Chapter 3 - The Secret Hidden in My Mother's Bank Account|
I stared at Claudia.
For a moment, the room seemed to tilt.
Michael Moretti.
Luca's younger brother.
The man Noah was frightened of.
The man who had disappeared moments before the blackout.
And now Claudia was claiming he had been sending money to my family.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Claudia smiled.
"Is it?"
Luca turned toward me.
"Ella?"
I swallowed.
"My mother has received some financial help anonymously."
His expression changed.
"How long?"
"About six months."
"From whom?"
"I don't know."
Claudia laughed.
"Oh, please. Don't pretend you're innocent."
I looked at her.
"I'm not pretending anything."
She crossed her arms.
"Then explain why Michael knows your mother's address."
My heart began pounding.
Luca's voice hardened.
"Claudia, enough."
She looked at him.
"You think this girl just happened to become close to Noah?"
I froze.
"Excuse me?"
Claudia continued.
"She appears in your house, learns to communicate with your son, and suddenly Michael starts asking questions about your family."
My face burned.
I had spent eleven months working in that mansion.
Cleaning rooms.
Washing linens.
Helping Mrs. Ramirez prepare meals.
And spending time with Noah because he deserved someone who understood him.
I had never asked Michael Moretti for anything.
"Mr. Moretti," I said quietly, "I didn't know your brother was involved with my mother's finances."
Luca studied me.
Then nodded.
"I believe you."
Three words.
Simple.
Steady.
They nearly made me cry.
Claudia looked furious.
"Of course you do."
Luca turned.
"Daniel, escort her out."
She opened her mouth to protest.
Then saw the expression on his face.
She left without another word.
When the doors closed, Luca turned toward Noah.
His son was watching our faces anxiously.
I immediately signed a brief explanation.
Claudia is leaving. You are staying with Daddy.
Noah looked toward Luca.
Is he angry with me?
My heart broke.
Luca saw the question.
He knelt.
No. I am upset because adults made decisions that frightened you. You did nothing wrong.
Noah nodded slowly.
Then he signed:
Can Ella stay tonight?
Luca looked toward me.
I hesitated.
My shift had ended hours earlier.
My mother was waiting for my usual goodnight call.
But Noah's hands were still trembling.
"Of course," I whispered.
Luca signed his agreement.
Noah finally relaxed.
Later that evening, Mrs. Ramirez helped Noah into his pajamas while Luca called his security team.
I sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered immediately.
"Hi."
"Ella, sweetheart, are you all right?"
I closed my eyes.
"Yes."
She hesitated.
"You sound upset."
"Just a difficult evening."
My mother sighed.
"Have you eaten?"
Despite everything, I smiled.
"Not yet."
"Ella."
"I know, Mom."
She was silent for a moment.
Then asked:
"Did Michael Moretti come to the house tonight?"
My blood ran cold.
"Mom?"
No answer.
I sat straighter.
"How do you know that name?"
Her breathing changed.
"Ella, listen to me."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"If Michael Moretti asks you to go anywhere with him, don't."
I froze.
"Mom, what's happening?"
A long silence.
Then she whispered:
"Your father worked for the Moretti family."
I stared at the wall.
My father?
Thomas Brooks?
The quiet mechanic who died when I was sixteen?
"Mom, Dad repaired cars."
"He did."
"Then what are you talking about?"
Her voice trembled.
"He also worked for Luca's father."
My heart pounded.
"Doing what?"
She hesitated.
"Keeping records."
I closed my eyes.
"Records of what?"
"Business transactions."
"Mom."
She began crying.
"Your father discovered something terrible."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"He tried to report it."
"To whom?"
A pause.
Then she whispered:
"To Michael."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because Michael promised to help him."
My throat went dry.
"And?"
My mother's voice broke.
"Your father died three days later."
The room seemed to spin.
I gripped the edge of the table.
My father had supposedly died in a traffic accident.
A truck had struck his car outside Chicago.
The police said the roads were icy.
The case was closed.
I had never questioned it.
Until now.
"Mom, are you saying someone killed Dad?"
She began crying harder.
"I don't know, sweetheart."
Then she whispered:
"But three months ago, Michael contacted me."
My heart raced.
"What did he want?"
"He said the past was catching up with him."
"And the money?"
My mother hesitated.
"He said he owed your father a debt."
Tears filled my eyes.
Before I could ask another question, I heard a knock at her door.
Mom stopped speaking.
"Ella?"
"Yes?"
Her voice suddenly sounded terrified.
"There's someone here."
My stomach dropped.
"Don't open it."
A pause.
Then a man's voice spoke in the background.
I couldn't hear the words clearly.
But my mother gasped.
"Ella," she whispered.
"What?"
"It's Michael Moretti."
May you like
The line went dead.
And for the first time that night, I was more frightened for my mother than I had been for myself.
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