Chapter 6 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
Adrian didn't speak for several seconds.
Then he said,
“Marco, nobody leaves this floor.”
Marco nodded.
I could barely process what had happened.
Daniel Moretti wasn't dead.
He wasn't missing.
Someone had just said he was alive.
And apparently, my father had known.
Adrian turned to me.
“Did your father ever mention Daniel?”
“Not by name.”
“But you remembered something.”
I nodded.
“He once said the name when I was seventeen.”
Adrian looked away.
“My mother used to talk about him.”
“What did she say?”
“That he was the son she couldn't protect.”
I swallowed.
“Why didn't you ever tell me?”
“I didn't remember.”
“You forgot your brother?”
“I was six when he disappeared.”
His voice softened.
“My father told me Daniel died.”
That sentence explained more than he realized.
We had both been raised around carefully constructed lies.
The difference was that Adrian had spent his adult life trying to control everything.
I had spent mine trying to believe my family was ordinary.
Neither of us had succeeded.
Marco returned.
“Nothing.”
Adrian looked at him.
“The man?”
“Gone.”
“Security footage?”
“Blank for eleven minutes.”
Adrian's face hardened.
“Convenient.”
Marco nodded.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“A pediatric nurse found this.”
He handed me a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
It was a child's drawing.
A house.
Three stick figures.
A woman.
A man.
And a little girl.
Above them was a crooked yellow sun.
At the bottom, written in uneven letters:
DADDY + MOMMY + BABY
I stared at it.
“Where did this come from?”
Marco said,
“Pediatric waiting room.”
My heart tightened.
“I've never seen it.”
Adrian looked at the drawing.
Neither had he.
Then I noticed the child's handwriting.
There was something written in the corner.
D.M.
Adrian went still.
“Daniel Moretti.”
I shook my head.
“Maybe.”
Marco took the paper.
“There was a date on the back.”
“What date?”
“Yesterday.”
Adrian stared at him.
“Who drew it?”
“We're checking.”
I folded the paper carefully.
Something about it felt intimate.
Not threatening.
Almost hopeful.
Then my phone rang.
I looked at the screen.
No caller ID.
Adrian immediately said,
“Don't answer.”
I did anyway.
A man's voice said,
“Claire?”
I froze.
It was older.
Tired.
But familiar.
Not my father's voice.
Someone else's.
“Who is this?”
“Your father called me Claire.”
My heart stopped.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Daniel.”
Adrian heard it.
His face changed.
“Put it on speaker.”
I did.
Daniel continued.
“I know you don't trust Adrian.”
“I don't.”
“Good.”
Adrian's jaw tightened.
Daniel laughed quietly.
“He deserves that.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“Where are you?”
“Not far.”
“Tell me.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because the people hunting us still believe I'm dead.”
I asked,
“Who are they?”
“Three men.”
“The ones inside Moretti Capital?”
“Yes.”
“Names?”
A pause.
“Not yet.”
I felt frustrated.
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
Another pause.
“He's alive.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Where?”
“Safe.”
“Why doesn't he contact me?”
“Because he believes contacting you will get you killed.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm already involved.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You're wearing the bracelet.”
I looked at my wrist.
“How do you know?”
“Because I gave it to your mother.”
Adrian stared at me.
I asked,
“Why?”
“Because the bracelet contains something they have spent twenty-eight years trying to find.”
“The names?”
“Yes.”
“Whose names?”
“The people who ordered my disappearance.”
Adrian's voice was sharp.
“Why did my brother disappear?”
Daniel went quiet.
Then said,
“Because our father ordered it.”
The silence afterward was devastating.
Adrian stepped back.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I discovered he was laundering money through companies owned by people who wanted control of Moretti Capital.”
Adrian looked sick.
“I thought my father built the company.”
“He did.”
Daniel's voice softened.
“But he didn't build it alone.”
I asked,
“What happened to your mother?”
“She died believing I was alive.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“She thought you were dead.”
“I know.”
His voice broke.
“That's why I stayed away.”
I could hear emotion beneath the words.
Then Daniel said,
“Claire, there's something you need to understand.”
“What?”
“The woman pretending to be you isn't Vanessa.”
I looked at Adrian.
“Then who is she?”
“I don't know.”
“But you know her?”
“I've seen her.”
“Where?”
“At your father's house.”
My breath caught.
“My father doesn't have a house.”
“He does.”
Daniel paused.
“And that's where he keeps the records.”
“What records?”
“The ones proving who betrayed him.”
Adrian's voice became cold.
“Where is the house?”
Daniel gave an address.
I recognized it immediately.
My grandmother's old farmhouse in Connecticut.
It had been sold seven years ago.
At least, that's what I believed.
Adrian looked at me.
“Claire, we're going there.”
“No.”
He stared.
“Why?”
“Because if my father is there, I need to ask him why he let me believe he was dead.”
Adrian nodded.
Then his phone buzzed.
Marco answered.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We just got the hospital security footage.”
“And?”
Marco turned the screen toward us.
The woman wearing my coat was entering the maternity wing.
She wasn't alone.
Beside her was a little boy.
Maybe six years old.
The child looked directly at the camera.
In his hands was a drawing.
The same drawing Marco had just given us.
May you like
And on the back, in childish handwriting, were four words:
THIS IS YOUR FAMILY.
