Chapter 7 - THE FARMHOUSE WITH THE BLUE DOOR
The farmhouse stood three hours outside Manhattan.
It had once belonged to my grandmother.
I hadn't seen it since I was twelve.
The blue front door was still there.
The porch still leaned slightly to the left.
And the old maple tree beside the driveway was taller than I remembered.
Adrian parked without turning off the engine.
I stared at the house.
“I thought this place was sold.”
“So did I.”
Marco checked the perimeter.
“No cars.”
“Doesn't mean nobody's here,” Adrian said.
I opened the door.
He immediately stopped me.
“Stay behind me.”
I gave him a look.
“You're starting again.”
“I know.”
“Adrian.”
He sighed.
“I’m scared.”
That stopped me.
He looked at me.
“Not for myself.”
His eyes dropped to my stomach.
“For both of you.”
I nodded.
“Then don't lie to me.”
“I won't.”
We walked toward the house.
The blue door opened before we reached it.
An elderly woman stood inside.
Gray hair.
Cream cardigan.
A rosary wrapped around one hand.
I recognized her.
“Mrs. Harper?”
She smiled sadly.
“You grew up.”
She had been my grandmother's neighbor.
“You knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“Is he here?”
She looked at Adrian.
Then at me.
“No.”
My heart sank.
“Then why is the door open?”
“Because he told me you would come.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“What did he say?”
Mrs. Harper looked at me.
“He said you would arrive with the man you divorced.”
I glanced at Adrian.
“How could he know?”
“He didn't know.”
She smiled sadly.
“He hoped.”
She stepped aside.
Inside, everything smelled like dust and cedar.
The furniture was covered.
But one table was clean.
On it sat a small wooden box.
My father's handwriting was on the lid.
CLAIRE.
My hands shook.
I opened it.
Inside was a necklace.
My mother's necklace.
I had thought it was lost after her funeral.
Beneath it was a stack of letters.
The first one was addressed to me.
I opened it.
My Claire,
If you're reading this, then Adrian finally knows.
My breath caught.
I looked at him.
He looked equally stunned.
I continued.
I know you will be angry with me.
You have every right.
But there are truths I could not tell you while you were young.
I sat down.
The letter explained that my father had helped Daniel escape.
He had also helped Adrian's mother investigate the money moving through Moretti Capital.
Then something had gone wrong.
Daniel disappeared.
Adrian's mother died.
And my father was targeted.
The crash had been arranged.
He survived.
But someone had convinced the authorities he had died.
The next line made my hands tremble.
I stayed away because the people watching me were watching you.
Adrian sat beside me.
I continued reading.
Then you married Adrian.
I stopped.
Adrian looked at me.
“Keep going.”
The letter continued.
I knew the danger had returned.
I wanted to tell you.
Instead, Adrian came to me.
I looked up.
Adrian's face was pale.
“You went to my father?”
He nodded.
“Before the divorce.”
“Why?”
“To ask him what he knew.”
My anger returned.
“You told me you didn't know him.”
“I didn't know how much he knew.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That you were in danger.”
I looked back at the letter.
My father had written:
Adrian believed divorcing you would protect you.
He was wrong about one thing.
The danger was already inside your marriage.
I stopped.
Adrian leaned closer.
“What's the next line?”
I read it aloud.
The woman who pretended to be Claire was not working for them.
I frowned.
“What?”
Adrian took the letter.
He read the next paragraph.
She was working for me.
My heart stopped.
The woman wearing my clothes.
The bracelet.
The hospital.
She had been helping my father.
But why?
Before we could understand, footsteps sounded upstairs.
Adrian immediately stood.
Marco moved toward the staircase.
“Stay here.”
He went up.
A door slammed.
Then silence.
I looked at Mrs. Harper.
“Who is upstairs?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
A child's voice answered from the hallway.
“You do.”
I turned.
The little boy from the security photograph stood there.
He was holding a red toy car.
Maybe six years old.
He looked at me carefully.
“Are you Claire?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“My uncle said you would come.”
“Who is your uncle?”
The boy pointed upstairs.
“Daniel.”
Adrian returned to the room.
He froze when he saw the child.
“Who is this?”
The boy looked at him.
“You look like my daddy.”
Adrian went completely still.
The child continued.
“My daddy says you're his little brother.”
My heart began pounding.
Adrian crouched down.
“What is your name?”
“Eli.”
“Eli what?”
The boy hesitated.
Then smiled.
“Moretti.”
Adrian's eyes filled with tears.
“Where's your father?”
Eli pointed toward the back door.
“He went to get Grandpa.”
My heart stopped.
“Your grandfather?”
Eli nodded.
“Thomas.”
I could barely breathe.
Then the back door opened.
An older man entered.
Gray hair.
Walking with a cane.
His eyes met mine.
My entire body froze.
I knew that face.
Even after seven years.
Even older.
Even thinner.
I knew him.
“Dad?”
He dropped the cane.
May you like
And whispered,
“Claire.”
