Chapter 7 - THE PERSON WHO KEPT WATCHING
The date was unmistakable.
Anthony Moretti died in 2014.
The photograph had been taken in 2016.
Dominic turned it toward Camille.
“You recognize the handwriting?”
She studied the words.
Last payment made. Promise complete.
“No.”
Margaret did.
Her expression said so before her mouth did.
“Mom?”
Margaret looked at her daughter.
“Edward.”
Camille stepped backward.
“My father?”
Margaret nodded.
Camille’s parents had divorced fifteen years earlier.
Edward Prescott lived in Connecticut.
He and Dominic had never been close, but Edward remained a respected accountant who had handled old Moretti family holdings decades ago.
Dominic understood immediately.
“My father trusted him with the payments.”
“Yes.”
“And after Anthony died, Edward continued them.”
“Yes.”
Anna looked exhausted.
“So Camille’s father knew too.”
Margaret nodded.
“How many people knew I existed?”
“Fewer than it feels like.”
“It feels like an entire city.”
“That’s fair.”
Camille sat down.
“My father never told me.”
Margaret looked at her.
“He considered it a professional obligation.”
“A hidden child is not an accounting problem.”
“No.”
Anna studied the photographs again.
“Why take pictures?”
Margaret answered carefully.
“Anthony requested annual confirmation that you were healthy.”
“That sounds incredibly generous when you avoid saying ‘surveillance.’”
Margaret winced.
“You’re right.”
Dominic placed the photographs back into the packet.
“There’s another question.”
Everyone looked at him.
“If the promise was to tell Anna the truth at eighteen, why didn’t Edward do it?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Camille stood.
“I might.”
Dominic looked at her.
Camille reached for her purse and removed a small leather appointment book.
“My father gave this to me last Christmas. It belonged to my grandmother Amelia.”
Margaret stared.
“You had that?”
“I forgot about it until now.”
She opened to a marked page.
“Grandmother wrote in shorthand most of the time, but there are names.”
Anna moved closer.
One entry from 2016 read:
A.E. — 18. E.P. says wait. R. agrees.
“E.P. is Edward Prescott,” Camille said.
“R is Rose,” Anna whispered.
Dominic frowned.
“Rose agreed to wait.”
Anna’s eyes filled with hurt.
“Why?”
Nobody knew.
The answer came when they returned to the Moretti estate.
Evelyn and Walter were at the kitchen table with Anna’s box of birthday cards.
Walter had noticed one envelope was thicker than the rest.
The eighteenth birthday card.
Anna took it.
“I’ve read this a hundred times.”
“Did you ever remove the lining?” Evelyn asked.
“The what?”
Evelyn showed her where the inside paper had separated slightly along one edge.
Anna carefully opened it.
A second folded note slid free.
Rose’s handwriting.
Anna read silently.
Then sat down.
Dominic moved beside her.
“What does it say?”
Anna handed him the note.
He read aloud.
Anna,
You are eighteen today. I promised someone I would tell you everything now. I am breaking that promise.
Anna shut her eyes.
Dominic continued.
I have watched you build a life that belongs to you. College. Friends. Plans. You finally stopped asking why your first mother gave you away. I am terrified that telling you now will take your peace and replace it with a family whose name carries dangers I still do not understand.
Walter shook his head sadly.
Dominic kept reading.
I know this choice is not mine to make. That is why I am ashamed. I keep telling myself I am protecting you. Perhaps that is how all of this began.
Anna covered her mouth.
Evelyn whispered, “She knew.”
Anna nodded.
“She knew she was repeating them.”
The final lines were harder.
If I lose my courage forever, look beneath the green lining of Elena’s coat. Forgive me only if forgiveness helps you. Never because I ask.
Anna stood immediately.
“The coat.”
“What coat?” Dominic asked.
“Rose kept one old navy coat in the hall closet my entire childhood. She said it belonged to someone she loved.”
“Where is it?”
“In my trunk.”
They went outside together.
Anna opened her car.
Beneath two boxes sat a garment bag.
She unzipped it.
The navy wool coat smelled faintly of cedar.
Margaret began crying the moment she saw it.
“Elena wore that.”
Dominic reached toward the sleeve but stopped.
He remembered his mother in that coat.
School pickups.
Church.
Winter mornings.
Anna found the green lining.
For a few minutes they felt along every seam.
Nothing.
Then Evelyn noticed one section near the hem had been hand-stitched.
Walter brought scissors.
Anna carefully cut three threads.
A flat object slid into her palm.
A train ticket.
Philadelphia to Providence.
Dated February 17, 1999.
Elena’s final trip.
Behind it was a folded child’s drawing.
Dominic recognized his own handwriting before he opened it.
“Where did she get this?”
The paper showed four stick figures.
A tall man.
A woman.
A teenage boy.
A baby.
Across the top, fourteen-year-old Dominic had written:
MOM’S CRAZY SECRET FAMILY
He stared.
Memory returned.
Longwood Gardens.
His mother laughing after he joked that the baby in the stroller looked enough like them to belong in the family.
He had drawn the picture on a restaurant placemat.
Elena had kept it.
Anna smiled through tears.
“You put me in the family before you knew.”
Dominic couldn’t speak.
Inside the fold was another note.
Elena’s handwriting.
He already sees her. Someday I will tell him why.
Anna touched the stick figure representing herself.
For the first time, the mystery gave them something gentle.
Then Evelyn felt something else inside the coat.
A small interior pocket.
She reached in.
Another envelope.
This one was addressed:
ROSE — ONLY IF I DO NOT ARRIVE
Anna opened it.
There were only six lines.
She read the first five silently.
Then looked at Margaret.
“What?” Dominic asked.
Anna handed him the letter.
The final line read:
If Anthony refuses to honor the agreement, ask Edward Prescott for the account ledger. He knows what Anthony put in Anna’s name.
Camille’s face changed.
“What account?”
Margaret whispered, “I don’t know.”
Dominic looked toward Camille.
“Your father kept my family’s books.”
“Yes.”
“And apparently Anna had an account.”
Anna shook her head.
“I don’t care about money.”
“This may not be about money.”
Camille went pale.
“What are you thinking?”
Dominic looked at the date on the train ticket.
Then at the old letter.
“My mother expected trouble from my father before she died.”
He folded the paper carefully.
“And Edward knew enough to document whatever happened next.”
Camille stared at him.
Dominic’s voice stayed calm.
“Your father’s records are stored where?”
She hesitated.
Then answered.
“In his old office in Philadelphia.”
Margaret suddenly stood.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
Her face was white.
“Those records can’t be there.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked at Camille.
“Because your father told me he destroyed the Moretti ledgers in 2018.”
Camille slowly opened Amelia’s appointment book.
A loose slip of paper fell out.
On it, in Edward Prescott’s handwriting, were three words:
MORETTI — WALTER HAS COPY.
Everyone looked at the old gardener.
Walter stared back.
May you like
“I have what?”
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