Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF TELLING THE TRUTH

Z

Vincent’s decision did not make him a hero.

I told him that.

He agreed.

It was one of the first things we agreed on without arguing.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Rebecca Sloan met us in a federal building downtown two days later.

She was forty-something, sharp-eyed, and completely unimpressed by Vincent Moretti.

I liked her immediately.

“You understand what cooperation means?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Not selective cooperation. Not giving me Angelo while protecting everyone else.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

“I understand.”

“You may implicate yourself.”

“I understand.”

“You may lose businesses.”

“Yes.”

“You may lose friends.”

Vincent gave a humorless smile.

“Then they weren’t friends.”

Rebecca looked at me.

“And you?”

“I’m here because my father spent part of his life trying to expose Angelo.”

“And because you control thirteen percent of Moretti Strategic Holdings.”

“Yes.”

“That makes you useful.”

“I’m having a wonderful week.”

She almost smiled.

Then the meeting became serious.

The evidence was stronger than we realized.

My father’s tape connected Angelo to crimes outside the statute of limitations, but the notebook contained account structures still being used.

Those accounts touched politicians, contractors, union officials, and private security companies.

More frighteningly, they connected Angelo to three recent deaths.

One was Vincent’s accountant.

Another was a former driver.

The third was a nurse who had worked for Emilia Moretti during her final months.

Vincent went cold.

“What nurse?”

Rebecca slid over a photograph.

Anna Kowalski.

I remembered her.

She had been gentle.

Blond.

Polish.

She used to bring Emilia tea.

She died in what police called a robbery two weeks after Emilia’s funeral.

Rebecca tapped the file.

“She contacted our office six days before her death.”

“About what?”

“We don’t know.”

“She left a message saying she had information about Emilia Moretti’s medication.”

Vincent stared at her.

My chest tightened.

“Are you saying Angelo killed his own mother?”

“Grandmother,” Vincent corrected automatically.

Rebecca nodded.

“We’re saying Anna believed Mrs. Moretti’s medication may have been tampered with.”

Vincent stood.

The chair scraped backward.

I had never seen him look that way.

Not rage.

Grief.

His grandmother had suffered heart failure.

Everyone thought it was natural.

She had been eighty-two.

What better cover?

Vincent walked to the window.

Rebecca let him.

Eventually he asked, “Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.”

“What do you need?”

“Her medical records.”

“I can get them.”

“And access to the Moretti family clinic.”

“You’ll have it.”

Rebecca closed the folder.

“Then we have another problem.”

Of course.

Sophia Reynolds had disappeared.

She was supposed to meet federal agents that morning.

She never arrived.

Her car had been found near Navy Pier.

Empty.

Her phone remained inside.

Blood had been discovered on the passenger seat.

Vincent turned.

“How much blood?”

“Not enough to conclude she’s dead.”

I hated the relief I felt.

Sophia had tried to destroy my marriage.

But she had also confessed.

And somewhere along the way, I had realized something uncomfortable.

She had been used too.

Maybe willingly at first.

Maybe greedily.

But Angelo had put her on the board.

Now he was removing pieces.

“She gave me something at the café,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“What?” Rebecca asked.

I thought back.

The red envelope.

Sophia had opened it.

Her hands shook.

Then when I stood to leave, she grabbed my wrist.

I had assumed she was pleading.

But she had pressed something into my coat pocket.

I had forgotten.

The coat.

The one I wore that day was in my suitcase.

We returned to Teresa’s house.

I emptied every pocket.

Nothing.

Then Madison called.

“Claire?”

“Where are you?”

“At the airport.”

My heart jumped.

“You came to Chicago?”

“You missed your flight, stopped answering messages, and sent me a text saying, ‘Don’t panic.’ What exactly was I supposed to do?”

Fair.

“Madison, did I leave a black wool coat with you before checking into the hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Check the right pocket.”

I heard movement.

Then silence.

“There’s a flash drive.”

Vincent and I looked at each other.

“Don’t plug it in.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Stay where you are.”

Vincent sent Marco.

Thirty minutes later, the drive arrived.

Rebecca’s cyber team opened it safely.

Inside were photographs.

Audio files.

Bank records.

And one video.

Sophia sat in front of a camera.

Her eyes were red.

If you’re watching this, I either got brave or I got killed.

Vincent’s face hardened.

Sophia continued.

Angelo paid me to come back.

At first, I told myself I deserved what should have been mine.

I loved Vincent when we were young.

But that’s not why I returned.

Angelo promised me money.

Then threatened my younger brother when I tried to quit.

She looked into the camera.

Claire, I’m sorry.

I knew Vincent cared about you before you did.

I hated you for it.

So I made it easy for Angelo.

I told Vincent you were unhappy.

I told you Vincent was still in love with me.

I manufactured messages.

I manipulated both of you.

But there’s something neither of you knows.

She looked frightened.

Angelo wasn’t trying to separate you because Claire owns thirteen percent.

That’s only part of it.

Emilia changed the succession terms two years ago.

If Vincent has a biological child, control of the trust eventually passes to that child.

Nobody moved.

Sophia swallowed.

Which means if Claire is pregnant…

She looked directly into the camera.

Angelo doesn’t just need Claire dead.

He needs the baby dead too.

The screen went black.

Vincent was beside me instantly.

“Claire.”

I couldn’t breathe.

My hand covered my stomach.

Not because I was afraid for myself.

Because suddenly the baby inside me had an enemy.

Before it had even taken its first breath.

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

Vincent reached for it.

I stopped him.

I answered.

A man spoke.

“Mrs. Moretti.”

Angelo.

My body went rigid.

“I have Sophia.”

A woman cried faintly in the background.

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Then Angelo said the sentence that made Vincent’s face turn deadly.

“Bring me the original notebook, or your husband’s first love dies before midnight.”