Chapter 2 - Family Secrets and the Northstar Mystery
Rebecca drove me home after one in the morning.
Our house looked absurdly beautiful beneath the snow.
White lights around the windows.
A wreath on the door.
A Christmas tree glowing through the front room.
Vincent had decorated everything two weeks earlier.
At the time, I had wondered whether he was trying to make up for being absent.
Now every light looked like evidence.
I changed into pajamas, sat on the bed and looked at the tiny wrapped box hidden in the drawer of my nightstand.
Inside were the baby socks.
I almost threw them away.
Instead, I pressed the box against my chest until I cried myself empty.
The next morning, my mother called.
“Claire?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“You sound terrible.”
“I’m tired.”
A pause.
“Is Vincent there?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Are you safe?”
That question broke me.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
She inhaled slowly.
Not shocked.
Almost relieved.
“I knew something was wrong.”
“You knew?”
“I’m your mother. You stopped saying his name.”
I covered my eyes.
I told her about the hospital.
About Vanessa.
About the documents.
And finally, about the baby.
“Does he know?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
“What if the baby deserves a father?”
“Of course your baby deserves a father. But that does not mean you owe the father a marriage.”
I went still.
She continued gently.
“A child deserves honesty, stability and love. Those things do not require two people pretending they trust each other.”
By noon, I was at my parents’ house in Evanston.
My brother Matteo opened the door.
He took one look at me and pulled me into his arms.
My father kissed my forehead.
“You’re home,” he said.
Two ordinary words.
I nearly cried again.
My family did not interrogate me.
My mother overfed everyone.
My father complained about traffic.
Matteo told a ridiculous story about two architects nearly starting a civil war over a staircase.
Only after dinner did my father look at me and say, “Whatever you decide, you will not carry it alone.”
I told them everything.
Almost everything.
I did not tell them how ashamed I felt for still loving Vincent.
That part I kept.
The following evening, Rebecca called.
“There’s something strange about the transfers you found.”
I sat on my parents’ guest bed.
“How strange?”
“The money from your joint account didn’t stay with Vincent.”
“Where did it go?”
“Into the foundation.”
I frowned.
“So he wasn’t paying Vanessa?”
“Not directly. But from the foundation, significant sums were transferred to a consulting company called Northstar Advisory.”
“Who owns it?”
“I’m checking.”
My pulse quickened.
“And the photographs?”
“They may still be evidence of deception, but not necessarily an affair.”
“I don’t need a judge to tell me my husband had an inappropriate relationship.”
“I agree. But the financial story may be different from the marital one.”
Before we ended the call, she added, “Claire, somebody was trying very hard to hide the foundation’s money trail.”
Vincent came to my parents’ house the next morning.
My father let him in.
He looked exhausted.
His eyes moved toward me and then stopped, as though he knew he no longer had permission to cross the room.
“I brought some of your things.”
He handed me a paper bag containing my phone charger, notebook and scarf.
Then he placed a thin envelope on the table.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Vanessa’s contract.”
I opened it.
Vanessa Reed was listed as a patient advocate and research coordinator contracted through Northstar Advisory.
I looked up.
“You said she didn’t work for the foundation.”
“Not directly.”
“Who owns Northstar?”
“I don’t know.”
My father shifted in his chair.
It was small.
Almost nothing.
But I saw it.
“So you’ve been sending money to a company you don’t understand?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“It was recommended by somebody I trusted.”
“Who?”
He looked toward Matteo.
“Your brother.”
Matteo stepped out of the kitchen.
“What?”
“You introduced me to Northstar.”
“I gave you the name of an accounting firm.”
“The foundation sent them millions.”
Matteo stared at him.
“Millions?”
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
I answered.
“I’ve confirmed the ownership records,” she said.
“Who owns Northstar?”
Silence.
“Rebecca?”
“Claire, the beneficial owner is Dr. Daniel Moretti.”
My father.
No one moved.
My father sat down slowly.
Vincent stared at him.
Matteo looked as though someone had struck him.
And suddenly, the affair I thought I had uncovered seemed almost simple.
“Dad?”
He took off his glasses.
“I can explain.”
“Why does everybody in this family keep saying that?”
His face tightened.
“Northstar manages private investments from your grandfather’s estate.”
“And why was Vincent’s foundation paying it?”
“Because I helped fund the foundation.”
My eyes moved toward Vincent.
“You told me you built it from donations.”
“We did.”
“You left out my father’s money.”
“I wanted it to be independent.”
“It wasn’t.”
My father spoke.
“The foundation was struggling. I arranged compliance services through Northstar and provided bridge funding.”
“How much?”
“Initially, two hundred thousand.”
Matteo swore under his breath.
“And after that?”
My father hesitated.
“Approximately eight hundred thousand passed through Northstar.”
The room became very still.
I looked at Vincent.
“You knew?”
“Not that your father owned Northstar.”
My father snapped, “You knew the company handled the finances.”
“I did not know you were the owner.”
“Because you never asked.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“You hid behind holding companies.”
“And you signed reports you barely read.”
“Stop.”
My voice cut through both men.
They turned toward me.
I was suddenly furious in a way I had not been at the hospital.
Not because I knew who had betrayed me.
Because I no longer knew.
“What happened to treating me like an adult?”
My father lowered his eyes.
Vincent said nothing.
Matteo looked at the floor.
“Everyone decided what Claire could handle,” I continued. “Claire is grieving. Claire works too much. Claire might be upset. Claire doesn’t need to know.”
My mother sat beside me.
May you like
“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “people confuse protection with control.”
My father flinched.
