Chapter 11 - THE FATHER WHO SOLD MY NAME|
I hadn't spoken to my father in fifteen years.
His name was Daniel Carter.
At least, that was the name he'd used when I was growing up.
He was the kind of man who remembered birthdays when someone reminded him and promised things he never intended to deliver.
When I was twelve, he'd told me we were going to Disney World.
I packed a suitcase.
For three mornings, I sat beside the front window waiting for him to come home with the tickets.
He never did.
When I was sixteen, he left a note on the kitchen counter.
It said he needed time to figure out his life.
Apparently, fifteen years hadn't been enough.
So when Lucian showed me the photograph with my father's name written on the back, I felt something close to rage.
“What does he have to do with this?”
Lucian studied my expression.
“I don't know yet.”
I snatched the photograph from his hand.
“Why does everyone keep dragging my past into this?”
“Amelia.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“He left.”
“He doesn't get to come back into my life just because some dangerous man decides he matters.”
Lucian didn't argue.
He waited until I sat down.
Then he quietly asked, “What do you remember about his work?”
I stared at him.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the window.
“He was always traveling.”
“What did he do?”
“Consulting.”
“For whom?”
“I never knew.”
The realization made me uneasy.
When I was little, my father wore expensive suits and carried two phones.
He sometimes disappeared for weeks.
My mother told people he worked in international finance.
But I couldn't remember seeing a single business card.
“He used to come home with gifts,” I said slowly.
“What kind?”
“Jewelry for Mom.”
“Electronics for me.”
“Once he brought back a little wooden music box from Switzerland.”
I stopped.
A memory had surfaced.
I saw myself at fourteen, standing outside my father's office.
The door was partially open.
He was speaking angrily to someone on the phone.
I remembered one sentence.
“You don't understand what happens if Moretti finds out.”
My heart began pounding.
“Lucian.”
He leaned forward.
“What?”
“I heard my father say your name once.”
His expression changed.
“When?”
“When I was fourteen.”
“What exactly did he say?”
I repeated the sentence.
Lucian became very still.
Marco was already reaching for his phone.
“Daniel Carter,” he said quietly.
“That's enough to begin checking.”
I looked between them.
“What are you thinking?”
Lucian hesitated.
“My father used outside financial consultants.”
I felt cold.
“Do you think mine was one of them?”
“It's possible.”
I stared at the photograph.
My teenage smile looked painfully innocent.
I'd been standing outside school, thinking about homework, college applications, and whether a boy named Jeremy would ask me to homecoming.
I had no idea that the adults around me might be hiding secrets capable of following me into adulthood.
At seven the next morning, my mother arrived.
I heard her voice in the hallway before I saw her.
“Where is my daughter?”
I stood.
The moment she entered, her expression crumpled.
“Oh, Amelia.”
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me.
I smelled her familiar lavender perfume.
For several seconds, I was sixteen again.
I was the girl waiting beside the window after my father left.
And my mother was holding me while pretending she wasn't frightened too.
“I'm here,” she whispered.
I clung to her.
“I know.”
She pulled back and studied my face.
“You're so pale.”
“Mom.”
“Have you eaten?”
I laughed through my tears.
“Everybody keeps asking me that.”
“Because you never eat enough when you're upset.”
Her eyes moved toward Lucian.
He stood respectfully near the doorway.
My mother frowned.
“Who is this?”
I wiped my cheeks.
“Mom, this is Lucian.”
She looked at him.
Then she looked again.
“Lucian Moretti?”
He nodded.
“Mrs. Carter.”
Her face changed.
“Oh my God.”
I sighed.
“Please don't faint.”
She grabbed my arm.
“Amelia, do you know who this man is?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is he in your apartment?”
Lucian answered before I could.
“Because your daughter needed someone, and I answered her call.”
My mother stared at him.
For a long moment, I couldn't tell whether she was frightened or angry.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
“You answered?”
Lucian nodded.
“She sent me a message.”
My mother covered her mouth.
I realized she was thinking about the years she'd failed to answer my calls with the understanding I needed.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“We have to talk.”
I told her about the prognosis.
About the threat.
About the experimental treatment records.
And finally, about the photograph.
When I mentioned my father, her expression changed.
It was subtle.
But I saw it.
“You know something,” I whispered.
She looked away.
“Mom.”
Her hands trembled.
“I promised myself I'd never involve you in his mistakes.”
My stomach dropped.
“What mistakes?”
She sat down slowly.
“Your father didn't work in ordinary finance.”
I looked at Lucian.
He remained silent.
My mother twisted her wedding ring, which she still wore despite the divorce.
“He worked for a group that moved money between private companies.”
“Some of those companies had connections to organized crime.”
I swallowed.
“Did he work for the Morettis?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.”
Lucian's face hardened.
“And Adrian Bell?” he asked.
My mother looked up sharply.
“You know Adrian?”
“Yes.”
Her expression filled with dread.
“Then this is worse than I thought.”
I stepped closer.
“What happened?”
She closed her eyes.
“Daniel discovered that Adrian was using a medical investment company to conceal illegal payments.”
“Your father copied some of the records.”
“Then he tried to use them to secure money for himself.”
I stared at her.
“He blackmailed someone?”
She opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“What happened next?”
“He disappeared.”
“He left us,” I said bitterly.
My mother shook her head.
“He was afraid.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“No.”
Tears slid down her cheeks.
“It doesn't.”
Lucian folded his arms.
“Did Daniel keep copies?”
My mother hesitated.
Then she looked at me.
“I think so.”
I frowned.
“Where?”
She pressed her lips together.
“When he left, he told me that if anyone ever came asking questions, I should look inside Amelia's music box.”
My breath caught.
The little wooden music box.
I'd kept it for years.
Even after deciding I hated my father, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.
It sat on the highest shelf of my bedroom closet.
I went to get it.
The box was dusty.
Its wooden edges had faded.
When I opened the lid, a tiny ballerina turned slowly to a melody I'd heard hundreds of times as a child.
I examined the velvet lining.
Nothing seemed unusual.
Then Lucian noticed a small brass screw beneath the hinge.
“May I?”
I handed it to him.
He carefully loosened the hidden panel with a small tool Marco brought from his bag.
Inside was a narrow compartment.
It contained a folded piece of paper and an old memory card.
I stared at them.
My father had hidden evidence inside a gift he'd given me when I was fourteen.
My hands went numb.
Lucian unfolded the paper.
It contained a list of company names.
One name appeared repeatedly.
BELL MEDICAL VENTURES.
Beneath it was a handwritten sentence.
“Patient Twelve was never supposed to be used.”
Lucian inhaled sharply.
Sofia.
I looked at the next line.
Another sentence appeared.
“Carter girl must never be enrolled.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then I whispered, “Carter girl?”
My mother began crying.
Lucian stared at the page.
I looked at him.
“Why would my father write that?”
He didn't answer.
I felt the room tilt.
“Lucian, why would somebody mention me in connection with an experiment when I was fourteen?”
His eyes lifted to mine.
For once, he looked as frightened as I felt.
Then my mother's voice broke the silence.
“Because your father knew you were at risk.”
I turned toward her.
“Risk of what?”
May you like
She covered her mouth.
“Amelia, there's something about your childhood medical history I never told you.”
