Chapter 3 - Eleven Months of Silence
Vincent didn't move.
Neither did I.
The voice coming from behind the wall was calm, warm, and undeniably recorded.
But Isabella reacted as though her mother had walked into the room.
She pulled away from Mia and ran toward the opening.
Vincent caught her.
"No."
She fought him.
Not violently.
Desperately.
Her hands reached for the darkness.
"Isabella."
She made a broken sound.
Vincent held her closer.
"It's okay."
She shook her head.
The recording continued.
"If she brought you here, then Dominic failed."
Every person in the corridor looked at Dominic.
He closed his eyes.
Vincent's voice became almost inaudible.
"What did she mean?"
Dominic said nothing.
The recording stopped.
A small light came on inside the hidden room.
Vincent handed Isabella to me.
"Stay with Claire."
Then he walked toward Dominic.
Keller moved between them.
"Vincent, wait."
"Move."
"There are things you don't understand."
Vincent smiled without warmth.
"I'm starting to understand plenty."
Dominic finally spoke.
"Elena was afraid."
Vincent froze.
"Of whom?"
"Not you."
"That wasn't my question."
Dominic looked into the hidden room.
"She discovered someone was using your companies."
"For what?"
"Money laundering. Blackmail. Payoffs. Information."
Vincent's eyes hardened.
"Who?"
"I didn't know at first."
"At first."
Dominic's silence answered.
Vincent looked at Keller.
"And the doctor?"
Keller shook his head.
"I didn't know anything about the financial operation."
"But you knew about Isabella."
"Yes."
The admission dropped like glass.
Vincent stepped toward him.
"What did you do?"
Keller raised both hands.
"I treated her."
"In a hidden room?"
"No."
"Then why are there photographs?"
"Because someone was recording her treatment without my permission."
Dominic scoffed.
Keller turned.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Pretend you were innocent."
Vincent looked from one man to the other.
"I want the truth."
Dominic laughed bitterly.
"You've wanted the truth for eleven months. The problem is you only wanted it from the people you trusted."
The sentence hit Vincent.
Hard.
He went quiet.
I realized then that men like Vincent probably survived by dividing the world into enemies and family.
Enemies were watched.
Family was believed.
And someone had hidden inside that blind spot.
Vincent entered the concealed room.
I stayed close enough to see.
A desk stood against the wall.
Several hard drives.
An old monitor.
A microphone.
Photographs of Elena.
Photographs of Isabella.
Photographs of Vincent.
Some appeared to have been taken secretly.
One image showed Vincent carrying flowers into a cemetery.
Another showed Isabella playing in a garden.
Another showed Dominic entering Vincent's townhouse.
Vincent picked up that photograph.
"When?"
Dominic looked.
"Two years ago."
"Elena was already dead."
"Yes."
"Why were you being photographed?"
"I don't know."
Vincent opened a drawer.
Inside was a notebook.
Elena Moretti was written on the first page.
He stared at the handwriting.
"My wife's."
He turned pages.
Dates.
Names.
Account numbers.
Initials.
Then a sentence underlined twice.
D.R. IS NOT THE TRAITOR.
Dominic saw it.
His shoulders dropped.
Vincent looked at him.
"She trusted you."
Dominic's eyes filled with something like grief.
"Yes."
"Then why did the recording say you failed?"
"Because I did."
The room seemed to tighten.
Dominic looked toward Isabella.
"Elena found out someone inside your organization had been selling information about your family."
"Who?"
"She never told me the name."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"She said the fewer people who knew, the safer Isabella would be."
Vincent laughed bitterly.
"That worked beautifully."
Dominic accepted the blow.
"She gave me the swan."
"The one in the restaurant?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"She told me it contained a key. She made me promise I'd only give it to you if Isabella ever remembered."
Vincent's expression sharpened.
"You left it in my house."
"No."
Everyone went silent.
Dominic continued.
"I hid it after Elena died."
"Where?"
"In my apartment."
"Then how did it end up beside Isabella eleven months ago?"
"I don't know."
Vincent studied him.
For the first time, I believed Dominic.
Not because I knew him.
Because Isabella did.
She had pointed at him earlier, yes.
But now she was watching Keller.
And her face had changed.
I looked down at Mia.
She saw it too.
Children notice where adults look.
Mia whispered, "Mommy."
"What?"
"Isabella doesn't like the doctor."
Keller heard.
His face tightened.
"That's enough."
Vincent turned.
"No. It isn't."
Keller stepped backward.
"I'm leaving."
Vincent's guard blocked the door.
"No one leaves."
"This is unlawful."
Vincent almost smiled.
"Call the police."
Keller didn't.
That told me plenty.
Vincent crouched in front of Isabella.
He kept his voice gentle.
"Sweetheart, did Dr. Keller hurt you?"
She stared at him.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Did he scare you?"
A tiny nod.
Keller said, "She associates me with treatment. That's normal."
Vincent ignored him.
"Was Dominic there?"
Isabella hesitated.
Then shook her head.
Dominic covered his mouth.
Vincent looked at Keller.
"Who else was there?"
Keller's composure cracked.
"I didn't do anything to her."
"Then answer."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
Keller glanced toward the hidden room.
Vincent followed his eyes.
On the desk sat an old digital recorder.
Vincent picked it up.
One file.
He pressed play.
Static.
Then Elena's voice.
"Sam, I know you're listening."
Keller went white.
Vincent looked at him.
Elena continued.
"You told me you were helping Isabella sleep. You told Vincent she had anxiety. But I found the medication."
Keller shook his head.
"No."
On the recording Elena said:
"It isn't for anxiety."
Vincent's hand tightened around the recorder.
"What medication?"
Keller didn't answer.
"You drugged my daughter?"
"No!"
"Then what?"
"It was prescribed."
"For what?"
Keller's face broke.
"For memory suppression."
Silence.
I felt sick.
Vincent stared at him.
"That's not a treatment."
"It was experimental."
"On a seven-year-old?"
"She had witnessed something traumatic."
Vincent took one slow step forward.
"What did she witness?"
Keller looked at Isabella.
Then Dominic.
Then me.
"I was told if she remembered, she would die."
Vincent stopped.
"Who told you?"
Keller swallowed.
"I never met him directly."
"Name."
"I don't know."
"Lie."
"I swear."
"How did he contact you?"
"Encrypted calls. Messages."
"Voice?"
"Distorted."
Vincent's patience disappeared.
He grabbed Keller's jacket.
"WHAT DID MY DAUGHTER SEE?"
Isabella screamed.
Not a word.
A sound.
Sharp and terrified.
Vincent released Keller immediately.
He turned.
"Baby, I'm sorry."
She backed into me.
Mia held her.
Keller was trembling now.
"She saw someone in Elena's bedroom."
Vincent looked at him.
"The night she stopped speaking?"
"Yes."
"Doing what?"
Keller swallowed.
"Searching for the swan."
Dominic frowned.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You saw him?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
Keller looked at Isabella.
"Because she drew him."
Vincent went still.
"Where is the drawing?"
Keller looked toward the metal cabinet.
Vincent rushed back into room 317.
He tore through folders.
One.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
Then he found a thin envelope.
ISABELLA — SESSION ONE.
Inside were children's drawings.
A house.
A woman.
A swan.
A tall man.
One drawing showed Isabella beneath a table.
Another showed a dark figure standing over the swan.
Another showed the figure speaking to Keller.
Vincent turned the page.
The final drawing was different.
The man had no face.
But there was something on his hand.
A ring.
Large.
Square.
With a black stone.
Dominic looked at it.
His expression changed.
Vincent noticed.
"You recognize it."
Dominic didn't answer.
"Who wears that ring?"
Dominic stared at the drawing.
"No."
"Dominic."
"It can't be."
"WHO?"
Dominic looked at Vincent.
"Your father."
Vincent stopped breathing.
I knew enough about the Moretti name to know Vincent's father had built the family's fortune.
Angelo Moretti.
Feared.
Respected.
And dead.
At least, according to every newspaper article I'd ever seen.
Vincent laughed once.
"My father died four years ago."
Dominic nodded slowly.
"I saw the body."
"So did I."
Keller backed away.
Vincent noticed.
"What?"
Keller's eyes shifted.
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing."
Vincent stepped closer.
"Was my father your patient?"
"No."
"Did you know him?"
"Everyone knew Angelo Moretti."
"That's not what I asked."
Keller's hand shook.
Vincent looked at the drawing again.
Then he noticed something.
On the bottom edge, written in Isabella's childish handwriting, were three letters.
N.
O.
N.
Vincent stared.
"Nonno."
Grandfather.
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
Vincent looked at her.
"Isabella."
She covered her ears.
Then she whispered another word.
"Alive."
Every person in the room froze.
Vincent slowly stood.
Keller's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His entire face collapsed.
Vincent snatched it away.
One new message.
No sender.
Only six words.
SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER.
Then a second message appeared.
Vincent read it.
His eyes moved toward the security camera above room 317.
The tiny red light was blinking.
May you like
The message said:
LOOK UP.
