Chapter 2 - THE TRUTH ABOUT THE COPPER WIRE
The dining room of the Moretti mansion was dead silent.
Twenty-eight wealthy guests stared at us.
But I didn't care about them. I only cared about the seventeen-year-old girl trembling in my arms, her beautiful blue satin dress crushed against my uniform.
“Sophie,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “What else did Miss Bellini say about your dad?”
Sophie buried her face in my shoulder.
She didn't want to say it loudly. But the room was so quiet that her broken voice carried to every corner.
“She said he didn't die in an accident, Mom.”
My heart stopped.
“She said he wasn't doing his job when the scaffolding collapsed,” Sophie choked out. “She said he was up there trying to steal copper wire to pay off his gambling debts.”
The blood drained from my face.
My husband, Mark, had never gambled a day in his life. He worked sixty-hour weeks. He saved his extra quarters in a glass jar on our kitchen counter just so he could buy Sophie ice cream on Sundays.
“And she said,” Sophie continued, her tears soaking my collar, “that if I go to college and take your money, I’ll be just as selfish as the thief who left us with nothing.”
I felt a cold, blinding rage sweep through my veins.
For eleven years, I had kept my head down. I had cleaned the floors. I had polished the silver. I had smiled politely at people who didn't even know my last name.
But nobody—absolutely nobody—gets to destroy my daughter’s memory of her father.
I gently pulled back from Sophie. I wiped her tears with the pad of my thumb.
“Your father was an honest man,” I said, my voice ringing clear and loud across the dining room. “He was a hero to us. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her chin quivering.
I stood up slowly.
I turned my back on my daughter and faced Vanessa Bellini.
The woman in the red satin gown took a step backward. For the first time all evening, she looked uncertain.
“Claire,” Vanessa said, trying to maintain her haughty tone. “Let’s not make a scene. I was simply trying to explain the realities of—”
“How do you know how my husband died?” I demanded.
Vanessa blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My husband died on a construction site on the South Side eight years ago,” I said, stepping closer. “It was a closed settlement. His name was never in the papers. So how do you know about the scaffolding?”
Vanessa folded her arms, though her hands were visibly shaking.
“It’s public record,” she lied.
“No, it isn't,” Luca Moretti's voice cut through the room like a whip.
Luca stepped forward, his dark eyes locked on his fiancée. The anger radiating from him was palpable.
“The South Side development was a Bellini Construction project, Vanessa,” Luca said quietly. “Your father’s company.”
The guests began to murmur.
Vanessa’s face went pale. “Luca, darling, my father employs thousands of men. I simply recognized Claire’s last name from a file.”
“A file you read?” Luca asked. “Or a file you altered to blame a dead man for your father’s faulty equipment?”
Before Vanessa could answer, a sharp gasp echoed from the head of the table.
Teresa Moretti, Luca’s elderly mother, was clutching her chest. Her face was ashen.
She reached into her small beaded purse with trembling fingers. She pulled out a heavy, antique silver rosary.
“Claire,” Teresa whispered, her eyes wide with sudden terror. “What was your husband’s full name?”
I looked at the older woman, confused by her panic.
“Mark Bennett, ma'am.”
Teresa gripped the silver cross so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She looked at Luca.
“Luca,” Teresa breathed, her voice filled with absolute horror. “Mark Bennett wasn't a construction worker.”
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The room fell completely silent again.
“He was the independent safety inspector,” Teresa said. “The one who found the cracks in the foundation the day before it collapsed.”
