Chapter 6 - THE PRICE OF THIRTEEN LIVES
“You helped Enzo make a child disappear?”
Emily could barely recognize her own voice.
Margaret began crying.
“No. Sweetheart, listen to me. I helped him believe the child had disappeared.”
Emily remained beside the bed.
“Start at the beginning.”
Margaret took a shaky breath.
“Rose found out Enzo was arranging illegal adoptions through St. Agnes. Some mothers had been told their babies died. Others were pressured into signing papers they couldn't understand.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Rose kept copies of everything.”
“And you helped her?”
“I stitched names and dates into things people wouldn't think to search. Blankets. Dresses. Little coats.”
Emily thought of the blue gown.
The initials.
The hidden key.
Margaret continued.
“Enzo discovered Rose was collecting evidence. He threatened to take the children away before she could get help.”
“So what did you do?”
“We pretended to cooperate.”
Emily stared at her.
“That's why he gave you money?”
Margaret nodded.
“He thought he was buying the list of children Rose had found.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“A false one. Rose copied the real information before I handed anything over.”
Margaret looked toward the old check.
“Enzo gave me that check believing I'd helped him destroy the records. I never deposited it. The bank canceled it when he stopped payment after Rose died.”
Emily picked up the photocopy again.
Near the bottom was a faint red stamp.
PAYMENT STOPPED.
Graham's copy had been cropped so the mark barely showed.
Margaret continued.
“Salvatore later gave me enough money to leave Philadelphia. I used it to help move the children who were still in danger.”
Emily sat down slowly.
“Why didn't you tell anybody?”
“Because Enzo had men watching the families. I couldn't risk leading him back to them.”
“Even after he died?”
Margaret's face crumpled.
“By then, those children were grown. Some knew they were adopted. Some didn't. I couldn't decide for them when their lives should change.”
Emily looked down.
She wanted to feel relieved.
Instead, she felt angry.
“Mom, you should have told me something.”
“I know.”
“You taught me to be honest, even when it was hard.”
“I know, baby.”
Margaret reached for her.
This time, Emily took her hand.
The old woman's fingers were cold.
“I didn't do everything right,” Margaret whispered. “I thought hiding the truth would protect people. Then I kept hiding it because I was afraid.”
Emily kissed her forehead.
“I'm still upset with you.”
Margaret nodded.
“You have every right.”
“But I'm not leaving you.”
For the first time that morning, Margaret smiled.
Outside the room, Vincent was waiting.
Emily told him what she'd learned.
He listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he looked toward Margaret.
“She carried that alone for forty-eight years.”
“She shouldn't have had to.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“Neither should Rose.”
They returned to the mansion with copies of the check and Margaret's photograph.
Vincent had already ordered an independent review of the foundation's accounts.
What Marco uncovered frightened him.
Graham had been shifting money between charitable properties for years.
Willow Creek residents had been charged for services never provided.
Several had been pressured to sign away property interests while undergoing treatment for confusion.
And the proposed redevelopment of the St. Agnes land would generate millions.
Vincent examined the records.
“Graham isn't just hiding an old crime.”
Marco nodded.
“He's using the foundation to commit new ones.”
Vincent turned toward Salvatore.
“Why did you put him in charge?”
Salvatore sat beside the fireplace.
“Teresa recommended the Vale family years ago. Graham was educated, reliable. He seemed to care about the foundation.”
“Did you know who his father was?”
Salvatore looked away.
“I suspected.”
Vincent stared at him.
“You suspected Graham was Enzo's son and said nothing?”
“He used his mother's name. I wanted to believe the boy wasn't like his father.”
Vincent gave a bitter laugh.
“You wanted to believe.”
Salvatore flinched.
Vincent continued.
“That's what you did when Rose needed you. That's what you did when Margaret needed help. You believed whatever made your life easier.”
The old man bowed his head.
“I know.”
Emily stood beside the blue dress, which Nora had carefully laid across the dining table.
She was examining the stitching around its lining.
Margaret had described a method Rose used to conceal information.
A stitch turned left meant one thing.
A knot meant another.
Emily remembered practicing embroidery beside her mother as a little girl.
She studied the hem.
Thirteen groups of stitches.
Each separated by a tiny blue rose.
Beneath the flowers were letters and numbers.
The first sequence read:
A.R. — 13 — 10/78.
Emily froze.
“A.R.”
Vincent looked up.
“Alma Reyes?”
Emily nodded.
“The thirteenth baby's birth mother.”
She moved to the next sequence.
Another set of initials.
Another date.
Another number.
Thirteen children.
Thirteen mothers.
Rose had hidden the original matching record inside the dress itself.
Graham had spent decades searching for evidence he believed had been destroyed.
And Brianna had put that evidence directly into Emily's hands.
Vincent smiled grimly.
“He wanted to humiliate you.”
Emily looked at the gown.
“And accidentally gave me the one thing he was afraid of.”
Salvatore reached toward the fabric.
Emily stopped him.
“Not yet.”
He pulled back.
She studied the lower lining.
A final line of stitching had been repaired with darker blue thread.
It formed a sequence unlike the others.
N.W. — 13 — SWAN.
Vincent looked toward the old nursery.
“The swan music box.”
They hurried upstairs.
The silver music box stood on the bookshelf exactly where they had left it.
Vincent lifted it carefully.
When he wound the key, a quiet melody filled the room.
Salvatore recognized it.
“Rose loved that song.”
Emily turned the box over.
A small brass plate covered the base.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside lay a miniature cassette wrapped in tissue paper.
On the wrapper, someone had written:
October 18, 1978. For the day somebody finally asks what happened.
Vincent stared at it.
“Who recorded this?”
Salvatore's face drained of color.
“Rose had a little recorder. She used it to remember conversations at St. Agnes.”
Marco found a compatible machine among the family's archived office equipment.
They gathered in Vincent's study.
Salvatore sat beside the desk.
Emily stood near the window.
Vincent inserted the cassette.
There was a click.
Then a woman's voice.
“You promised the children would be safe.”
Rose.
Her voice was steady, but frightened.
A man answered.
“They will be, if you stop interfering.”
Salvatore covered his mouth.
Emily looked at him.
The recording continued.
Rose said, “Enzo is selling them, Salvatore. You know he is.”
“I need time.”
“You've had months.”
Then came footsteps.
A door opening.
Rose's voice rose.
“Why is he here?”
Another man answered.
Enzo.
“Because your husband finally understands what's at stake.”
There was a long silence.
Then Salvatore's younger voice spoke.
“Keep Rose in the nursery until I come back.”
Emily stared at the old man.
On the tape, Rose screamed.
“Salvatore, don't you dare lock me in!”
The sound of a door slamming echoed through the study.
Then came a sharp metallic click.
And a gunshot.
Vincent stopped the recording.
Nobody moved.
Salvatore sat completely still.
Emily slowly turned toward him.
“You locked her in that room?”
The old man's face collapsed.
“I thought I was saving the baby.”
Vincent approached his grandfather.
His voice was frighteningly calm.
“Tell me you didn't order your wife killed.”
Salvatore looked up, tears streaming down his face.
“No, Vincent.”
May you like
He pressed both hands against his chest.
“But I gave her murderer the key.”
