Chapter 20 - The Night Vincent Finally Told Everything
Vincent didn't sleep that night.
Neither did I.
At three in the morning, I found him sitting alone in the kitchen, staring at an old photograph of his father.
The picture showed Angelo Moretti standing beside a young Vincent outside a Chicago shipping terminal.
Vincent couldn't have been older than twenty-five.
He looked confident, proud, and entirely unaware of the life waiting ahead.
"Do you miss him?" I asked.
Vincent looked up.
"Sometimes."
I poured two cups of tea.
"That surprises me."
"He was cruel," Vincent admitted. "But he was still my father. For years, I confused wanting his approval with loving him."
I sat opposite him.
"Did he know about Sophia?"
Vincent's eyes lowered.
"Yes."
The answer came so quickly that I felt physically ill.
"He knew?"
Vincent nodded.
"My father thought you made me weak. He said you cared too much about people who couldn't do anything for us."
I stared at him.
"He encouraged the affair?"
"He encouraged every decision that pulled me away from you."
I stood.
Eighteen years of grief rose inside me like a sudden storm.
"And you let him."
"Yes."
The admission left him without a defense.
I walked toward the window.
Outside, rain had begun falling over the quiet street.
"I spent years wondering what was wrong with me," I whispered. "Why my husband could look at another woman and decide she deserved the future we'd planned together."
"Claire—"
"No. You need to hear this."
He fell silent.
"I was pregnant. I was frightened. I had no savings worth mentioning and nowhere to go except a rented apartment with peeling paint."
My voice broke.
"And somewhere in that mansion, you were letting your father and Sophia convince you that I was disposable."
Vincent covered his face.
"I know."
"You don't get to say you were manipulated and pretend that excuses what you did."
"I'm not pretending."
He looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I made those choices. Not my father. Not Sophia. Me."
For a long time, the only sound was the rain.
Then Vincent reached into his pocket and placed an old key on the table.
"What is that?"
"The key to my father's private archive."
I frowned.
"I thought his records were destroyed."
"Most were. But Angelo kept a separate collection in a secured storage facility outside Chicago. He never trusted digital records."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because I've been afraid of what we might find."
I stared at him.
Vincent continued.
"If there's evidence that my father helped Adrian Vale commit fraud, I want it brought into the open. Even if it damages the Moretti name again."
I sat down slowly.
"Are you willing to lose everything?"
He looked at me.
"I already did once. Money wasn't what brought my family back."
The next morning, Rebecca arranged for an independent document specialist to examine the disputed signature.
Meanwhile, Dominic traveled to Chicago with a licensed records-retrieval company and obtained lawful access to Angelo's archived business materials.
Two days later, he called.
"Boss, we've found something."
Vincent put the call on speaker.
"Tell me."
"There are original partnership files, handwritten correspondence, and a series of agreements involving Vale Atlantic's predecessor companies."
"Anything about the signature?"
"Not yet. But there's a letter from your father dated the week Mrs. Bennett left Chicago."
My heart accelerated.
Dominic continued.
"It's addressed to Adrian Vale."
Vincent closed his eyes.
"Read it."
Dominic hesitated.
Then his voice came through the speaker.
"The situation with Claire has been resolved. Vincent is distracted, and the Reynolds woman believes she will control the family interests. Proceed with the revised agreement."
I felt my knees weaken.
Vincent caught my elbow.
"There's more," Dominic said.
"The original settlement need not be presented to Vincent. His personal acknowledgment can be handled through the usual channels."
Silence swallowed the room.
Rebecca was the first to speak.
"That suggests Angelo and Adrian may have arranged documentation without Vincent's knowledge."
Vincent stared at the floor.
"My father forged my consent."
"Possibly," Rebecca replied. "We need the originals authenticated."
I looked at Vincent.
"Did Sophia know?"
He shook his head.
"I don't know."
Dominic cleared his throat.
"There's another letter."
"What does it say?" Vincent asked.
"This one is from Sophia."
My hands turned cold.
Dominic read slowly.
"Adrian, I have done what you asked. Claire is leaving. But Vincent must never learn why the divorce papers were accelerated. If he discovers the truth, neither of us will receive what we were promised."
Vincent's face emptied of color.
I felt the past rearranging itself inside my mind.
Sophia had stolen my support payments.
She had lied to Vincent.
She had built her marriage on betrayal.
But perhaps she hadn't acted alone.
Perhaps Adrian Vale had been shaping our lives for eighteen years.
And if that was true, there was only one person who could explain the missing pieces.
May you like
Sophia Reynolds Moretti.
The woman I had promised myself I would never speak to again.
