Chapter 3 - THE WIDOW WHO NEVER WAS|
Two million dollars.
The words echoed in my head as if someone had carved them into the walls of the ballroom.
Daniel and I had barely been able to afford our apartment.
We had argued over grocery bills.
We had borrowed money to repair our aging car.
And now a stranger was claiming my supposedly dead husband had been worth two million dollars.
I stepped toward Adrian.
"What are you talking about?"
He looked at Vanessa.
She gave him a warning stare.
But Adrian only smiled.
"Ask Mrs. Moretti."
"She knows exactly where the money went."
Vanessa lunged toward him.
"You lying bastard!"
Luca caught her arm before she could reach him.
"Enough."
His voice was cold enough to silence the entire room.
"Rosa, make sure nobody interferes with him."
"Yes, sir."
Within twenty minutes, police officers arrived at the mansion.
Their flashing lights painted the front windows red and blue.
Detective Maya Torres, a woman with tired eyes and a calm voice, took charge of the investigation.
She listened while Olivia described the threatening messages, her accident, and Adrian's visit to the hospital.
She photographed the messages and arranged for the phones to be preserved as evidence.
Luca immediately told his guards to reopen the doors and cooperate with the officers.
Guests were allowed to leave after giving their contact information.
The evening's beautiful celebration had become a nightmare.
Vanessa remained beside her attorney, refusing to answer questions.
Adrian was questioned separately.
And I sat beside Olivia near the fireplace, clutching the photograph of Daniel.
"I should have told you sooner," she whispered.
I looked at her.
"When did you find out?"
"Three days ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because I was terrified."
I wanted to be angry.
I wanted to scream.
But then I looked at her trembling hands.
This woman had spent eighteen months learning how to live with a body that no longer obeyed her as it once had.
She had survived an accident that nearly killed her.
And somebody had threatened to hurt me if she spoke.
I took her hand.
"You're telling me now."
Olivia began crying.
"I didn't know Daniel was your husband when I first remembered his face."
"That memory came back during therapy."
"I remembered the SUV first."
"Then the driver's eyes."
"Later, when someone sent me the photograph, I recognized him."
She hesitated.
"After that, I found an old staff photograph from the mansion."
"You were standing beside him at the Christmas party."
My stomach tightened.
That photograph had been taken five years earlier.
Daniel had arrived late, carrying flowers for me.
He had kissed my cheek in front of the entire household.
I remembered blushing while Luca's mother laughed.
Olivia squeezed my hand.
"I remembered you calling him Daniel."
I closed my eyes.
The last time I had seen my husband alive, we had argued.
It was something small.
He had forgotten our anniversary dinner because he claimed he needed to work overtime.
I had accused him of caring more about money than our marriage.
He had kissed my forehead before leaving.
"I'll make it up to you, sweetheart."
Those were the last words I remembered him saying.
For four years, I had regretted that argument.
Now I wondered whether he had been saying goodbye.
"Claire."
I looked up.
Luca stood before us.
His tuxedo jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
"I need to speak with you."
Olivia gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I followed Luca into his private study.
The familiar room smelled of leather, old books, and coffee.
I had cleaned those shelves hundreds of times.
Tonight, nothing felt familiar.
Luca closed the door.
"Detective Torres is trying to verify the photograph."
"And Adrian?"
"He's refusing to speak without an attorney."
I stared at the carpet.
"Did you know?"
Luca went still.
"Know what?"
"That Daniel was alive."
"No."
"Did you know he had anything to do with your family?"
He hesitated.
It was only a second.
But I saw it.
"Luca."
He exhaled slowly.
"Daniel came to me once."
My heart began pounding.
"When?"
"About a month before his supposed death."
I felt the room move beneath me.
"He said he had information about a company doing business with my organization."
"What information?"
"He claimed someone was falsifying construction invoices."
"Did you believe him?"
"I didn't know."
"He wanted money in exchange for documents."
My mouth went dry.
"Did you pay him?"
"No."
"I told him to take whatever he had to the authorities."
I stared at the man who had employed me for five years.
He had always been dangerous.
But he had never lied to me about something important.
At least, that was what I had believed.
"Why didn't you tell me after he died?"
"Because I thought it would only make your grief worse."
I stepped backward.
"You didn't have the right to decide that."
Pain crossed his face.
"You're right."
His apology startled me.
Luca Moretti was not a man who apologized easily.
But before either of us could speak again, my phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar Chicago number appeared on the screen.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message arrived.
Claire, please don't panic.
Another followed.
I know you saw the photograph.
My fingers turned numb.
Then came the third message.
I never wanted you to find out this way.
I dropped the phone onto Luca's desk.
He looked at the screen.
"Who's sending these?"
I couldn't speak.
Because the final message contained six words that shattered what remained of my marriage.
May you like
It's Daniel.
I'm alive.
