Chapter 2 - The Call From Charlotte
Vincent took the phone from Marco without looking away from Jane.
“Put it on speaker.”
Marco obeyed.
Charlotte’s voice entered the courtyard.
Smooth.
Controlled.
Almost cheerful.
“Vincent Moretti. At last.”
Jane’s entire body stiffened.
Vincent’s expression did not change.
“You know who I am.”
“Oh, everyone knows who you are.”
“You sent Jane to me.”
“I sent you what you paid for.”
Jane flinched.
Vincent’s eyes darkened.
“You’re confused about the nature of our transaction.”
Charlotte laughed softly.
“No, Mr. Moretti. I’m afraid you are.”
Jane stepped closer to the phone.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then Charlotte sighed.
“Jane. You always did have terrible timing.”
Jane’s hands curled into fists.
“You told me he was going to kill me.”
“I told you many things.”
“Why?”
“Because frightened people are obedient.”
Vincent looked at Jane.
She hated that he saw what those words did to her.
For years Charlotte had treated affection like currency.
Love was payment for achievement.
Silence was punishment for disobedience.
Jane had spent half her life trying to earn warmth from a woman who had calculated every embrace.
Still, hearing her speak so casually now ripped open something old.
Vincent’s voice cut through.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“Not for long.”
“Threats already?”
“No.”
His tone remained almost conversational.
“Threats require uncertainty.”
A pause.
Charlotte’s confidence dipped for the first time.
Jane noticed.
So did Vincent.
He continued.
“You falsified the transfer. You forged asset documents. You created an insurance structure thirty-one days before sending Jane to my property.”
Charlotte said nothing.
“You wanted her death connected to me.”
Still nothing.
Vincent glanced at Luca.
Luca silently began recording.
Then Charlotte laughed.
“You really are as intelligent as they say.”
Jane stared at the phone.
“How could you?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You were going to have me murdered.”
“I was going to solve several problems at once.”
Jane’s voice cracked.
“I’m your daughter.”
Charlotte’s answer came immediately.
“No, Jane. You were never my daughter.”
The words were quieter than the rain.
And more violent.
Jane stepped backward.
Vincent reached toward her.
Stopped.
Then lowered his hand.
Charlotte continued.
“You were an obligation. A very expensive one.”
Jane found her voice.
“You stole me.”
“Such an ugly word.”
“Did you?”
Charlotte did not answer.
Jane pressed.
“Did you take me from the hospital?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Charlotte’s voice changed.
Not much.
But enough.
“Who told you about the hospital?”
Jane looked at Vincent.
That was confirmation.
Vincent heard it too.
“Elena Marconi,” he said.
Silence.
For three long seconds, Charlotte said nothing.
Then the call disconnected.
Luca looked up.
“She panicked.”
Vincent turned.
“Trace?”
“Burner. But I’ll work it.”
Jane stepped under the mansion overhang.
She felt suddenly exhausted.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
“My whole life was a lie.”
Vincent joined her.
“Not your whole life.”
She laughed without humor.
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“No.”
“Then don’t try to make it sound better.”
“I wasn’t.”
She looked at him.
Vincent’s voice softened.
“Whatever Charlotte lied about doesn’t erase what you lived through. Your life was still yours.”
Jane stared at him.
It was an unexpectedly careful thing for a feared man to say.
“I need proof.”
“You’ll have it.”
“I don’t mean contracts. I mean proof about Elena.”
Vincent nodded.
“Come inside.”
This time Jane followed.
The mansion interior was warmer than she expected.
Not ostentatious.
Dark wood.
Old books.
Quiet hallways.
No gold statues.
No armed men posing dramatically beside doors.
It looked like a home someone had tried unsuccessfully to turn into a fortress.
Vincent led her to an office.
A fire burned low behind a heavy desk.
Someone had placed towels and dry clothes on a leather sofa.
Jane looked at them.
“They’re new,” Vincent said. “Still tagged.”
“Do you routinely keep women’s clothes around?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“My housekeeper has daughters.”
Jane glanced at him.
“You made someone bring me clothes while we were outside?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You were shaking.”
Jane looked away.
She hated that kindness felt dangerous.
Cruelty she understood.
Kindness always came with conditions in Charlotte’s house.
Vincent turned toward the door.
“I’ll wait outside.”
Jane looked surprised.
“This is your office.”
“It’s your changing room for five minutes.”
“You’re leaving me alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me not to touch you ten minutes ago.”
Jane said nothing.
Vincent stepped out and closed the door.
She stood there staring at it.
Her mother had spent years warning her about men like Vincent Moretti.
Men who controlled.
Men who took.
Men who saw women as leverage.
Yet Charlotte was the one who had sold her.
And Vincent was outside his own office because Jane had asked for distance.
The thought frightened her in an entirely different way.
She changed quickly.
Black sweatpants.
A gray sweater too large for her.
When she opened the door, Vincent was standing across the hall talking quietly with Luca.
Both men stopped.
“You look warmer,” Vincent said.
Jane ignored the comment.
“What do we know?”
Luca entered the office.
“We found the corporation that transferred the two million.”
Jane sat.
Vincent remained standing.
Luca placed the tablet on the desk.
“It wasn’t Moretti money.”
Vincent frowned.
“Explain.”
“The transaction bounced through three intermediaries. It appeared to originate from one of our dormant holdings, but the funds were injected from outside.”
“So Charlotte paid herself?”
“Looks that way.”
Jane stared.
“She created a fake payment from Vincent?”
Luca nodded.
“Probably to establish motive.”
“For my murder.”
“Yes.”
The blunt answer made Jane appreciate him.
No false comfort.
“What about the insurance?”
“Legitimate policy. Five million.”
“Can she collect if I disappear?”
“Eventually.”
Vincent shook his head.
“She doesn’t want eventually.”
Luca looked at him.
Vincent continued.
“She wants a body.”
Jane felt cold again.
Luca hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Go.”
“The policy has a special accidental-death rider.”
“How much?”
“Another seven million.”
Jane stared.
“Twelve million dollars?”
Luca nodded.
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“And what qualifies?”
“Vehicle accident. Fire. Drowning.”
Jane remembered the river behind the mansion.
Her stomach turned.
Vincent understood at once.
“She expected Jane to die near the water.”
Luca nodded.
“Looks like it.”
Jane stood.
“I need to call the police.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You can.”
That surprised her.
“You’re not going to stop me?”
“No.”
“But?”
“But Charlotte has spent weeks building evidence that you were delivered to a criminal organization for money.”
Jane’s face tightened.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the police may protect you.”
He paused.
“Or they may unknowingly deliver you back into her plan.”
“You think she owns the police?”
“I think Daniel Mercer has represented three aldermen, two judges and a former state prosecutor.”
Jane remembered Daniel’s endless contacts.
Christmas cards from city officials.
Private dinners.
Golf weekends.
Vincent continued.
“I’m not asking you to trust me.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“Give me six hours.”
“For what?”
“To prove who you are and who is trying to kill you.”
Jane studied him.
“You’ve been looking for Elena’s baby for twenty-eight years.”
“Yes.”
“If I’m her…”
Vincent’s face changed again.
A painful hope.
Quickly hidden.
Jane finished.
“Then why would Charlotte send me directly to you?”
“That’s the question.”
A knock came.
An older woman entered with coffee.
She stopped when she saw Jane.
The tray trembled.
Vincent noticed.
“Rosa?”
The woman stared at Jane’s face.
Then covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
Jane looked between them.
“You know me too?”
Rosa whispered something in Italian.
Vincent stepped toward her.
“What is it?”
Rosa’s eyes filled with tears.
“She looks exactly like Elena.”
Jane stopped.
Rosa put the tray down.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you know her?”
“I raised Vincent and Elena after their mother died.”
Jane sat slowly.
“Do you have photographs?”
Rosa looked at Vincent.
Vincent nodded.
Rosa left.
Jane’s heartbeat grew louder.
Minutes later Rosa returned with a small wooden box.
Vincent did not touch it.
Rosa placed it in front of Jane.
“These belonged to Elena.”
Jane opened the lid.
Photographs.
Dozens.
A dark-haired girl at ten.
At fourteen.
At graduation.
Then an older Elena.
Nineteen.
Twenty.
Twenty-three.
Jane’s hands began shaking.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
Not identical.
But the eyes.
The jaw.
The small dimple beneath the left cheek.
Jane had that same dimple.
She picked up a photograph of Elena standing beside a much younger Vincent.
He looked barely grown.
Both were laughing.
Jane looked across the desk at him.
“You were close.”
“She was my best friend.”
“What happened to her?”
Vincent looked at the fire.
“She became involved with someone my father hated.”
“Who?”
“We never knew.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“She said she was protecting him.”
“From your family?”
“Maybe.”
Jane picked up another photograph.
Elena was visibly pregnant.
Vincent stood beside her, one hand on her shoulder.
On the back someone had written:
One month to go. V promised he’ll protect us.
Jane looked up.
“You wrote this?”
Vincent took the photograph.
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did you protect her?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Brutal.
Jane said nothing.
Vincent placed the photo down.
“I was nineteen and stupid enough to believe warnings could stop people who had already decided to hurt her.”
Jane’s eyes moved toward the old hospital death certificate.
“Who hurt her?”
“I thought she died from complications.”
“You don’t anymore.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel Mercer signed as witness.”
Jane frowned.
“Daniel would have been what? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six.”
Jane remembered Daniel’s age.
It fit.
“He told me he met Charlotte in law school.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Charlotte never attended law school.”
“I know.”
“Then how did they meet?”
Jane’s thoughts raced.
She remembered old family stories.
Daniel always appearing when legal problems arose.
Daniel knowing details about Charlotte’s past Charlotte herself supposedly forgot.
Daniel once warning Jane never to visit St. Augustine Hospital because the neighborhood was dangerous.
She had been seventeen.
Why would a random hospital matter?
Luca interrupted.
“I found something.”
He rotated the tablet.
“A court filing from 2001. Sealed guardianship petition.”
Jane leaned closer.
“Who filed it?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
“For whom?”
Luca tapped.
The screen changed.
Petitioner: Charlotte Evelyn Whitmore.
Minor child: Female infant, name withheld.
Jane’s heart pounded.
“Can you open the sealed document?”
“Not legally.”
Vincent looked at him.
Luca sighed.
“I knew you’d say that.”
Jane almost smiled.
Then Luca’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Vincent stood.
Luca ended the call.
“One of our people found Charlotte’s burner ping.”
“Where?”
“Lake Forest.”
Jane stiffened.
Charlotte owned a summer house there.
“Her house?”
“Nearby.”
Vincent grabbed his coat.
Jane stood.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
She stared.
“You said you weren’t giving me orders.”
“I lied.”
“Vincent.”
“If Charlotte believes you’re alive, she may already be moving.”
“That’s exactly why I’m coming.”
“She tried to have you killed.”
“And she’s my problem.”
“She’s my problem now.”
“No.”
Jane stepped directly in front of him.
“For twenty-eight years, everyone made decisions about my life without me. Charlotte. Daniel. Maybe whoever took me from that hospital.”
Her voice steadied.
“You don’t get to be the next one.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he exhaled.
“Stay beside me.”
“I’m not promising that.”
“I expected that answer.”
Marco appeared.
“Cars ready.”
They left through a side entrance.
The rain had eased.
Jane climbed into Vincent’s SUV beside him.
For the first twenty minutes, neither spoke.
Then Vincent’s phone buzzed.
He looked down.
His expression hardened.
Jane saw the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
A photograph had arrived.
It showed Charlotte’s Lake Forest house.
Taken from across the street.
In an upstairs window stood Daniel Mercer.
Jane’s breath caught.
Another message followed.
Three words.
SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING.
Jane looked at Vincent.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, a third message appeared.
This one contained a photograph taken inside the mansion they had just left.
Jane sleeping in the office chair ten minutes earlier.
Someone had been watching them.
Vincent slowly looked toward the driver.
Then toward Marco in the front passenger seat.
No one spoke.
His phone buzzed once more.
A final message filled the screen.
DON’T TRUST THE MAN BESIDE YOU.
May you like
Jane turned toward Vincent.
And the SUV doors locked.
