Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW MY FATHER'S SECRET“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO PUT THAT BOX DOWN, CLAIRE. MR. MORETTI HAS AUTHORIZED US TO SECURE THIS PROPERTY.”
The man's voice came from the entrance hall.
I froze.
Nathan moved between me and the doorway.
A tall security supervisor entered the library, followed by Sophia Carter.
She looked completely out of place among my father's dusty books and scattered papers.
Her burgundy dress from the previous evening had been replaced with an expensive beige pantsuit.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a polished ponytail.
She looked less like a secretary and more like someone executing a carefully planned assignment.
I tightened my grip on the blue music box.
“This is my house.”
The security supervisor hesitated.
Sophia stepped forward.
“Claire, please don't make this difficult.”
I stared at her.
“You spent the night with my husband, attended a meeting about my divorce, and now you're trespassing in my father's house. How much more difficult were you planning to make my life?”
Her expression faltered.
Nathan raised his phone.
“For the record, my client is the sole legal owner of this property. We have the recorded deed. Any claim of authority by your employer needs to be supported by documentation.”
The supervisor looked at Sophia.
She gave him an impatient glance.
“Richard said the company had an interest in the property.”
Nathan answered before I could speak.
“An alleged security interest is not permission to enter and search someone's residence.”
The man took a step backward.
“I wasn't told there was a dispute over ownership.”
“There is no dispute over ownership,” Nathan said. “There is a dispute over a document bearing an apparently unauthorized signature.”
Sophia's face tightened.
I studied her.
“Why are you really here?”
She folded her arms.
“Mr. Moretti asked me to supervise an inventory.”
“Which Mr. Moretti?”
She said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Vincent or Richard?”
A long silence followed.
Finally, she whispered.
“Richard.”
That answer told me more than she intended.
I placed the music box carefully inside my handbag.
Sophia's eyes followed it.
“What did you find?”
I smiled faintly.
“My childhood memories.”
She didn't believe me.
Neither did I believe her.
Nathan motioned toward the door.
“We're leaving. If anyone touches or removes anything from this property, we'll address it through the appropriate legal channels.”
The supervisor moved aside.
Sophia remained standing near my father's desk.
As I passed her, she spoke quietly enough that only I could hear.
“You have no idea what your father was involved in.”
I stopped.
“Then enlighten me.”
Her eyes flickered toward Nathan.
“I can't.”
“Or you won't?”
For the first time, I saw genuine fear beneath her perfect makeup.
She leaned closer.
“Some secrets are dangerous because the people protecting them have already lost too much.”
Before I could question her, Nathan called from the hallway.
“Claire.”
I followed him outside.
We drove away without speaking.
Only after the mansion disappeared behind the trees did I remove the brass key from my handbag.
Locker 317.
Union Station.
Nathan glanced at it.
“Do you want to go?”
“Yes.”
“What if someone is watching?”
“Then we'll be careful.”
He nodded.
“And Eleanor Price?”
“I'll call her.”
I found her number in an old address book saved on my phone.
It rang five times.
Then a woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Eleanor? It's Claire Bennett.”
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Her voice trembled.
“I hoped you would never need to call me.”
I looked at Nathan.
“Why?”
Eleanor lowered her voice.
“Where are you?”
“In Chicago.”
“Are you alone?”
“No. I'm with my attorney.”
“Good.”
I heard a door close on her end.
Then she whispered.
“Did you find the blue music box?”
My pulse quickened.
“Yes.”
“Then Thomas was right.”
“About what?”
“That Richard would eventually come after the house.”
I swallowed.
“Eleanor, what happened between my father and Richard Moretti?”
She was quiet for several seconds.
Then she said something that made the entire car feel cold.
“Your father discovered that Richard was stealing from his own employees.”
I stared ahead.
“What?”
“Retirement funds. Deferred compensation accounts. Money that belonged to people who spent their lives working for Moretti Holdings.”
Nathan slowed the car.
Eleanor continued.
“Thomas was hired to review a development partnership involving Moretti properties. He noticed financing transactions that made no sense. The deeper he looked, the more he realized the company was using shell entities to conceal missing funds.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why didn't he report it?”
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
“Richard threatened to destroy him financially. He also threatened everyone connected to him.”
I looked down at the key.
“My father never told me.”
“Because protecting you was the one thing he cared about more than exposing Richard.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Eleanor's voice softened.
“Claire, your father wasn't perfect. He believed Richard was his friend for many years. He signed agreements he later regretted. But when he understood what was happening, he began collecting evidence.”
“Where is it?”
“Locker 317.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then why did he leave the key in a music box?”
“Because he knew you would recognize it.”
Nathan pulled into a quiet parking lot.
I put the call on speaker.
“Eleanor, why did Richard use my house as collateral?”
Her answer came slowly.
“Because your father refused to let him use it.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
“Thomas discovered the unauthorized financing and demanded that Richard unwind it. Richard refused. Your father was preparing to expose the arrangement when he became ill.”
“And after Dad died?”
“Richard apparently found another way.”
I looked at the forged signature.
Suddenly, my marriage to Vincent felt even more complicated.
Had Richard encouraged our relationship because he loved me?
Or because marrying me into his family made it easier to control my property?
The thought was almost unbearable.
Eleanor interrupted my silence.
“Claire, listen carefully. Don't confront Richard again until you have everything.”
“We're going to Union Station.”
“Then I'll meet you somewhere safe afterward.”
Before hanging up, she added one final warning.
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Your father suspected that someone inside Moretti Holdings was helping Richard move the money.”
“Who?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“I never knew the name. Only that the person had access to the executive office and private financial records.”
The call ended.
Nathan turned toward me.
“Sophia?”
I looked at the photograph on my phone.
Vincent.
Sophia.
The hotel.
Then the suspicious security operation at my father's house.
“I don't know,” I whispered.
An hour later, we reached Union Station.
Locker 317 was located in a quiet corridor away from the main passenger hall.
I inserted the brass key.
It turned smoothly.
Inside was a small metal case.
Nathan lifted it out.
We opened it on a nearby bench.
Inside were financial documents, a flash drive, an old photograph, and a sealed envelope addressed to me.
My father's handwriting covered the front.
To my daughter, Claire. If the truth ever reaches you, I hope you'll forgive me.
I opened it.
The first sentence made my heart stop.
Claire, there is something about your marriage to Vincent that you deserve to know.
May you like
Then I read the next line.
Richard Moretti arranged your first meeting with his son.
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