Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Forgotten Bedroom|
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Teresa clinging to the staircase railing while two hundred guests celebrated above her.
I also remembered Vanessa's brief smile when Marco announced that the security records were missing.
By six the next morning, the Moretti mansion was quiet.
The chandeliers had been extinguished, the flowers were beginning to wilt, and the evidence of the ruined engagement party had almost disappeared.
Rich households, I had learned, were exceptionally good at cleaning up disasters.
Unfortunately for Vanessa, some disasters couldn't be removed with a mop.
I went upstairs carrying a breakfast tray.
Teresa was sitting at the window, wearing a pale blue robe.
Her silver hair was loosely pinned, and the morning sunlight made her look almost transparent.
"Good morning, Mrs. Moretti."
"Good morning, Hannah."
She smiled when she saw the tray.
"You remembered the honey."
"Two teaspoons in your tea."
"Exactly."
She watched me arrange the dishes.
"Vanessa says I forget everything these days."
I stopped.
"Do you?"
"Sometimes."
She looked toward the garden.
"I forget where I leave my glasses, and occasionally I walk into a room without remembering why."
"That sounds like half the people I know."
Teresa laughed softly.
It was the first genuine laugh I had heard from her.
Then her expression grew serious.
"She says I'm becoming a burden."
I sat beside her.
"Who says that?"
"Vanessa."
"She told Luca that I needed to move upstairs because I was disturbing the guests."
"She said the household would run more smoothly if I stayed out of the way."
I looked around the bedroom again.
The narrow doorway was unsuitable for a wheelchair, and the bathroom had no properly fitted grab bars.
Even the bed was too high for Teresa to enter safely without assistance.
Something about the arrangement felt deliberate.
"Who usually helps you in the mornings?" I asked.
"Mrs. Sullivan used to."
"Where is she now?"
Teresa lowered her gaze.
"Vanessa dismissed her last week."
"Why?"
"She said Nora was encouraging me to be difficult."
Before I could ask another question, the bedroom door opened.
A woman in her fifties entered carrying fresh towels.
Her dark hair was tied into a neat bun, and she wore a housekeeper's uniform.
"Good morning, Mrs. Moretti."
Then she looked at me.
"You must be Hannah."
"I'm Rosa Delgado."
"I've worked here for twenty-three years."
Her eyes moved toward Teresa.
"I heard what happened last night."
Teresa tried to dismiss the incident.
"It was only a staircase, Rosa."
Rosa set down the towels.
"Mrs. Moretti, I've watched you climb those stairs since Luca was in kindergarten."
"You never needed to prove anything to anyone."
There was something fiercely protective in her voice.
When Teresa went to wash her face, Rosa pulled me into the hallway.
"Be careful what you say in that room."
"Why?"
"Vanessa had new recording devices installed in the residential wing."
I felt cold.
"Security cameras?"
"That's what she called them."
"She said they were necessary because Mrs. Moretti was becoming forgetful."
"Did Luca approve them?"
Rosa shook her head.
"He trusts Vanessa with the household."
"Or he did."
I glanced toward the bedroom door.
"Why was Teresa moved here?"
Rosa's mouth tightened.
"Her original bedroom was next to the garden, with an accessible bathroom and a private entrance."
"Vanessa turned it into a bridal dressing suite."
I couldn't hide my disgust.
"She moved a seventy-nine-year-old woman into an unsafe room to make space for wedding clothes?"
"That was the explanation."
Rosa hesitated.
"But I think there was another reason."
She reached into her apron pocket and produced a folded envelope.
"I found this while collecting the mail."
"It was addressed to Mrs. Moretti, but Vanessa told the staff not to deliver anything without her approval."
The envelope bore the letterhead of a medical evaluation service called Westbridge Memory Center.
Inside was an appointment confirmation.
Teresa Moretti was scheduled for a comprehensive capacity assessment the following Tuesday.
The requesting party was listed as Luca Moretti.
My stomach tightened.
"Does he know about this?"
"Not that I've heard."
At that moment, footsteps sounded behind us.
Luca stood at the end of the hallway.
"Know about what?"
Rosa went pale.
I held out the letter.
"Your mother has an appointment for a capacity evaluation."
"It says you requested it."
Luca read the document.
His expression hardened.
"I've never heard of this place."
Rosa swallowed.
"Sir, I believe Mrs. Bellini arranged it."
Luca looked toward his mother's bedroom.
"Why wasn't I told?"
Neither of us answered.
He folded the letter carefully.
"From now on, all decisions involving my mother's medical care come through me and her own doctors."
"Nobody else."
I expected him to leave.
Instead, he looked at me.
"Miss Brooks, I need you to help me understand what's been happening here."
"I'm only temporary staff."
"You're the person who carried my mother up forty-two stairs when everyone else looked away."
His voice softened.
"Right now, that makes you someone I trust."
Before I could respond, Teresa called from inside the bedroom.
"Luca?"
We hurried back.
She was standing beside the wardrobe, holding a small leather jewelry box.
Her face had lost all its color.
"I need you to listen to me," she whispered.
Luca crossed the room.
"What is it, Mother?"
Teresa opened the box.
Inside was an empty velvet compartment.
"They took your father's ring."
Luca frowned.
"The signet ring?"
She nodded.
"He made me promise never to let anyone use it after he died."
"Why?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because the ring carries the family seal."
May you like
She looked at me, then back at her son.
"And someone has been using that seal to sign papers in my name."
