Chapter 5 - THE APARTMENT WHERE SOMEONE HAD BUILT MY GUILT|
By seven the next morning, I was sitting inside a police interview room with a cup of coffee I couldn't drink.
My mother remained at the hospital, and every minute away from her felt unbearable.
Across the table sat Detective Sofia Ramirez, a Chicago police investigator with tired eyes and a calm voice.
Beside me was Maya Brooks, an attorney from an employee-rights legal clinic who had agreed to represent me.
Maya was not employed by Luca.
She wasn't connected to his companies.
And she'd made it clear that my interests came before anyone else's.
After five years of working in a mansion where one man's decisions seemed to control everything, having someone explain my rights without asking for anything in return felt unfamiliar.
Detective Ramirez opened a folder.
"Claire, I want to understand your relationship with Adrian Vale."
I frowned.
"He works for Mr. Moretti."
"Have you ever visited his office?"
"Only to deliver coffee or collect documents for the house."
"Has he ever asked you to sign financial paperwork?"
"No."
She studied my face.
"Has he ever given you money?"
I shook my head.
"Not once."
The detective turned a photograph toward me.
It showed a man entering the apartment building where someone had used my identity.
He wore a gray overcoat and carried a black leather bag.
Even with his face partially hidden, I recognized the silver hair.
"That's Adrian Vale," I whispered.
Detective Ramirez nodded.
"We believe he entered the building several times during the past month."
"Then why does the lease have my name?"
"That's what we're investigating."
She slid another photograph across the table.
This one showed a woman's hand holding a key card near the building's entrance.
A large emerald ring glittered on her finger.
I stopped breathing.
I'd polished that ring dozens of times.
Vanessa wore it whenever she attended expensive dinners or charity events.
It had been Luca's wedding gift to her.
"That's her ring," I whispered.
Maya leaned forward.
"Claire, tell the detective exactly what you know and what you're inferring."
I swallowed and corrected myself.
"That looks like Mrs. Moretti's ring, but I can't identify the woman from this photograph."
Detective Ramirez gave a small approving nod.
"That's helpful."
Then she showed me the statement supposedly written in my handwriting.
It said I'd accepted responsibility for unauthorized withdrawals from Luca's accounts and intended to repay the money.
The signature looked like mine, but the words were nothing I'd ever written.
At the bottom was a date and time.
Tuesday, 9:14 a.m.
I stared at the timestamp.
"Wait."
Maya looked at me.
"What is it?"
"Tuesday morning?"
"Yes."
I felt my heart begin racing.
"I was serving breakfast at the mansion."
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"Rosa Alvarez."
"She's the senior housekeeper."
"And Mr. Moretti was there for part of it."
Detective Ramirez made a note.
"Are there security cameras in the kitchen?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll request the footage."
For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope.
There were cameras throughout the Moretti mansion.
I'd always hated them.
Sometimes they made me feel as though I couldn't take a breath without someone watching.
Now one of those cameras might save me from prison.
Detective Ramirez continued asking questions until Maya requested a break.
I stepped into the hallway and immediately called the hospital.
The nurse assured me my mother was resting.
I leaned against the wall, fighting tears of relief.
Then my phone rang again.
It was Luca.
"Claire, where are you?"
"At the police station."
"Gabriel is checking the security recordings."
I straightened.
"Did he find Tuesday morning?"
There was a long silence.
"Claire, listen carefully."
My stomach twisted.
"The kitchen camera files from that morning are missing."
I closed my eyes.
"Missing?"
"Someone deleted the recordings from eight-thirty until ten."
"But there were people everywhere!"
"I know."
"My mother could go to prison because of something I never did!"
Luca's voice hardened.
"That's not going to happen without a fight."
I wiped my eyes.
"Sir, whoever did this knew exactly where I'd be."
"I've reached the same conclusion."
When I returned to the interview room, Maya was speaking quietly with Detective Ramirez.
She turned toward me.
"Claire, the investigation isn't dependent on one recording."
I sat down slowly.
"But somebody erased it."
"We'll examine who had access."
The detective's phone vibrated.
She read the message, then looked at me with a new expression.
"We've received another piece of information."
My stomach tightened.
"What information?"
"The building manager says the woman who rented that apartment showed identification bearing your photograph."
I stared at her.
"How is that possible?"
"Your photograph may have been copied from an employment file."
She paused.
"But the manager remembers something unusual."
"What?"
"The woman kept asking whether the apartment had cameras inside."
A chill moved through me.
Someone hadn't simply used my identity.
Someone had rehearsed how to become me.
Later that afternoon, Maya accompanied me back to the hospital.
I expected to find Luca waiting beside my mother's room.
Instead, Rosa stood in the corridor, clutching her worn handbag.
Her usually cheerful face looked frightened.
"Claire," she whispered, "I need to show you something."
"What is it?"
She glanced over her shoulder.
"Something Mrs. Moretti forgot existed."
May you like
Then she opened her bag and pulled out a small black memory card.
"I think this can prove where you really were on Tuesday morning."
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