Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN IN THE BALLROOM
Nora stared at Beatrice.
“What are you saying?”
Beatrice looked toward the conservatory windows.
“Three weeks ago. The night I spilled wine.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You saw Anna?”
Beatrice nodded.
“She was serving drinks near the staircase.”
Nora felt the room shift.
There had been dozens of waitresses, caterers, cleaners, and temporary employees at the estate that night.
She barely remembered most of their faces.
“Why didn't you speak to her?” Nora asked.
Beatrice's eyes filled again.
“Because I wasn't certain.”
“Certain of what?”
“That it was her.”
Vincent folded his arms.
“What made you think it was Anna?”
Beatrice opened her handbag.
She removed a small photograph taken from a distance.
It showed a woman wearing a catering uniform, her dark hair pulled into a bun.
Nora leaned forward.
The woman was approximately twenty-four.
She had a narrow face and striking blue eyes.
Something about her expression seemed familiar.
“Who took this?” Vincent asked.
“A photographer hired for the party. I asked for copies afterward.”
Nora studied the image.
“Do you know her name?”
Beatrice shook her head.
“I tried asking the agency. They wouldn't give me personal information.”
Vincent looked at Nora.
“You worked with the same staffing company.”
Nora nodded.
“I can ask whether anyone remembers her.”
Beatrice's expression became desperate.
“Please.”
Nora met her eyes.
“You humiliated an elderly woman who was frightened and confused. Then you insulted me when I tried to help.”
Beatrice lowered her gaze.
“I know.”
“You don't get to erase that because you've suffered.”
“I know.”
Nora took a breath.
“But if that woman is Anna, she deserves to know the truth.”
Beatrice began crying quietly.
“Thank you.”
Nora shook her head.
“I'm not doing this for you.”
The following morning, Nora visited the staffing agency in Manhattan.
The manager, a tired woman named Denise, remembered the Russo event immediately.
“That night was a nightmare.”
Nora almost laughed.
“You have no idea.”
Denise examined the photograph.
“Oh, that's Rachel.”
Nora leaned forward.
“Rachel who?”
“Rachel Bennett.”
“Does she still work here?”
“Occasionally. Mostly weekends. She has a regular job at a hospital.”
Nora felt hopeful.
“Could you contact her for me?”
Denise hesitated.
“I can't give out personal information.”
“I'm not asking you to.”
Nora explained that someone from Rachel's past was trying to locate her.
Denise listened carefully.
Then she said, “I'll pass along your number. It's Rachel's decision whether to call.”
Nora nodded.
“Fair enough.”
As she prepared to leave, Denise added, “She's a good woman, you know.”
Nora turned.
“Rachel?”
“Yes. She spent half her break that night helping an older dishwasher who'd gotten sick. Didn't complain once.”
Nora smiled faintly.
Something about that sounded familiar.
Back at the estate, Vincent was examining old financial records with Carmine.
The peace agreement between their organizations remained fragile.
But something had changed.
For the first time, their meetings were not entirely about power.
Carmine had begun asking questions about the people injured by decisions made years earlier.
Vincent found the shift uncomfortable.
It was easier to negotiate territory than responsibility.
“Beatrice isn't sleeping,” Carmine said.
Vincent did not look up.
“That's unfortunate.”
“She knows what she did to your mother was wrong.”
“Knowing isn't fixing.”
Carmine nodded.
“I agree.”
Vincent finally looked at him.
“That surprises me.”
Carmine gave a tired smile.
“It surprised her too.”
Then he became serious.
“There's something I need to tell you about Arthur Bell.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Go on.”
“Bell wasn't only threatening Thomas with the affair.”
“What else?”
“He had records showing how money was being moved through businesses connected to both families.”
Vincent frowned.
“My father handled those arrangements before I took over.”
“Yes.”
“Bell died in prison.”
“His records didn't.”
Vincent stared at him.
Carmine continued.
“Some of the old accounts are still active. If the wrong people gain control of that information, they could use it to start another war.”
Vincent felt anger rising.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I spent twenty years protecting secrets that were never mine to protect.”
Carmine lowered his eyes.
“And I'm beginning to understand the damage that caused.”
Vincent was silent.
Then he said, “We settle the business separately. No threats involving Anna. No threats involving Nora.”
Carmine nodded.
“Agreed.”
That afternoon, Nora returned to Camila's sitting room.
The elderly woman was watching an old black-and-white movie.
Nora sat beside her.
“Camila, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear.”
“Do you remember a little girl named Anna?”
Camila smiled sadly.
“Such a sweet child.”
“Do you remember what she looked like?”
“Blue eyes.”
Nora's heart quickened.
“Anything else?”
“Curly hair. Always asking questions.”
“Was she frightened?”
Camila nodded.
“She was frightened of the man who shouted.”
Nora took her hand.
“Arthur Bell?”
Camila's expression darkened.
“He wasn't her father.”
Nora went still.
“What?”
Camila looked directly at her.
“He told everyone he was. But he wasn't.”
Nora swallowed.
“Then who was?”
Camila's eyes filled.
“My Thomas.”
Nora sat very still.
If Camila was right, Anna was Vincent's half sister.
And Rachel Bennett might be Anna.
But another question remained.
Why had Thomas hidden one daughter while allowing his wife to raise a child who was not hers?
Camila suddenly squeezed Nora's hand.
“Your mother knew.”
Nora looked up.
“Evelyn?”
“She knew what Thomas had done.”
“What did he do?”
Camila's voice became quiet.
“He was going to leave.”
Nora frowned.
“Leave who?”
“Me.”
The words struck unexpectedly.
Camila stared at the television without seeing it.
“He said he was going away with Beatrice and the baby.”
Nora felt an ache in her chest.
“What stopped him?”
Camila's eyes filled with tears.
“Arthur found out.”
She looked toward the window.
“And then everything went wrong.”
That evening, Nora received a message from Denise.
Rachel Bennett had agreed to meet.
Not at the estate.
Not at the Gallow residence.
At a small diner near the hospital where she worked.
Nora told Vincent.
He wanted to accompany her.
She refused.
“This is her life. She deserves a conversation without armed men standing around.”
Vincent considered arguing.
Then he nodded.
“Fair.”
Nora smiled.
“You're learning.”
“Don't tell anyone.”
Rachel Bennett arrived at the diner wearing navy scrubs and an exhausted expression.
Her blue eyes were unmistakable.
Nora stood.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“I'm Nora Hayes.”
Rachel shook her hand.
They sat across from each other.
Nora explained what she had discovered.
Not everything.
Only enough to explain why she had been looking.
Rachel listened without interrupting.
When Nora finished, Rachel stared at her coffee.
“I always knew I was adopted.”
Nora's chest tightened.
“Did your parents tell you anything?”
“They said my birth mother couldn't keep me.”
Rachel reached into her bag.
She removed an old photograph.
A little girl in a yellow coat stood outside a brick house.
Nora stared.
Rachel gave a sad smile.
“I used to ask my mother why I looked so unhappy.”
“What did she say?”
“She said I had been through something frightening before I came to them.”
Nora looked more closely at the photograph.
The yellow coat.
The dark hair.
The little face.
Then Rachel turned the picture over.
Written in faded ink were the words:
Eleanor Bell. Age three.
Nora stopped breathing.
That was the name everyone had believed belonged to her.
Rachel looked up.
“My parents told me I was Eleanor. I changed my name to Rachel when I turned eighteen.”
Nora could barely speak.
“Then who am I?”
Rachel slowly opened her handbag again.
She withdrew a second photograph.
Two little girls stood together beneath a tree.
One wore a yellow coat.
The other wore red shoes.
Rachel pointed to the child in the yellow coat.
“That's me.”
Then she pointed to the other girl.
“And according to the woman who raised me, her name was Anna Russo.”
May you like
Nora stared at the second child.
It was her own face.
