Chapter 6 - The Daughter They Tried to Erase
At 9:17 that morning, Alexander Moretti appeared on live television.
He stood outside a federal courthouse wearing the same emerald-green suit he'd worn the previous evening.
There was a bruise along his jaw.
His hair was wet from the rain.
He looked exhausted.
But his voice was steady.
"My name is Alexander Moretti."
Reporters surged toward him.
"Mr. Moretti, is it true your brother has assumed control of your company?"
"Are you receiving psychiatric treatment?"
"Was a child kidnapped at your restaurant?"
Alexander raised his hand.
The crowd quieted.
"I am not suffering from a psychiatric emergency."
"My brother has submitted fraudulent documents in an attempt to remove me from my company."
"And I have evidence that my wife, Isabella Moretti, whom I was told died five years ago, may still be alive."
The reporters erupted.
Alexander waited.
"Last night, I met a little girl who may be my daughter."
He swallowed.
"She is currently safe."
"I am asking anyone with information about Isabella's disappearance to contact federal authorities."
Then he looked directly into the camera.
"Vincent."
His voice sharpened.
"If you're watching this, listen carefully."
"You will not take my daughter."
A reporter shouted, "Are you accusing your brother of kidnapping?"
Alexander met her eyes.
"I'm accusing him of lying to me about my wife's death."
"Are you accusing him of murder?"
"I'm asking the authorities to determine who died in the accident that was supposed to have killed Isabella."
That was the sentence that changed everything.
Within minutes, every major network carried the clip.
Within an hour, Moretti Holdings stock was halted pending clarification.
By noon, Vincent appeared in his own televised statement.
He stood inside company headquarters in a charcoal suit.
His expression was grave.
"My brother has experienced significant emotional distress since the tragic death of his wife."
He paused.
"We love Alexander."
"And our family will do everything possible to help him recover."
A reporter asked whether Isabella could be alive.
Vincent lowered his eyes.
"I wish that were true."
"Then why did your brother produce a video?"
"I haven't seen any authenticated recording."
"Is your father alive?"
Vincent looked directly at the camera.
"My father passed away eleven months ago."
A second reporter called out.
"Then how did he notarize a document six weeks ago?"
For the first time, Vincent hesitated.
"We're reviewing that allegation."
The broadcast cut away.
Watching from a motel outside Chicago, Alexander turned off the television.
"He's buying time."
Elena sat beside the window.
"Why did you go public?"
"Because now they can't make me disappear quietly."
"Or Lucy."
"Exactly."
Benjamin stood near the door.
"Public attention won't protect her forever."
"I know."
Alexander looked at the attorney seated across from him.
Rebecca Shaw had arrived with a federal investigator named Daniel Mercer.
Neither looked pleased.
"You gave a press conference before supplying us with the complete evidence," Rebecca said.
Alexander leaned back.
"I gave a press conference because someone tried to kill me."
"That's precisely why you should have called us first."
"I did call you."
"Then you left the scene."
"Because the shooter escaped."
Rebecca exhaled slowly.
"We're not your private security company, Mr. Moretti."
"Good."
He leaned forward.
"Mine is compromised."
Mercer opened a folder.
"We have an injured former detective, an unidentified armed suspect, and partial video footage from a private residence."
"We also have a dead woman who isn't dead," Alexander said.
"Allegedly."
Alexander placed Isabella's phone on the table.
"Watch it."
Mercer played the recording.
Isabella's frightened face appeared.
Rebecca stopped taking notes.
When the woman mentioned their daughter, Mercer glanced at Alexander.
The recording ended.
Rebecca remained silent.
Then she asked, "When was the last time you saw your wife alive?"
"Five years ago."
"Before the accident?"
"Yes."
"Did you identify her body?"
"No."
"Who did?"
"Detective Kessler said he did."
"Did you ever request an independent examination?"
Alexander lowered his eyes.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I trusted my family."
Rebecca's expression softened slightly.
"That trust may have been exploited."
Alexander looked up.
"May have?"
"We need proof of identity."
"Take DNA samples."
"We intend to."
"And examine the remains in Isabella's grave."
Rebecca exchanged a glance with Mercer.
"We've already requested a court order."
Alexander stared.
"You have?"
"Yes."
He sat back.
For the first time since the restaurant, he felt something approaching relief.
Then Rebecca asked, "Where is the child?"
Alexander's expression closed.
"Safe."
"We need to confirm her identity and welfare."
"Then arrange a private meeting with an independent child specialist."
"Mr. Moretti—"
"I'm cooperating."
"With conditions."
"With reasonable safeguards."
Rebecca studied him.
Finally, she nodded.
"We can work with that."
That afternoon, Dr. Naomi Ellis, a court-approved pediatric specialist, examined Lucy at a secure family services facility.
Alexander sat beside his daughter throughout the appointment.
Lucy wore a yellow sweater Frank had purchased from a neighborhood store.
She held her stuffed rabbit tightly.
Dr. Ellis smiled.
"Hello, Lucia."
Lucy looked at Alexander.
"That's me."
"I hear you like drawing."
Lucy nodded.
"Mostly houses."
"Can you draw one for me?"
Lucy considered it.
"With windows?"
"As many as you want."
While she drew, Dr. Ellis asked Alexander to step into the adjoining room.
He hesitated.
Lucy looked up.
"Daddy?"
He crouched beside her.
"I'm right through that window."
She glanced at the observation glass.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
The doctor waited until he joined her.
Then she spoke gently.
"She's attached to you very quickly."
Alexander looked through the glass.
"Is that bad?"
"Not necessarily."
"Then why do you sound worried?"
"Because children who experience inconsistent caregiving sometimes cling to new adults they perceive as safe."
Alexander's chest tightened.
"She's been separated from her mother."
"I know."
"Can you help her?"
"Yes."
The doctor paused.
"But what she needs most is predictability."
Alexander nodded.
"Whatever she needs."
"That means keeping promises."
"I intend to."
"Even small ones."
He looked through the glass again.
Lucy was drawing a house.
Three figures stood in front of it.
A fourth figure hovered behind a window.
Alexander recognized Isabella's dark hair.
"Do you think she remembers her mother?"
Dr. Ellis followed his gaze.
"Very clearly."
Alexander swallowed.
"Then I have to bring her home."
The doctor didn't answer.
When the appointment ended, Lucy handed Alexander the picture.
"That's our house."
He smiled.
"It's beautiful."
"That's Mommy."
"I see."
"That's you."
"And who's this?"
"Me."
Alexander pointed to a dark figure standing behind a tree.
"Who's that?"
Lucy's smile vanished.
She looked toward the door.
Then she whispered, "The man with the silver hand."
Alexander felt cold.
"What man?"
Lucy pressed the rabbit against her chest.
"The one who comes when Mommy cries."
Dr. Ellis gently sat beside her.
"Can you tell us about him?"
Lucy shook her head.
"He says I shouldn't talk."
Alexander forced his voice to remain calm.
"You're safe now."
Lucy looked at him.
"He says that too."
"Who?"
"The man with the silver hand."
She pointed at her drawing.
"I saw him at the restaurant."
Alexander stared.
"When?"
"Before the lights went away."
His heart accelerated.
"Was he with Uncle Vincent?"
Lucy nodded.
"He gave Uncle Vincent the little black phone."
Alexander looked at Benjamin.
Benjamin was already reaching for his own phone.
"Pull the security footage from the restaurant."
Alexander turned back to Lucy.
"Sweetheart, what does the silver hand look like?"
She held up her left hand.
"Like this."
Then she curled three fingers inward.
"And it makes a clicking noise."
Alexander remembered the sound of a metal prosthetic hand.
He remembered someone from his childhood.
A man who had worked for his father.
A man whose left hand had been crushed in an industrial accident.
Alexander stood.
"Oh, God."
Benjamin looked up.
"What?"
Alexander spoke the name slowly.
"Arthur Sloane."
Benjamin frowned.
"The old family security director?"
Alexander nodded.
"Everyone thought he retired."
Lucy reached for him.
"Daddy?"
He knelt.
"Yes?"
The girl whispered, "The silver man told Mommy something."
"What?"
Lucy glanced toward Dr. Ellis.
Then she leaned close to Alexander's ear.
"He said Grandma was still alive too."
Alexander stopped breathing.
His mother had died when he was sixteen.
May you like
For twenty-seven years, he had believed she was buried beside his grandparents.
And now his daughter was telling him that even that death might have been another lie.
