Chapter 7 - PROJECT BELLFLOWER
The meeting took place in a conference room at the bank’s downtown office. The accountant, Peter Lang, was a narrow man with silver-rimmed glasses and a stack of folders arranged precisely in front of him.
He looked uneasy when he saw me.
“Mrs. Moretti,” he said.
“Emma is fine.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Dominic sat across from me. Since the previous day, he had sent no personal messages. Evelyn had informed me that he had asked his assistant to preserve all family financial correspondence.
Peter opened the first folder.
“The foundation was reactivated six months ago,” he said. “Its original purpose was community support programs, primarily for families facing medical expenses.”
“Who reactivated it?” Evelyn asked.
“Mrs. Moretti.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Who approved the account?”
Peter glanced at Dominic.
“Mr. Moretti signed the initial authorization.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“I signed the foundation’s renewal papers, not the transfer documents.”
“That may be correct,” Peter said. “There were several sets of documents.”
“Why wasn’t I informed about the account?” I asked.
Peter looked uncomfortable.
“I assumed Mrs. Moretti had discussed it with you.”
“She did not.”
“The foundation’s records list you as a secondary administrator.”
“When was that added?”
“Approximately five months ago.”
“That was before I knew I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Why was I added?”
Peter removed another paper from the folder.
“The stated purpose was to establish a family assistance account.”
“For whom?”
He hesitated.
“Future dependents of the Moretti household.”
My heart began to beat faster.
“Was there a specific dependent listed?”
“Not by name.”
“Then why was the beneficiary designation dated to my estimated conception date?”
Peter looked at Evelyn.
“I don’t have an explanation for that.”
“Who requested the designation?”
“The instruction came through Mrs. Moretti’s office.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Why would my mother create a fund for a child she didn’t know existed?”
Peter gave a strained smile.
“I can only tell you what the documents say. The account was intended to benefit a child connected to the Moretti family. The first deposit was made from a private investment account controlled by your mother.”
“How much?” Evelyn asked.
Peter named the amount.
I did not react immediately. The number was too large to feel real.
Dominic stared at him.
“That money was moved without my approval?”
“Your mother had authority to transfer funds from that account.”
“And Emma’s name?”
“Was added as an administrator.”
“Without telling her.”
Peter lowered his gaze.
“It appears so.”
Evelyn’s tone sharpened.
“Who prepared the documents?”
“An outside legal service.”
“Which one?”
He provided the name.
It was a firm I recognized.
“Moretti & Vale,” I said.
Dominic turned toward me.
“You know them?”
“They prepared the estate documents when we married. Margaret sent me there to sign the prenuptial agreement.”
“You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
The words came out more bitterly than I intended.
He looked down.
Evelyn asked for copies of every communication. Peter promised to send them through the bank’s secure portal.
Before we left, he opened one final file.
“There is one more record,” he said. “A memorandum attached to the account.”
“From whom?” Evelyn asked.
“The author is listed as confidential.”
“Let me see it.”
Peter slid the page across the table.
The memorandum was brief.
The child must be protected from disputes within the family. Emma Moretti is to remain unaware of the arrangement until the pregnancy is confirmed.
My fingers went cold.
The wording was precise, formal, and deeply personal.
I read it again.
“Who wrote this?” I asked.
Peter shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
“There must be an electronic record.”
“There is. The memorandum was uploaded from an encrypted account.”
Dominic leaned back.
“Who has access to that account?”
Peter looked at him.
“Only three people.”
“Who?”
“Margaret Moretti. Gabriel Moretti. And the administrator listed on the foundation account.”
His gaze shifted toward me.
“Emma.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Dominic said, “That’s impossible.”
Peter’s expression was apologetic.
“The account was created using an email address connected to Mrs. Moretti.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“Could someone have made it appear that I created it?”
“Yes,” she said. “But we’ll need technical evidence.”
“Who knew I was trying to have a baby?” I asked.
Dominic’s face changed.
The question had not been directed at him, but he answered anyway.
“No one.”
“You had medical records from our fertility consultations.”
“We stopped going years ago.”
“I had one consultation six months ago.”
His eyes lifted.
“What consultation?”
“I went alone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you had already made it clear that you weren’t interested in discussing children.”
His face tightened.
“I didn’t know you were still considering it.”
“I wasn’t sure I was. I only wanted to understand why it hadn’t happened.”
Evelyn watched us both.
“Who had access to that consultation?”
“The clinic,” I said. “And the insurance company.”
“Was it covered through the family plan?”
“Yes.”
Dominic turned to Peter.
“Could my mother have accessed the records?”
Peter shook his head.
“Not through the foundation.”
But his answer did not comfort me.
After the meeting, Dominic followed me out of the building.
“Emma.”
I stopped under the awning.
Rain fell in silver lines beyond the curb.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the consultation?”
“Because I had already learned how to carry disappointment quietly.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No. It wasn’t fair when I carried it alone either.”
He looked down at the sidewalk.
“I thought you didn’t want children.”
“You never asked.”
“I thought you were content.”
“I became content because wanting more from you hurt.”
He absorbed the words without defending himself.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“Do you understand what I’m afraid of?”
“That someone has been making decisions about your life without your knowledge.”
“That too. But I’m afraid this child has become a financial instrument before it has even been born. I don’t want our baby to be used to hold this family together.”
“It won’t be.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise what I will do.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll separate every account connected to my mother. I’ll revoke her authority over anything that belongs to me. And I’ll make sure the foundation has no control over you or the baby.”
“You’re willing to walk away from the family business?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
I searched his face for signs of performance.
There were none.
But sincerity was not the same as repair.
“I don’t want you making dramatic decisions because you’re frightened,” I said. “I want you to make honest ones.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then I’ll start there.”
That night, Evelyn sent me a copy of the memorandum.
She had enlarged the metadata.
The file had been created five months earlier, from a device registered to the Moretti estate.
The author field had been erased, but the document history contained a fragment of an earlier title.
Project Bellflower.
I read the words several times.
They meant nothing to me.
I called Clara.
“Have you ever heard of something called Project Bellflower?”
“No. Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s in the document history.”
“Could it be a charity program?”
“Maybe.”
“Ask Dominic.”
I hesitated.
Then I sent him a message through Evelyn’s secure portal.
Do you know what Project Bellflower is?
His reply came less than ten minutes later.
No. I’ve never heard that name.
May you like
A second message followed.
But Gabriel might.
