Chapter 2 - THE PRICE OF COMING HOME
“Where is my husband?”
Victoria Moretti’s question hung over the ballroom like a blade.
Nobody answered.
Meredith Pierce stood beside the champagne tower, gripping her glass so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“You don't have the right to call him that anymore,” Meredith said.
Victoria studied her.
“Interesting. I don't remember signing divorce papers.”
A nervous murmur moved through the guests.
Sloane took another step backward, still clutching the black-gold crest she had ripped from Ava's neck.
Victoria held out her hand.
“Give it to me.”
“This belongs to my father.”
“Then your father has been giving away things he never owned.”
Sloane looked toward Meredith, waiting for instructions.
For the first time that evening, her mother had none.
Victoria approached the silver dog bowl.
She knelt, retrieved Ava's smaller pendant from the ruined cake and champagne, and wiped it carefully with a clean napkin.
The broken chain dangled between her fingers.
When Victoria stood, she didn't look at Sloane.
She looked at her daughter.
“Did they make you do this before?”
Ava lowered her eyes.
“Mom, please.”
“Answer me.”
Ava's voice trembled.
“Not the bowl.”
Those four words changed Victoria's expression.
She had returned expecting betrayal, theft, and perhaps even murder.
She hadn't expected to discover how thoroughly her daughter had been humiliated.
Victoria placed the pendant in Ava's palm.
“We'll have this repaired.”
Ava closed her fingers around it.
“You can't repair everything.”
Victoria had no answer.
Then a familiar voice came from the staircase.
“Well. This is an unexpected family reunion.”
Conrad Pierce descended the marble steps wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo.
At fifty-eight, he remained handsome, controlled, and accustomed to getting his way.
He had been Victoria's husband for twelve years.
For nine of those years, Ava had tried to believe he loved her.
Now she watched him approach with the same smile he had worn when he told her she was no longer welcome in her mother's house.
Conrad stopped beneath the chandelier.
“Victoria.”
“Conrad.”
“I'd ask where you've been, but apparently you prefer dramatic entrances.”
Victoria studied his face.
“You don't look surprised enough.”
His smile barely changed.
“I'm looking at a woman I buried three years ago. Forgive me if I'm struggling to understand.”
“You never buried me. There was no body.”
“I buried my wife in every way that mattered.”
“Especially financially.”
A few guests shifted uncomfortably.
Conrad glanced at Ava.
“I see you've already involved the girl.”
“The girl has a name.”
“Victoria, she's been deeply troubled since your disappearance.”
Ava stiffened.
There it was.
The same sentence he had used in court.
The same excuse he had given her college friends, former employers, and anyone who questioned why her accounts had been frozen.
Victoria stepped between them.
“Say one more word about my daughter's mental health, and I'll have you repeat it under oath.”
Conrad's expression tightened.
“You've been gone for three years. You don't know what's happened here.”
“I know you claimed emergency control of Moretti Holdings.”
“Someone had to keep the companies alive.”
“And I know you transferred seventeen waterfront properties into companies connected to Meredith.”
“Business restructuring.”
“And my daughter ended up sleeping above a laundromat.”
Conrad looked at Ava.
“You made choices, sweetheart.”
Ava felt something twist inside her.
He had called her sweetheart when she was sixteen.
He had used the same word when telling her that her inheritance was gone.
Victoria turned to Noah Reed.
“Open the ballroom doors.”
Noah hesitated.
“You told me—”
“I know what I said. Nobody stays because they're afraid of me.”
The locks opened.
Victoria faced the guests.
“Anyone who wishes to leave may do so. Anyone who witnessed what happened to my daughter is welcome to remain.”
Nobody immediately moved.
Then an elderly restaurateur named Frank D'Amico stepped forward.
He had known Victoria's father.
“I'll stay,” he said quietly.
A woman near the orchestra followed.
“So will I.”
Several others nodded.
Conrad watched the room changing around him.
For three years, people had obeyed him because they believed Victoria would never return.
Now they were remembering what it felt like to refuse.
“You're making a spectacle,” Conrad said.
“No,” Victoria answered. “Your family already did that.”
Meredith stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous. Even if you are Victoria, the estate was legally transferred.”
“Temporarily administered,” Victoria corrected.
“By court order.”
“A court order obtained after you represented me as dead.”
Conrad's smile disappeared.
“Legal recognition of your identity won't happen overnight. Until then, the existing orders remain in effect.”
Arthur Bell finally spoke.
“That isn't entirely—”
“Arthur,” Conrad interrupted.
The attorney went silent.
Victoria noticed.
“So that's why you invited Ava.”
Every head turned toward Arthur.
His face drained of color.
Ava stared at him.
“You knew she was coming?”
Arthur swallowed.
“I hoped she would.”
“You told me to bring the crest.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer, Conrad reached inside his jacket.
Noah moved immediately.
Conrad gave him a contemptuous look and withdrew a folded photograph.
“Since we're discussing secrets, perhaps Ava deserves to see one.”
He placed the photograph on the nearest banquet table.
Ava recognized the woman instantly.
Her mother.
Victoria was standing beside a black SUV outside a waterfront warehouse.
Her hair was shorter.
A scar marked her temple.
But she was unmistakably alive.
Ava picked up the photograph.
In the background stood a familiar sign.
PORT LIBERTY — NEW JERSEY.
Beneath the image was a date.
Eleven months earlier.
Ava stared at it.
Eleven months ago, she had been living less than thirty miles away.
She had been working double shifts, selling her jewelry, and eating canned soup while hoping for some news about her mother.
Her hands began shaking.
“Mom?”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Conrad leaned against the table.
“Perhaps you should ask your mother why she's been in New Jersey for nearly a year.”
Ava slowly looked up.
“Is this real?”
Victoria opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
The word struck harder than Meredith's slap.
Ava stepped away from her.
“You were here?”
“Ava—”
“You were HERE?”
Victoria reached toward her.
Ava backed away.
For three years, she had imagined her mother drowning in the Atlantic.
Now she was looking at proof that Victoria had been alive, breathing, and walking through the same state where her daughter was struggling to survive.
Ava's voice broke.
“While I was begging strangers for a job, you were thirty miles away?”
Victoria said nothing.
Conrad watched them with quiet satisfaction.
May you like
Then Ava asked the question that brought tears to Victoria Moretti's eyes.
“Mom, if you were alive all this time, why did you let me believe nobody wanted me?”
