Chapter 2 - THE TRANSFER PAPERS
The dining room of the Moretti mansion went completely silent.
Thirty wealthy guests, politicians, and business partners sat frozen in their high-backed mahogany chairs. The crystal chandeliers overhead seemed to cast a harsh, unforgiving light on the scene unfolding at the head of the table.
Luca Moretti didn't look at the guests. He didn't look at the extravagant floral arrangements or the untouched champagne.
He only looked at the folded piece of paper in his hands.
His nine-year-old daughter, Lily, stood trembling beside me. Her tiny hands gripped the fabric of my black housekeeper’s apron so tightly her knuckles were white. The oversized catering uniform Vanessa had forced her to wear swallowed her small frame, a cruel visual reminder of how small she felt in her own home.
“Luca,” Vanessa said, her voice dropping to a harsh, panicked whisper. She took a step toward him, her red silk gown rustling against the Persian rug. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Please, let’s go into your study and discuss this privately.”
Luca didn't move.
His dark eyes tracked across the lines of the document. The silence stretched until the tension in the room became almost suffocating.
I stood my ground, keeping my body angled slightly in front of Lily to shield her from Vanessa’s glaring eyes. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I had just risked my job, my mother’s mortgage, and my future to protect this little girl. I couldn't back down now.
“This is a transfer of guardianship,” Luca finally said. His voice was dangerously quiet, lacking any of the explosive anger the Chicago underworld feared. This was something colder.
“It’s a boarding school application, Luca,” Vanessa corrected quickly, forcing a tight, artificial smile for the benefit of the guests. “Oakwood Academy. We discussed this. You agreed that Lily needed a more disciplined environment to help her process her grief. A place where she could thrive.”
“I never agreed to send my daughter away,” Luca said, his gaze snapping up to meet hers.
“You signed the paperwork yourself!” Vanessa argued, her voice rising an octave. She pointed a trembling finger at the bottom of the page. “Right there. That is your signature, Luca. You gave me permission.”
Luca looked down at the signature.
He stared at it for a long, agonizing moment.
“Is it?” Vanessa pressed, sensing his hesitation. “Tell them, Luca. Tell everyone in this room that you signed it.”
A collective intake of breath swept through the dining room. If Luca had signed it, my intervention had just publicly humiliated him. I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. Had I made a terrible mistake?
Answer one: The signature was real. It wasn't a forgery.
Luca slowly ran his thumb over the ink at the bottom of the page.
“It’s my signature,” Luca murmured.
Vanessa let out a breath of triumph. She turned her arrogant gaze toward me. “You hear that, Claire? Now let go of my stepdaughter and get out of my house before I have security throw you onto the street.”
I looked at Luca, my chest tightening. “Mr. Moretti, please—”
“But,” Luca interrupted, his voice suddenly cutting through the room like a blade.
He didn't look at me. He stepped toward Vanessa, holding the paper up to the light of the chandelier.
“I didn't sign this recently,” Luca said softly.
Vanessa’s triumphant smile faltered. “What are you talking about? You signed it last month, mixed in with the shipping manifests.”
A reversal shifted the entire gravity of the room.
“I broke my right hand three years ago, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Ever since then, my signature slants upward at a fifteen-degree angle. The signature on this paper is perfectly straight.”
Vanessa took a step back, the color draining from her flawless face.
“And,” Luca continued, stepping closer to her, “this is signed in Montblanc Midnight Blue ink. I stopped using that ink four years ago. The exact week my wife died.”
He held the paper inches from Vanessa’s face.
“You slipped a blank guardianship transfer into the probate documents when I was too blinded by grief to read what I was signing. You’ve been holding onto this for four years.”
Gasps echoed around the table.
Open two: Vanessa had planned this since the week Lily’s mother died. But why wait four years? And who exactly was coming to get Lily in the morning?
Vanessa’s chest heaved. “Luca, you’re being paranoid! It’s a prestigious school! Dr. Thorne is one of the best headmistresses in the country!”
The name struck me like a physical blow.
Dr. Thorne.
My mother had worked as a registered nurse for thirty years before her surgery. She didn't work at a school. She worked at a private, high-security psychiatric facility on the outskirts of the city.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, my voice shaking but loud enough for the room to hear.
Luca turned to me.
I reached into the deep pocket of my housekeeper’s apron. “Oakwood isn't a boarding school. It’s an institutional lockdown facility for troubled youths.”
Vanessa lunged toward me. “Shut your mouth, you lying maid!”
Two of Luca’s security men immediately stepped forward, blocking her path.
“How do you know that, Claire?” Luca asked, his eyes locking onto mine.
“Because my mother works there,” I said.
I pulled my hand out of my apron. Resting in my palm was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch.
“And because I found this hidden in Mrs. Bellini’s vanity drawer while I was cleaning her bathroom this afternoon.”
May you like
I held the silver watch out to Luca.
“It has the Oakwood Institute crest engraved on the back,” I said, my voice steadying. “And it’s inscribed to Dr. Aris Thorne. The woman Vanessa is trying to give your daughter to.”
