Chapter 7 - THE BROTHERS' LAST ARGUMENT|
I stared at the photograph until my vision blurred.
Matteo was standing near the entrance of Moretti Holdings, his shoulders tense and one hand raised as if he were trying to make Leonardo understand something.
Leonardo stood opposite him.
His face was hard.
His jaw was clenched.
And even through the photograph, I could see how angry he looked.
"Where did you get that?" Leonardo asked.
I looked up.
"Someone sent it to me."
He reached for the phone, then stopped.
"May I?"
I handed it over.
For several seconds, he studied the image without speaking.
Then he sat down.
"That was the last time we argued."
My chest tightened.
"About what?"
He stared at Matteo's face.
"Money."
I waited.
Leonardo swallowed.
"Matteo wanted out of the family business."
"I know."
"He told you?"
I nodded.
"He said he wanted to open a restaurant."
Leonardo smiled sadly.
"He told me the same thing."
"He wanted a little place with yellow walls."
"And terrible spaghetti."
I laughed through my tears.
"He said people would come for the desserts."
Leonardo's smile faded.
"He also told me he was worried about some of our financial partners."
"Richard Romano?"
Leonardo nodded.
"I didn't listen."
His voice became rough.
"I thought Matteo was overreacting."
I looked at the photograph again.
"What happened that day?"
Leonardo leaned back in the chair.
"He walked into my office carrying a folder."
"What was inside?"
"Financial records."
I held my breath.
"He said our business accounts were being used to move money through charities and private medical companies."
"Did he mention the clinic?"
"Not by name."
Leonardo closed his eyes.
"I told him he didn't understand how complicated our partnerships were."
My heart hurt.
"What did he say?"
Leonardo looked at me.
"He said that if I didn't understand where our money was going, I had no business calling myself the man in charge."
I could almost hear Matteo saying it.
He'd always been gentle with me.
But when something mattered, he refused to back down.
"What did you do?"
Leonardo's eyes filled.
"I told him to get out."
I covered my mouth.
"He left?"
"Yes."
"Did you speak afterward?"
"Once."
Leonardo's voice broke.
"He called me the night before he died."
I went still.
"What did he say?"
"I didn't answer."
A terrible silence followed.
"Why?"
"Because I was angry."
Leonardo stared at the floor.
"I saw his name on the screen and thought he could wait until morning."
Tears slid down his cheeks.
"But morning came, and my brother was dead."
I reached for his hand.
"Leonardo."
He shook his head.
"I replay that phone call every day."
"Matteo wouldn't want you to."
"He deserved better from me."
"He loved you."
Leonardo looked up.
I squeezed his hand.
"He always said you were the person who taught him how to be brave."
His expression changed.
"He said that?"
I nodded.
"He said when you were little, you used to stand between him and anyone who tried to hurt him."
Leonardo looked away.
"That was a long time ago."
"He never forgot."
For several seconds, we sat quietly.
Then I looked at the photograph.
"Who sent this?"
Leonardo frowned.
"I don't know."
I showed Anthony the message.
He examined it carefully.
"The number appears to be unregistered, but investigators may be able to trace its origin."
"Why send it now?" I asked.
"Possibly to create distrust between you and Leonardo."
Leonardo nodded.
"Or because someone knows more about that argument."
My phone buzzed again.
We all looked down.
A second message had arrived.
Your husband didn't die because he found the money.
My heart stopped.
A third message appeared.
He died because he found the names.
Anthony immediately photographed the screen.
Leonardo stared at the words.
"What names?"
I thought about Nora's notebook.
Seventeen women.
Seventeen babies.
Seventeen lives someone had tried to erase.
"Maybe the mothers," I whispered.
Anthony shook his head.
"Possibly, but those names alone may not explain the lengths someone went to."
Then another message arrived.
Ask about the investors.
Leonardo went completely still.
Anthony looked at him.
"What investors?"
Leonardo didn't answer immediately.
Then he spoke quietly.
"Years ago, Richard introduced several wealthy investors to a private charitable venture."
"What venture?"
"A foundation that claimed to help women with difficult pregnancies."
I felt sick.
"Bellweather?"
Leonardo nodded.
"I attended a fundraising dinner."
My throat tightened.
"Did you know what they were doing?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"Emma, I swear I didn't."
I believed him.
But I could see how much the memory hurt.
Anthony opened his laptop.
"Then we need the foundation's donor records."
Leonardo nodded.
"Give the investigators everything I have."
Later that afternoon, Claire returned with two cups of hot chocolate.
She said the hospital coffee was terrible.
I told her Matteo would have agreed.
We sat beside the window while Leonardo met privately with Anthony and Detective Hayes.
For a while, Claire watched the cars moving below.
Then she whispered, "Do you think my daughter is alive?"
I turned toward her.
"I think Nora believes she is."
Claire nodded.
"I don't know how to let myself hope."
I reached for her hand.
"You don't have to decide how to feel."
She wiped her cheeks.
"When they told me she'd died, they wouldn't let me see her."
My chest tightened.
"They said I was too weak."
"I'm sorry."
"I kept imagining her alone."
Claire stared at her hands.
"Sometimes I would wake up thinking I'd heard a baby crying."
I squeezed her fingers.
"Matteo believed you."
She smiled through tears.
"Yes."
Then she reached into her purse.
"I brought you something."
It was a small yellow knitted blanket.
I stared at it.
"Claire, I can't take that."
"Please."
Her voice trembled.
"I made it when I was pregnant."
I looked up sharply.
"For your daughter?"
She nodded.
"I couldn't bear to keep it in the apartment after they told me she was gone."
Tears filled my eyes.
"Then why give it to me?"
"Because Matteo helped me when nobody else would."
She placed the blanket beside my stomach.
"And because I want one baby to feel the love I couldn't give mine."
I began crying.
"Claire, if your daughter is alive, she's going to need that blanket."
Claire looked down.
Then smiled sadly.
"Maybe."
I pushed it gently back into her hands.
"Keep it for her."
For several seconds, she stared at me.
Then she hugged me.
We were still crying when Leonardo entered.
His expression was different.
Not angry.
Not frightened.
Determined.
"Emma, Claire, we found something."
Anthony followed him carrying a folder.
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a formal charity dinner.
Richard Romano stood in the center beside Dr. Voss and Margaret Hale.
Around them were several wealthy men and women.
But one face made Claire gasp.
"That's her."
Leonardo turned.
"Who?"
Claire pointed toward a blonde woman wearing a pearl necklace.
"I've seen her before."
"Where?" Anthony asked.
Claire's voice shook.
"At the clinic."
My stomach tightened.
"When?"
"The day after I gave birth."
She pressed a hand over her mouth.
"I woke up, and she was standing outside my room talking to Dr. Voss."
Anthony looked at the photograph.
"Did you hear what they said?"
Claire nodded slowly.
"She asked if the transfer was complete."
Leonardo's jaw tightened.
"Do you know her name?"
Claire shook her head.
Anthony turned his laptop around.
"Her name is Caroline Ashford."
I frowned.
"Who is she?"
"A prominent Chicago philanthropist."
Leonardo stared at the photograph.
"She's also one of the foundation's largest donors."
Claire looked as though she might faint.
Then she whispered, "She was holding a baby carrier."
Nobody spoke.
Claire's voice broke.
"I remember hearing a baby crying inside it."
Anthony looked at Leonardo.
Leonardo looked at me.
And I understood what they were thinking.
Caroline Ashford might have taken Claire's daughter.
But the next detail was even more troubling.
According to the foundation's records, Caroline had made a payment of almost half a million dollars on the same day Claire's baby disappeared.
The transaction was labeled as a charitable contribution.
I stared at the amount.
Then at Claire.
May you like
And quietly asked the question nobody wanted to say aloud.
"Did someone sell her your daughter?"
