Chapter 6 - THE SONG THEIR MOTHER TAUGHT THEM
That evening, I sat on the hotel floor between Lucas and Leo.
“Do you remember your mom singing?”
Both boys nodded.
Lucas looked toward Vincent.
“Dad doesn’t like that song.”
Vincent stood near the window.
His face tightened.
“I never said that.”
“You leave when we play it.”
Children remember avoidance.
I looked at Vincent.
He looked away.
“Can you sing it?”
I did not need the full copyrighted lyrics.
I only needed the pattern.
The twins hummed.
Same melody.
Then Leo added something unusual.
Not part of the standard tune.
Three notes.
Pause.
Four notes.
Lucas followed with words I had never heard.
“Blue moon, red door, seven stars, home.”
Vincent turned.
“What did you say?”
Lucas frowned.
“Mom’s ending.”
“Sing it again.”
They did.
Blue moon.
Red door.
Seven stars.
Home.
Anthony arrived during the second repetition.
His face changed.
“Red door.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You know something?”
Anthony nodded slowly.
“Isabella’s studio.”
“What studio?”
“At the old beach house.”
Vincent stared.
“We sold that place.”
“No.”
Anthony gave a bitter smile.
“You thought we sold it.”
Of course.
Another hidden property.
Another secret created because nobody trusted Vincent with truth.
The beach house stood in Old Saybrook near Long Island Sound.
Isabella had painted there before the twins were born.
According to Anthony, one room had a red door.
Seven brass stars mounted above it.
Vincent closed his eyes.
He remembered.
“Why would she teach that to the boys?”
Anthony answered.
“So someday they could lead you there.”
No one said anything.
The next morning, police searched the property.
Vincent did not accompany them.
He stayed with Lucas and Leo.
That choice was becoming easier.
The red door still existed.
Behind it was a studio.
Dusty canvases.
Old furniture.
Boxes.
Nothing obvious.
Then Detective Vargas noticed seven brass stars.
Not above the door anymore.
Mounted on a wooden frame around a painting.
The seventh star rotated.
A hidden latch opened a narrow compartment.
Inside:
Documents.
A flash drive.
Two recorded videos.
A sealed letter addressed to Vincent.
His hands shook when Vargas delivered it.
He opened the letter alone.
I tried to leave.
“Stay.”
I stopped.
Vincent looked at me.
“Please.”
It was the first time he had said that word to me.
So I stayed.
The letter was in Isabella’s handwriting.
Vincent, if you are reading this, then either I found the courage to give it to you or something happened before I could.
His jaw tightened.
I love you.
He stopped.
For several seconds, he could not continue.
Then he did.
But love cannot survive forever inside fear.
Vincent sat down.
I know the man you are with me and the boys. I also know the man everyone else sees. For years, I convinced myself they were separate men.
His eyes burned.
They are not.
He whispered, “She was right.”
I said nothing.
I found financial records connecting Harrison Blake to the clinics funded through our foundations. I believe he has used Moretti companies to hide an illegal pharmaceutical operation.
The letter named shell corporations.
Account numbers.
Dates.
Blake had been laundering money through Vincent’s legitimate businesses without his knowledge.
Then:
Anthony is helping me because I’m afraid you will solve this the only way you know how.
Vincent laughed without humor.
“Violence.”
I nodded.
If you kill Blake before the truth comes out, the truth dies with him.
Another paragraph.
Daniel Mercer is helping too. I believe he is frightened, but I believe he is good.
Daniel had been telling the truth.
Then:
I am leaving with the boys for a while.
Vincent’s face crumpled.
Not anger.
Grief.
Not because I want to take them from you.
He breathed.
Because I want you to decide whether being feared matters more than being known by your sons.
His hand shook so badly the paper rattled.
If you choose us, find us.
Then the final lines.
The boys know the way to the evidence.
Blue moon. Red door. Seven stars. Home.
If they ever sing it to you when I am gone, listen.
Vincent covered his face.
For four years, his sons had carried their mother’s message in a bedtime song.
He had walked away every time they sang it.
Because it hurt too much.
The irony was cruel enough to feel deliberate.
I sat across from him.
After a long time, he said, “I failed her.”
“Yes.”
His hands lowered.
He looked almost surprised.
Most people probably would have offered comfort.
I did not.
“You failed her.”
His eyes hardened slightly.
I continued.
“And then she died.”
He looked away.
“But failing someone once doesn’t require you to fail them forever.”
His throat moved.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“What is it supposed to do?”
“Make you decide.”
He looked at me.
“About what?”
“Whether Isabella’s last message becomes guilt or instruction.”
Silence.
Then Lucas called from the adjoining room.
“Dad?”
Vincent stood immediately.
Instruction.
The flash drive contained copies of Blake’s records.
Enough to prove extensive medical fraud.
But there was something worse.
Patient lists.
Wealthy clients.
Politicians.
Judges.
Executives.
Criminals.
People Blake had secretly treated with unapproved compounds.
People he could blackmail.
Vincent recognized names.
“So that’s how he survived.”
Anthony nodded.
“He owned everyone’s secrets.”
One name appeared repeatedly.
Senator Raymond Kell.
Powerful.
Nationally known.
Chairman of a federal oversight committee.
Blake had treated Kell’s adult daughter for opioid addiction under a false identity.
Payments came from political accounts.
Blackmail material.
Detective Vargas immediately contacted federal authorities.
The case expanded overnight.
But one file focused specifically on Isabella.
Video surveillance.
Phone records.
A note from Blake:
IM intends disclosure. Daniel unstable. Anthony interfering. VM must remain uninformed.
Then another note dated the day she died.
Plan accelerated.
Vincent’s hands clenched.
We now had evidence Isabella’s murder had been planned.
But we still did not know why Blake began poisoning the twins eighteen months earlier.
Until we opened another folder.
Labeled:
B.M. PROTOCOL.
Blue Moon.
The file contained photographs of Lucas and Leo.
Notes about cognitive testing.
Memory triggers.
Songs.
Objects.
Images of the beach house.
Blake had been testing whether the twins remembered details Isabella had taught them.
He was not merely trying to kill them.
He was trying to weaken them.
Confuse them.
Damage their memory.
Keep them alive long enough to determine whether they could lead anyone to the evidence.
Dr. Shah read the toxicology data and went pale.
“He calibrated the doses.”
Vincent stared.
“What does that mean?”
“He intentionally kept exposure below acute lethal levels.”
“Why?”
“To cause progressive neurologic impairment.”
The room became silent.
Lucas and Leo had been deteriorating slowly because Blake wanted their memories to disappear before their bodies did.
Vincent turned away.
His fists opened.
Closed.
Then opened again.
I watched the battle inside him.
Violence versus fatherhood.
Revenge versus justice.
He finally said, “Vargas.”
“Yes?”
“You put everything on Blake.”
“I intend to.”
“No deal.”
“That isn’t your decision.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
Progress.
Dr. Blake was transferred to federal custody two days later.
He still denied poisoning the boys.
Until Daniel’s recovered messages linked him directly to chemical shipments.
Then he changed strategy.
He offered cooperation.
Against Senator Kell.
Against others.
Against everyone.
Vincent nearly lost control when he heard.
“He tried to kill my children and he gets to bargain?”
Detective Vargas answered coldly.
“He gets to talk. That doesn’t mean he walks.”
Vincent looked at me.
I knew what he wanted.
Permission to be angry.
He already had it.
I said, “Let him talk.”
His eyes flashed.
“Claire.”
“Let him bury himself.”
That worked.
Three days later, Blake requested an interview.
Not with police.
With Vincent.
The government refused.
Then Blake changed his request.
Claire Morgan.
Me.
Vincent laughed when Vargas told us.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because he says he knows something about the twins’ treatment.”
Vincent stopped.
“What?”
“He’ll only tell Claire.”
“No.”
I turned.
“If it helps the boys—”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“He threatened you.”
“And?”
“He poisoned my sons.”
“Yes.”
“Which is why you’re not sitting alone with him.”
Vargas said, “She won’t be alone.”
I looked at Vincent.
“This isn’t your decision.”
He stared.
“That sentence is getting old.”
“It’s still true.”
Blake sat behind reinforced glass in a federal interview room.
I sat opposite him.
Vargas and federal agents watched.
Vincent watched too.
Blake smiled when he saw me.
“You stayed.”
“I disappoint easily.”
He chuckled.
“Vincent likes you.”
I ignored that.
“What do you know about Lucas and Leo?”
“More than Dr. Shah.”
“Then tell me.”
“I want protection.”
“Talk to prosecutors.”
“I am.”
He leaned closer.
“But there’s something Vincent can give me that prosecutors can’t.”
“What?”
“A promise.”
I almost laughed.
“You think he won’t kill you.”
Blake’s smile vanished.
“That would be useful.”
“You murdered his wife.”
“Allegedly.”
“You poisoned his children.”
“Allegedly.”
“What do you want?”
He studied me.
“I want Vincent Moretti to publicly guarantee my safety.”
I stared.
“You’re insane.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why?”
“Because Senator Kell is not the most dangerous person on my list.”
My skin prickled.
“Who is?”
Blake smiled again.
“Someone inside Vincent’s family.”
I did not react.
He wanted me to.
“Anthony?”
Blake shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He leaned closer.
“Ask Vincent who really inherited his father’s organization.”
My pulse changed.
Vincent’s father.
Carlo Moretti.
Dead six years.
Vincent had inherited most operations.
But maybe not everything.
May you like
Blake whispered,
“Ask him about his sister.”
