Chapter 2 - Three Years of Lies
Sophia forced a laugh.
“You cannot seriously believe her.”
Vincent said nothing.
That frightened her more.
For years, Vincent Moretti’s silence had been more dangerous than shouting.
She lowered her voice.
“Anna disappeared for three years. She shows up tonight with some child and immediately accuses me of attempted murder?”
“You recognized her before she said anything.”
Sophia froze.
“What?”
“At the gala.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“When I said Anna’s name, you didn’t ask who I meant.”
Her face changed.
Only for a second.
But Vincent caught it.
“I saw the woman,” Sophia said quickly. “Obviously I understood.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he walked away.
“Vincent!”
He didn’t stop.
Twenty minutes later, his armored SUV was racing through Chicago.
His security chief, Marco DeLuca, sat opposite him.
“Find Anna.”
Marco hesitated.
“You want surveillance?”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice was immediate.
“She’s already spent three years believing I failed her. I’m not having men follow her like she’s an enemy.”
“Then what exactly do you want?”
“Public records. Hospital records. Anything legal.”
Marco nodded.
“And Sophia?”
Vincent looked through the window.
“Everything.”
By sunrise, Marco had answers.
Anna Bennett Moretti had officially been declared dead three years earlier.
But eight days after the jet explosion, an unidentified pregnant woman had been admitted to a rural Montana hospital nearly sixty miles from the crash site.
Severe burns.
Concussion.
Broken ribs.
Temporary memory loss.
The woman disappeared from hospital records two weeks later.
A local rancher had paid her medical bill.
Daniel Hayes.
Vincent recognized the name.
The man from the gala.
His stomach tightened.
“There’s more,” Marco said.
Vincent looked up.
“The crash investigation.”
“What about it?”
“The original federal report mentioned possible fuel-line damage.”
Vincent stood.
“I was told mechanical failure.”
“That became the official conclusion.”
“Why?”
Marco placed a file on the desk.
“One of your attorneys pressured investigators to keep preliminary speculation out of the press.”
“Which attorney?”
“Gregory Shaw.”
Vincent went still.
Gregory had worked for the Moretti family for twenty-two years.
He had also handled Anna’s estate after her supposed death.
“Bring him in.”
Two hours later, Gregory sat across from Vincent.
The older lawyer looked nervous.
“You could have called.”
“I did.”
Vincent slid the crash file toward him.
Gregory’s face changed.
“Why did you bury the fuel-line report?”
“I protected the family.”
“From what?”
“Scandal.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“My wife died.”
“So we believed.”
“And you thought the public relations problem was the important part?”
Gregory swallowed.
Vincent opened another file.
“Three days after Anna’s funeral, you transferred seven million dollars from one of my private holding companies.”
Gregory’s hands began trembling.
“To whom?”
“It was authorized.”
“By whom?”
Silence.
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“Gregory.”
The attorney looked toward the door.
Marco stepped in front of it.
Finally Gregory whispered, “Sophia.”
Vincent felt something inside him turn to ice.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She had documents carrying your digital authorization.”
“My authorization was impossible. I was in the hospital after the explosion.”
Gregory looked sick.
Vincent suddenly remembered.
Sophia had stayed beside him during those first chaotic days.
She had access to his phone.
His computers.
His home.
His grief.
Everything.
Vincent stood slowly.
“Get out.”
Gregory rushed toward the door.
“Not you, Marco.”
The door closed.
Vincent stared at the photograph of Anna on the crash report.
“I want the truth.”
Marco nodded.
“All of it?”
Vincent’s eyes darkened.
“If Sophia destroyed my family…”
He looked toward the Chicago skyline.
May you like
“…I want every secret she has ever buried.”
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