Chapter 9 - The Song Hidden Inside the Piano|
When we returned to Chicago, Vincent went straight to his mother's music room.
I had walked past that door dozens of times.
It was always locked.
I thought the room was another part of the mansion he wanted to forget.
Now I understood.
It was the last place where his mother had once been alive and happy.
The room smelled faintly of old wood and roses.
A grand piano stood near the window.
Framed photographs lined the walls.
In one, Isabella sat beside a young Vincent, guiding his fingers across the keys.
He looked so small.
So innocent.
I felt a sudden ache in my chest.
Vincent approached the piano.
He sat.
Placed his hands on the keys.
And hesitated.
I stood beside him.
"You don't have to do this right now."
He looked at my lips.
Then shook his head.
His fingers began to move.
The melody was soft.
Uneven at first.
Then steadier.
I recognized it.
Not because I'd heard it before.
Because it sounded like the kind of song a mother would play when the world felt too frightening.
Vincent closed his eyes.
He couldn't hear the notes clearly.
But he knew their rhythm.
He played the same phrase three times.
Then stopped.
His fingers remained on five particular keys.
He looked up sharply.
I followed his gaze.
Five keys.
Two black.
Three white.
He typed.
She told me these were the five stars.
"The five stars?"
He nodded.
Whenever I lost something, she told me to follow the five stars home.
I looked around the room.
A painting hung above the fireplace.
The night sky.
Five silver stars.
My heart began pounding.
"Vincent."
He followed my gaze.
We approached the painting.
Behind it was a small recessed wall safe.
Vincent stared.
He had never noticed it.
Gabriel examined the lock and arranged for a locksmith to open it without damaging the contents.
Inside were several folders, a small leather diary, and a sealed envelope bearing Vincent's name.
He took the envelope.
His hands trembled.
For a long moment, he simply held it.
Then he opened it.
The letter began:
My beautiful boy,
If you ever read this, I hope you are old enough to understand why I had to leave.
Vincent's face crumpled.
I stood beside him while he read.
I know the men around us call power the most important thing in the world. But power without kindness becomes cruelty.
Your father was involved in terrible things, and after his death, Carlo convinced himself that everything belonged to him.
I wanted to take you away before they made you believe you had to become like them.
Vincent wiped his eyes.
He continued.
You are not responsible for my choices. You are not responsible for the anger of grown men.
Whatever happens, remember this: you were loved before you were ever expected to be feared.
I began crying.
Vincent held the letter against his chest.
For fifteen years, Carlo had told him the accident was his fault.
For fifteen years, he had carried that guilt like a stone.
Now his mother's own handwriting told him the opposite.
I took his hand.
He leaned his forehead against mine.
And for a few moments, the entire world seemed to stop.
Then Gabriel opened the first folder.
His expression changed.
"Boss."
Vincent looked up.
Gabriel placed several documents on the table.
Bank transfers.
Trust amendments.
Private correspondence.
And a signed statement from Isabella explaining why she believed Carlo was stealing from the estate.
But another folder contained something more alarming.
A record of payments to Dr. Arthur Bellamy.
The earliest payment was made shortly after the crash.
The later payments continued for years.
Some had been authorized by Carlo.
Others bore Lorenzo's signature.
Gabriel looked toward Vincent.
"This is evidence of a long-running financial arrangement between your guardians and Bellamy."
Vincent typed.
Can we prove what the payments were for?
"Not from the transfers alone. But combined with the recordings and medical evidence, investigators may be able to establish the purpose."
I looked at the final document.
A contract.
It concerned the control of a holding company that owned several legitimate Moretti family businesses.
A clause gave Lorenzo expanded authority if Vincent was declared medically incapable of managing his affairs.
I read it twice.
Then looked up.
"Vincent, they're trying to take your company."
He studied the document.
His jaw tightened.
Gabriel nodded.
"Lorenzo has been collecting evidence to claim you're no longer fit to lead."
I remembered the painful attacks.
The medical reports.
The hidden device.
The increasing isolation.
It all made terrible sense.
Lorenzo hadn't simply wanted Vincent deaf.
He wanted Vincent dependent.
Unstable.
Afraid.
And eventually declared incapable of controlling his own fortune.
Then Gabriel's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
And went pale.
"What happened?" I asked.
He lowered the phone slowly.
"Dr. Bellamy has disappeared."
Vincent stood.
Gabriel continued.
"His clinic is empty. His staff say he left without warning. And someone accessed the medical records server overnight."
My heart stopped.
"What about the records?"
"Some files have been deleted. Others were copied."
Vincent typed.
Find the backups. Preserve everything.
Gabriel nodded.
Then another call came.
This time, his expression turned deadly serious.
"Boss, Lorenzo has called an emergency meeting of the Moretti board."
Vincent stared.
Gabriel swallowed.
"He's telling everyone you're mentally unfit and that your wife is manipulating you."
I felt cold all over.
"He can't do that."
Gabriel looked at me.
"He has Bellamy's medical reports. And tomorrow morning, he's asking the board to remove Vincent from control."
Vincent looked toward his mother's letter.
Then at me.
May you like
His fingers moved across his phone.
Tomorrow, he finds out I'm not the frightened boy he remembers.
