Chapter 9 - The Price of the Truth
The gunshot echoed across the street.
Claire screamed.
Daniel pulled her behind a parked police vehicle as officers shouted commands.
Vincent threw himself toward the ground.
Two more shots rang out.
Glass scattered across the sidewalk.
Then the attacker jumped back into the sedan.
The vehicle accelerated away.
Police officers rushed after it.
For several seconds, Claire could hear nothing except the pounding of her own heart.
Daniel crouched beside her.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Vincent?"
Daniel looked toward the sidewalk.
Vincent was lying on his side.
Blood spread across the sleeve of his jacket.
Claire's breath caught.
"No."
She ran before Daniel could stop her.
"Vincent!"
His eyes opened.
"Claire?"
She knelt beside him.
"Don't move."
He looked at his arm.
"It's just my shoulder."
But the blood frightened her.
An officer pressed a dressing against the wound.
Paramedics arrived minutes later.
Vincent remained conscious.
As they lifted him onto the stretcher, he caught Claire's hand.
"Are you okay?"
She stared at him.
Even now, after everything, those words hurt.
Because he'd finally asked the question she'd needed him to ask months earlier.
"Yes," she whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"Good."
Then the paramedics took him away.
Claire stood on the sidewalk, trembling.
Daniel approached.
"Claire, we need to leave."
She looked at him.
"Someone just tried to kill my husband."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he knows too much."
Claire stared at the ambulance disappearing around the corner.
"Then I'm not leaving."
Daniel frowned.
"Claire—"
"I'm done running from the truth."
That evening, Vincent underwent treatment for a gunshot wound that had passed through the soft tissue near his shoulder without striking a major blood vessel.
His doctors expected him to recover.
Claire came to the hospital only after police confirmed the building was secure.
She entered his room quietly.
Vincent opened his eyes.
"You're here."
"Don't misunderstand."
He gave a weak smile.
"I won't."
Claire sat beside the bed.
"I came because I need answers."
He nodded.
"Ask."
"Did you know my father was investigating Moretti Holdings?"
"Yes."
She stared at him.
"Before he died?"
Vincent looked ashamed.
"Yes."
"Did you know he believed your father was laundering money through the casinos?"
Vincent hesitated.
"I knew there were allegations. My father told me they were false."
"And you believed him?"
"At the time."
Claire shook her head.
"My father begged me to stay away from your family."
"I know."
"Yet you never told me why."
Vincent stared at the blanket.
"Because I thought he hated me."
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
"No. He was trying to protect me."
Vincent said nothing.
She leaned forward.
"Now tell me about your mother."
His expression changed.
"She died when I was twelve."
"I know."
"Before she died, she used to tell me stories about a man who helped her when she was young. She never gave me his full name."
Claire waited.
Vincent swallowed.
"She called him Robbie."
Claire's breath caught.
Robert.
Her father.
Vincent looked at her.
"Claire, if what you're suggesting is true—"
"We need proof," she interrupted. "Not guesses. Not another family secret disguised as fact."
He nodded slowly.
"Then we'll get it."
Claire looked away.
"Not together."
His face tightened.
"Claire—"
"The divorce is still happening."
Vincent closed his eyes.
"I understand."
She stood.
But before leaving, she placed something on his bedside table.
A photograph.
Robert Bennett standing outside the old Moretti casino.
Vincent picked it up.
On the back, Robert had written:
For the boy who deserves to know the truth.
Vincent stared at the handwriting.
"Where did you get this?"
"Margaret Hale."
His expression shifted.
"Margaret?"
"You know her?"
He nodded.
"She used to visit my mother."
Claire's pulse quickened.
"Then you remember her?"
"Of course."
Vincent looked at the photograph again.
"Claire, my mother left me something before she died."
"What?"
"A sealed box. My father told me it had been destroyed."
"Was it?"
Vincent shook his head.
"I found it hidden in the old casino storage room when I was twenty-five."
Claire leaned forward.
"What was inside?"
"Letters. Photographs. A birth certificate."
Her heart raced.
"Where is it now?"
Vincent looked toward the door.
"In a private vault at the Grand Moretti."
"Can your father access it?"
"No. The vault is under my control."
Claire exhaled.
"Then why haven't you opened it?"
Vincent's eyes filled with a fear she'd never seen before.
"Because my mother left a letter on top."
"What did it say?"
He hesitated.
Then whispered:
Vincent, the truth about your father could cost you everyone you love. Do not open this box unless you are ready to lose the Moretti name.
Claire stared at him.
"And now?"
Vincent looked at the photograph.
"Now I want the truth."
Before Claire could answer, her phone rang.
Daniel.
She picked up.
"Claire, don't leave the hospital."
Her stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"We identified the shooter."
"Who is he?"
"Anthony Russo."
Claire froze.
The man connected to her father's fatal accident.
Daniel continued.
"He was arrested fifteen minutes ago. But before officers took him into custody, he made a statement."
Claire gripped her phone.
"What statement?"
Daniel's voice became quiet.
"He claims Lorenzo Moretti never ordered your father's death."
Claire felt the room tilt.
"Then who did?"
Daniel hesitated.
"According to Russo, the order came from someone inside the family."
Claire slowly turned toward Vincent.
Daniel continued:
"Someone who inherited everything after Robert Bennett died."
Claire's blood ran cold.
May you like
"Daniel?"
"Claire, Russo named Vincent."
