Chapter 7 - The Man Who Stole Five Years From Us|
Henry Walsh had always frightened me.
Not because he shouted.
He rarely did.
But because he knew how to make everyone else feel small.
When my mother married him, I was eleven.
Megan was eight.
Henry wore expensive suits.
Drove a black Mercedes.
And spoke about money as though people without it had simply made poor decisions.
He called me dramatic.
Called Megan needy.
And told our mother she spoiled us.
When he disappeared from our lives three years later, I felt relief.
My mother never explained why the marriage ended.
I never asked.
Now I was sitting in a hospital waiting room learning that Henry might have been the man who helped engineer my divorce.
"How?" I whispered.
Megan wiped her cheeks.
"He changed his name."
I stared.
"To Daniel Whitcomb?"
She nodded.
"He started using it professionally years ago."
My stomach tightened.
"And you knew?"
"I recognized him when Vittorio sent me a photograph."
I closed my eyes.
"Megan."
She began crying harder.
"I didn't know he was pretending to represent you. Vittorio said Henry was helping arrange things."
I stared at her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked down.
"Because he threatened to expose something about Mom."
My heart raced.
"What?"
Megan hesitated.
Then whispered:
"That she had worked for the Moretti family."
Silence.
Our mother, Susan Brooks, had been a school secretary for most of our childhood.
At least, that's what I believed.
Megan continued.
"Before she married Dad, she worked for a private accounting firm connected to the Morettis."
I stared.
"What does that have to do with my divorce?"
Megan shook her head.
"I don't know."
I looked toward the cardiac unit.
Leo was recovering.
Oliver and Ethan were playing quietly.
Adrien was meeting with hospital staff about visiting arrangements.
My children were finally safe for the moment.
And yet another part of my past was unraveling.
"I need to speak to Adrien," I whispered.
Megan nodded.
"Clare, I'm sorry."
I looked at her.
For a moment, I remembered all the times she'd helped me.
All the nights she held Leo when he cried.
All the groceries she bought.
All the ways she'd been there when I had nobody else.
I loved her.
But trust was suddenly complicated.
"I know you're sorry," I said quietly.
She began crying again.
"But I need time."
She nodded.
"I understand."
That evening, Adrien and I sat in a small hospital conference room with his attorney.
Marco stood outside.
No security men beside us.
No threats.
No theatrics.
Just documents.
The attorney explained that Henry Walsh had used false credentials to appear as a legal representative.
He also had connections to Vittorio's financial advisers.
I looked at Adrien.
"Why would your father go to so much trouble?"
Adrien stared at the table.
"I don't know."
His attorney hesitated.
"There may be a financial motive."
My stomach tightened.
"What kind?"
The attorney opened a folder.
"Before your divorce, Mrs. Moretti, you were listed as a beneficiary of a family trust."
I frowned.
"What trust?"
Adrien looked up sharply.
"The Moretti Legacy Trust?"
The attorney nodded.
I stared.
"I've never heard of it."
Adrien's expression changed.
"My grandfather established it."
I swallowed.
"And?"
"It held assets intended for future generations."
The attorney looked toward me.
"Under certain conditions, your children may have inherited interests in those assets."
My heart raced.
"Children?"
"Yes."
I stared.
"So if Vittorio knew I was pregnant..."
Adrien went completely still.
Then whispered:
"He would have known the trust was about to change."
Silence.
For years, I'd believed our divorce was simply about money and status.
Now it seemed it might have been about controlling future inheritance rights.
The attorney continued carefully.
"We need to authenticate the trust documents and determine exactly what rights existed."
I nodded.
Adrien looked toward the door.
His expression hardened.
"My father knew about the boys."
"Yes," I whispered.
"For five years."
"Yes."
He closed his eyes.
Then said something that surprised me.
"I want an independent investigation. And if my father committed crimes, I won't protect him."
I studied him.
For most of our marriage, Adrien had treated family loyalty as something sacred.
Now he was choosing the truth over his father's reputation.
I wanted to believe that meant he'd changed.
But I'd learned to be careful with hope.
Before we could continue, Marco entered.
His face was pale.
"Boss."
Adrien turned.
"What?"
"Your father left the country last night."
Adrien frowned.
"Where?"
"Switzerland."
My stomach tightened.
Switzerland.
The same country Adrien had been visiting when our marriage ended.
Then Marco continued.
"And there's something else."
Adrien looked up.
"What?"
"Henry Walsh traveled with him."
I stared.
My former stepfather.
Adrien's father.
Together.
Then Marco said something that made both of us stop breathing.
"They've been meeting with a woman named Isabella Moretti."
Adrien's face went white.
May you like
His mother.
The woman who had supposedly died eight years earlier.
