Chapter 2 - The Night Emma Disappeared
The elevator doors opened.
A delivery worker pushed out a cart of medical supplies.
Emma released the breath she had been holding.
Adrian did not.
His gaze remained fixed inside the elevator until the doors closed again.
“Charles Weller is alive?” Emma whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Dr. Greene guided Emma toward a private consultation room.
Adrian stayed outside until Emma turned back.
“Come in.”
He looked surprised.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” she said. “If someone used your former lawyer’s name to access my medical information, I want to know why.”
Adrian nodded once.
Inside, Dr. Greene shut the door.
Emma sat carefully.
Adrian chose the chair farthest away.
That small decision did not escape her.
Dr. Greene placed the envelope on the desk.
“I want to clarify something first. No genetic testing has been performed.”
Emma frowned.
“But the label—”
“Someone submitted a request. Our system flagged it because the person was not listed as an authorized contact.”
“So nothing was taken?”
“Nothing.”
Relief passed through her.
Adrian leaned forward.
“How did they get enough information to submit it?”
“Full legal name. Date of birth. Insurance details. Expected delivery date.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
Those details were private.
Adrian looked at her.
“Who knew?”
“My doctor.”
“Anyone else?”
“The clinic.”
“Family?”
Emma hesitated.
“My sister knew the due date.”
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Would she—”
“No.”
His mouth closed immediately.
Emma looked down at the desk.
Eight months earlier, after leaving Chicago, Emma had stayed with Rachel for six weeks.
Rachel knew everything.
Or almost everything.
She knew about the voicemail.
The divorce.
The pregnancy.
She knew Emma was terrified Adrian would see the baby as a Moretti heir rather than a child.
But Rachel would never sell medical information.
Emma trusted that absolutely.
Dr. Greene tapped the form.
“There’s also an email address attached.”
Adrian asked, “Can we see it?”
The doctor turned the paper.
The address was simple.
cwellerlegal@protonmail.
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“That means nothing.”
Emma looked at him.
“Why?”
“Anyone can create an email.”
“Could Charles?”
“If he’s alive.”
“You really believe he died?”
“I was shown a death certificate.”
Emma stared.
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“One month after our divorce.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Car accident outside Milwaukee.”
“Did you see the body?”
“No.”
“Attend the funeral?”
“There wasn’t one.”
Emma slowly sat back.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“I should have questioned it.”
“You question everything.”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
He looked directly at her.
“You.”
Silence.
Emma hated the answer because she believed it.
Adrian had spent months trying to reach her.
She knew because she changed phone numbers twice.
He sent letters.
She returned them unopened.
He appeared once outside Rachel’s apartment building.
Emma watched from behind a curtain while Rachel went downstairs and told him to leave.
He did.
That had surprised her.
After the divorce, Adrian had stopped trying.
At least she assumed he had.
“What happened that night?” he asked.
Emma’s eyes narrowed.
“Which night?”
“The night you decided to leave me.”
“You know what happened.”
“I know what I came home to.”
“What?”
“An empty bedroom. Half the closet gone. Your wedding ring on the dresser.”
Emma looked away.
He continued quietly.
“You left a note saying not to contact you.”
“Because of the message.”
“What message?”
She stared at him.
For eight months, this question had lived inside her anger.
Now, for the first time, she saw genuine confusion on his face.
“The one from Sofia.”
Adrian went completely still.
Emma felt something dark rise inside her.
“You remember now.”
“I remember Sofia.”
“Of course you do.”
“Emma—”
“She wrote that she couldn’t keep hiding what happened between you.”
Adrian’s forehead creased.
“What?”
“She said you promised to take care of her. She said I needed to stop pretending I knew what kind of man I married.”
“That message never existed.”
“I read it.”
“On my phone?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The morning after we were together.”
Adrian stood abruptly.
Dr. Greene shifted.
Adrian noticed and forced himself to sit again.
“Sorry.”
Emma folded her arms.
“You deleted it before I could confront you.”
“No.”
“The thread was gone that afternoon.”
“Because my phone disappeared for six hours.”
Emma blinked.
“What?”
“That morning, I went to the warehouse district. My driver noticed the phone missing. We assumed I left it at home. It turned up under the passenger seat later.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
“But?”
“But Sofia had been dead for two years.”
Emma stared.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I saw her at your brother’s wedding.”
“Three years ago.”
Emma searched his face.
The timeline.
The wedding.
Sofia laughing beside the bar.
Her red dress.
A photograph.
Then another memory.
A conversation in which Adrian’s sister said something about a memorial.
Emma had not listened closely.
She and Adrian were already arguing.
“You never told me.”
“I thought you knew.”
“How did she die?”
“Cancer.”
Emma covered her mouth.
The room felt too small.
If Sofia was dead, someone had created the message.
Someone had accessed Adrian’s phone.
Someone had wanted Emma to believe her husband had betrayed her.
But that did not explain the lawyer.
Or the divorce.
Or the recording.
“What about the voicemail?”
Adrian looked confused again.
“What voicemail?”
“Weller played it for me.”
“What did it say?”
Emma repeated the words.
“Do whatever is necessary. I want this finished.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“I said that.”
Her heart sank.
“To whom?”
“My brother.”
“About me?”
“No.”
“About what?”
“A construction deal.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“You expect me to believe someone took five seconds of your voice and convinced me you wanted a divorce?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I think someone took five seconds of my voice, put it beside paperwork from a lawyer I had already fired, used a dead woman’s identity, and spent months making sure we never spoke long enough to discover it.”
Emma stopped smiling.
That sounded impossible.
And yet someone had just attempted to access her prenatal records using Charles Weller’s name.
Adrian leaned forward.
“Emma, why did you leave Chicago?”
“Because I didn’t want my child raised inside your world.”
His face changed.
There it was.
The accusation deeper than cheating.
His life.
His name.
His power.
“I was getting out.”
She shook her head.
“You always said that.”
“I meant it.”
“You had blood on your collar the night our baby was conceived.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“That wasn’t comforting.”
He looked down.
Fair.
She remembered the arguments.
Adrian insisting that Moretti Holdings was legitimate now.
Emma asking why legitimate businessmen needed armored cars.
Why men stood outside their house at night.
Why Adrian sometimes vanished at two in the morning.
He always had explanations.
Protection.
Old enemies.
Family obligations.
Transitional problems.
Emma eventually realized his explanations could be true and still make her life unbearable.
“I wanted you safe,” Adrian said.
“I didn’t feel safe.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew then.”
“No. I thought danger meant someone pointing a gun at you.”
Emma swallowed.
“And now?”
“Now I understand danger can be making the person you love afraid to tell you she’s afraid.”
That landed harder than she wanted.
Dr. Greene cleared his throat gently.
“There is another issue.”
They both looked at him.
“The person who submitted this request included a note asking that any paternal result be copied to an outside attorney.”
“Who?” Adrian asked.
Dr. Greene checked the form.
“Marian Vale.”
Adrian’s face changed instantly.
Emma noticed.
“You know her.”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
He did not answer quickly enough.
“Adrian.”
“My mother’s attorney.”
Emma stared.
“Your mother?”
“Before she died.”
Emma had met Isabella Moretti only four times.
The woman had been elegant, controlled, and almost unnervingly observant.
She never openly insulted Emma.
She did not need to.
She could say, “You’re very independent,” and somehow make it sound like a diagnosis.
Isabella died three years into Emma and Adrian’s marriage.
Emma had assumed whatever influence she once held ended there.
Apparently not.
“Why would her attorney care about my pregnancy?”
“I don’t know.”
Dr. Greene slid the paperwork across.
“I can give you a copy.”
Adrian did not touch it.
Emma did.
At the bottom was a phone number.
Chicago area code.
“Call it,” Adrian said.
Emma looked at him.
“You call.”
He shook his head.
“If whoever did this expects Charles Weller, they may recognize my voice.”
Emma considered.
Then dialed.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
A woman answered.
“Vale.”
Emma’s mouth went dry.
“Ms. Vale?”
Pause.
“Yes?”
“My name is Emma Bennett.”
Silence.
Then a breath.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Emma looked at Adrian.
“I believe someone used your name on a request for my medical records.”
The woman said nothing.
“Ms. Vale?”
“You shouldn’t be calling me.”
“Why?”
“Where are you?”
Emma’s grip tightened.
“At my clinic.”
“Is Adrian Moretti with you?”
Emma looked at him.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then Marian Vale said, “Listen carefully. Do not leave through the front entrance.”
Adrian stood.
Emma’s pulse jumped.
“What are you talking about?”
“I tried to stop this eight months ago.”
“Stop what?”
“Your divorce.”
Emma froze.
Marian continued.
“I know who forged Adrian’s instructions. I know why they needed you out of Chicago. And if you are pregnant with his child, then whoever did this has just learned their plan failed.”
A sound came from the phone.
A door opening.
Marian gasped.
Then the line went dead.
Emma stared at the screen.
Adrian was already moving toward the consultation room door.
He stopped with his hand on the handle.
Someone knocked once from the other side.
May you like
Then a man’s voice said,
“Mr. Moretti, I believe your ex-wife has something that belongs to us.”
