaking.
“I know him. I do. He came here yesterday.”
Emily gently squeezed her hand.
“Take your time, Mom.”
Margaret stared toward the doorway.
“He called me Aunt Maggie.”
Vincent went completely still.
Only one man associated with the Moretti family had ever used that nickname around the mansion.
Graham Vale.
He had managed the family's charitable investments for fifteen years.
Vincent trusted him with millions.
He had recommended Willow Creek when Emily first asked for help finding care for her mother.
And three months earlier, he had personally introduced Vincent to Diane Collins at a foundation dinner.
Vincent turned toward Ruth.
“Can you check yesterday's visitor log?”
Ruth hurried to the desk.
Moments later, she returned with a tablet displaying the electronic record.
The authorized visitor was listed as:
GRAHAM VALE — FAMILY TRUST REPRESENTATIVE.
But the photograph beside the entry showed something else.
Graham stood beside Margaret's bed.
In his right hand was a gold pocket watch.
Emily looked at Vincent.
“You know him?”
Vincent's expression had gone hard.
“He's the man who oversees our family's charitable foundation.”
Margaret suddenly grabbed Emily's sleeve.
“Rose trusted the wrong brother.”
She looked directly at Vincent.
“And your family trusted the wrong son.”
Vincent studied the visitor's photograph.
For years, Graham had claimed to be the orphaned son of a former Moretti business associate.
Now Vincent understood why his grandfather refused to attend meetings whenever Graham was present.
Emily whispered, “What are you going to do?”
Vincent answered without taking his eyes from the photograph.
“I'm going to find out why the man I trusted with my family's money is trying to erase your mother.”
Margaret began crying.
“No, don't go to him.”
Emily turned.
“Why?”
Her mother pointed to the photograph of the baby.
“Because that child is alive.”
May you like
She pulled Emily closer.
“And Graham knows exactly who she became.”
