Chapter 3 - Six Years of Beautiful Lies
"Don't let that woman come upstairs!"
Anna Foster's voice cracked as she grabbed Dante Moretti's arm.
On the security monitor, the woman claiming to be her dead mother stood beside Dante's uncle.
She was wearing the necklace Anna had buried eleven years earlier.
Then the woman looked directly into the camera and whispered something.
Victor turned up the volume.
"Tell my daughter I'm sorry."
Anna stopped breathing.
For eleven years, she had imagined hearing her mother's voice again.
She had dreamed about it on birthdays, during Christmas dinners, and on the night she graduated from nursing school. She had imagined her mother sitting in the front row, smiling proudly while Anna accepted her diploma.
But never like this.
Never standing beside a Moretti family member in a mansion filled with security guards.
And never on the same day someone had framed her for leaking confidential medical records.
"That's impossible," Anna whispered.
Dante turned toward her.
"Anna, look at me."
She couldn't.
Her eyes remained fixed on the monitor.
The woman downstairs had the same auburn hair. The same delicate nose. The same familiar way of tilting her head when she was nervous.
But something was wrong.
Her mother would have been in her late fifties now.
The woman on the screen looked considerably younger.
Perhaps forty.
Perhaps even younger.
"Victor," Dante said. "Keep the elevator downstairs."
Victor immediately pressed his earpiece.
"Security, hold the private elevator. Nobody comes upstairs without authorization."
A voice crackled through his earpiece.
"Understood."
Dante studied the monitor.
His uncle, Richard Moretti, stood beside the mysterious woman with the confidence of someone who had never been refused entry anywhere in his life.
Richard was sixty-four, silver-haired, and impeccably dressed. For decades, he had managed the Moretti family's financial interests and maintained relationships that extended far beyond Seattle's legitimate business community.
He also happened to be the man who had supervised Dante's medical treatment after the accident.
"Of all the people he could have brought here," Dante muttered.
Anna finally looked at him.
"You know something."
Dante didn't answer immediately.
"Dante."
He turned his wheelchair toward her.
"I know my uncle doesn't do anything without a reason."
"Then why would he bring someone pretending to be my mother?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
Anna shook her head.
"No. I want to know what you aren't telling me."
For the first time since she'd met him, Dante looked away.
And Anna felt something inside her sink.
Five minutes later, Richard Moretti entered Dante's private office.
The mysterious woman followed him.
Anna stood beside Dante's desk, gripping the back of a chair so tightly that her fingers ached.
Victor positioned himself near the door.
Richard smiled.
"Dante. You look well."
"Save it."
His uncle raised an eyebrow.
"Is that any way to greet family?"
"Considering what happened today, you're fortunate I'm greeting you at all."
Richard's smile disappeared.
Then he looked at Anna.
"Miss Foster."
She didn't respond.
"I understand you've had a difficult afternoon."
Anna stared at him.
"Who is she?"
Richard glanced toward the woman.
"Someone you should meet."
"Who is she?"
The woman stepped forward.
Up close, the resemblance was even more disturbing.
Anna recognized her mother's eyes.
Her mother's smile.
But the face was younger than it should have been.
And there was another difference.
Her mother had a small scar beneath her chin from a childhood bicycle accident.
This woman didn't.
"Anna," the woman whispered.
Anna stepped backward.
"Don't."
The woman stopped.
"I know this must be confusing."
"Confusing?"
Anna laughed bitterly.
"My mother died eleven years ago. I buried her. I watched them lower her coffin into the ground."
The woman's eyes filled.
"I know."
"No, you don't!"
Richard cleared his throat.
"Perhaps everyone should sit down."
Dante's expression turned murderous.
"Richard, if you don't explain what's happening in the next ten seconds, Victor will escort you out."
His uncle sighed.
"Very well."
He gestured toward the woman.
"This is Evelyn Foster."
Anna froze.
"Foster?"
Evelyn nodded.
"I'm your mother's younger sister."
The room went silent.
Anna stared at her.
"My mother didn't have a sister."
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
"That's what she told you."
Anna shook her head.
"No."
"Anna—"
"No!"
Her voice echoed through the office.
"My mother told me everything about her family. Her parents died when she was young. She grew up with an aunt in Portland. She didn't have any siblings."
Evelyn looked toward Richard.
Something passed between them.
Dante noticed.
"Don't look at him," he said sharply. "Answer her."
Evelyn swallowed.
"Your mother and I were separated when we were children."
Anna's stomach twisted.
"Why?"
"Because of something our father did."
"What did he do?"
Evelyn opened her mouth.
Richard interrupted.
"That isn't relevant."
Dante turned toward him.
"Then why bring her here?"
Richard folded his hands.
"Because Miss Foster has become involved in matters she doesn't understand."
Anna stared at him.
"You mean the medical records someone leaked using my name?"
Richard's expression remained neutral.
"An unfortunate situation."
"Someone framed me!"
"Allegedly."
Dante slammed his palm against the desk.
"Enough."
Richard looked at his nephew.
"Control yourself."
The words changed something in Dante's face.
Anna saw it immediately.
The same expression she'd witnessed when people moved his wheelchair without permission.
The same exhausted anger.
Except this time, something darker accompanied it.
"Get out," Dante said.
Richard didn't move.
"You need to hear what I came to tell you."
"Then start talking."
Richard slowly removed a sealed envelope from his jacket.
He placed it on the desk.
"Your father left instructions concerning the Westbridge facility."
Dante stared at the envelope.
"My father died eight years ago."
"Yes."
"And you're only telling me about this now?"
Richard's expression hardened.
"Because your father specifically instructed me to keep these documents confidential until certain circumstances arose."
Dante laughed.
"How convenient."
Richard ignored him.
"The medical records leak has created those circumstances."
Anna looked at the envelope.
Her mother's name was written across the front.
Annabelle Foster.
In handwriting she recognized.
Her father's handwriting.
Anna reached for the envelope.
Richard immediately placed his hand over it.
"Not yet."
Dante's voice dropped.
"Remove your hand."
Richard looked at him.
"These documents belong to the family."
Anna felt her anger rise.
"My mother's name is on that envelope."
"Your mother worked for this family."
"She was a person, not your property!"
Richard's jaw tightened.
Dante extended his hand.
"Give it to her."
For several seconds, his uncle didn't move.
Then he reluctantly withdrew his hand.
Anna picked up the envelope.
It was old.
The edges had yellowed slightly, and the paper smelled faintly of dust.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Inside were three documents.
A photograph.
A handwritten letter.
And a medical report.
She examined the photograph first.
Her mother stood outside a building beside two men.
One was Richard.
The other was considerably younger, but Anna recognized him immediately.
Dante.
She looked up.
"You knew my mother?"
Dante leaned forward.
"What?"
She handed him the photograph.
His expression changed.
"That's impossible."
Richard watched him.
"Is it?"
Dante examined the image.
He appeared to be in his early thirties, standing outside Westbridge Rehabilitation Center.
His arm rested around Annabelle Foster's shoulders.
Both were smiling.
Anna stared at him.
"You told me you didn't know my mother."
"I didn't."
"Then explain the photograph!"
Dante looked genuinely shaken.
"I don't remember this."
Richard sighed.
"Of course you don't."
Anna turned toward him.
"What does that mean?"
Richard looked at Dante.
"Your accident affected more than your spine."
Dante became completely still.
"Careful, Uncle."
Richard continued.
"You experienced significant memory loss during your initial hospitalization."
"I remember the accident."
"Parts of it."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"I remember enough."
Richard looked toward Anna.
"Your mother was involved in his treatment."
Anna stared at the photograph again.
Her mother.
Dante.
Westbridge.
Eleven years of secrets.
And suddenly, her mother's death no longer felt like an isolated tragedy.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Evelyn stepped forward.
"Because Annabelle wanted to protect you."
Anna turned toward her.
"Protect me from what?"
Evelyn looked frightened.
Richard immediately interrupted.
"That's enough."
Dante's expression hardened.
"No. Let her answer."
Evelyn looked at Anna.
"Your mother discovered something at Westbridge."
Anna's heart began pounding.
"What?"
Evelyn swallowed.
"Something involving Dante's family."
Richard stood abruptly.
"This conversation is over."
Dante turned toward Victor.
"Close the door."
Victor obeyed.
Richard stared at him.
"You're making a mistake."
Dante met his gaze.
"Then it runs in the family."
Twenty minutes later, Anna learned the first truth.
And it was worse than anything she'd imagined.
Evelyn explained that Annabelle Foster had worked at Westbridge Rehabilitation Center for nearly fifteen years.
During that time, she had developed a reputation for refusing to compromise patient care.
She questioned unnecessary treatments.
Challenged questionable medical decisions.
And documented everything.
"Your mother was meticulous," Evelyn said.
Anna nodded faintly.
"She always was."
"She kept copies of important documents."
Richard shifted uncomfortably.
Dante noticed.
"What documents?"
Evelyn hesitated.
"Medical records. Financial authorizations. Internal correspondence."
"Why?"
"Because she believed someone was using the facility for purposes that had nothing to do with patient care."
Richard stood.
"Those allegations were investigated and dismissed."
Evelyn looked at him.
"By investigators your company hired."
His face darkened.
Anna stared between them.
"What exactly did my mother discover?"
Evelyn's voice dropped.
"She believed confidential medical information was being used to pressure wealthy patients into surrendering control of their finances."
Dante stopped moving.
Anna turned toward him.
He looked as though someone had struck him.
"Financial control?" he repeated.
Evelyn nodded.
"Patients recovering from serious injuries were encouraged to sign documents granting temporary authority to relatives or financial representatives."
Dante's hands tightened around his wheelchair's armrests.
"Temporary."
Evelyn looked at him.
"Sometimes those arrangements became permanent."
Richard shook his head.
"Complete nonsense."
Dante ignored him.
"Victor."
"Yes, sir?"
"Get me every document I signed during my first six months at Westbridge."
Victor nodded.
Richard immediately objected.
"Those records are protected."
Dante slowly turned toward him.
"From whom?"
His uncle said nothing.
"From me?"
Richard's silence answered the question.
Anna felt cold.
For six years, Dante had believed his family was protecting him.
They had managed his appointments.
Controlled his business schedule.
Made decisions about his public appearances.
And repeatedly suggested that he wasn't ready to resume full responsibility for his own affairs.
Now Anna understood why Evelyn had looked frightened.
If her story was true, Dante's family hadn't simply been overprotective.
Someone might have benefited financially from keeping him dependent.
Dante looked toward the photograph again.
"Why don't I remember Annabelle?"
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
"Because your treatment was complicated."
"Explain."
Richard stepped forward.
"That's enough, Evelyn."
Dante's voice cut through the room.
"Sit down."
His uncle froze.
Dante looked directly at him.
"For six years, you've told me what I could do. Where I could go. Which doctors I could see. Which meetings I was healthy enough to attend."
Richard's expression hardened.
"We kept you alive."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"And now I'm beginning to wonder what that cost me."
By eight that evening, Richard and Evelyn had been escorted into separate guest rooms while Victor verified their statements.
Dante refused to let either leave the estate until the legal team had reviewed the documents they'd brought.
Anna remained in his office.
The handwritten letter lay unopened between them.
Her father's handwriting.
Her mother's name.
A lifetime of unanswered questions.
"Open it," Dante said quietly.
Anna shook her head.
"I'm afraid."
He looked at her.
"Of what?"
"That everything I remember about my family is wrong."
Dante considered her words.
Then he moved his wheelchair beside her chair.
"Anna, I spent six years believing that accepting help meant surrendering control."
She looked at him.
"Then you came along and made me understand that asking for help and having help forced upon me were two completely different things."
Her eyes filled.
He reached toward her hand.
"This is your decision."
Anna looked at the envelope.
Then she picked up the letter.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Her father had written it.
But the date at the top made her stomach twist.
It was dated three months after her mother's funeral.
Anna began reading.
Annabelle,
I don't know whether you'll ever receive this.
Her breath caught.
She read the sentence again.
Then continued.
Evelyn contacted me yesterday. She says the people responsible are still watching us.
Anna covered her mouth.
Dante leaned closer.
I did what you asked. I told the girls you were gone. I signed everything they put in front of me.
But I can't keep lying to our daughters.
Anna's hands began shaking.
Dante gently steadied the paper.
She continued.
Anna asks about you every day. She still wears the bracelet you gave her. I tell her you're somewhere peaceful.
I don't know how much longer I can do this.
A tear fell onto the page.
Anna barely noticed.
If you receive this letter, please come home.
Whatever happened at Westbridge, whatever you discovered about the Morettis, we can face it together.
I would rather spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder than spend another day pretending the woman I love is dead.
Anna stopped reading.
The room blurred.
Her father had known.
He had known her mother might still be alive.
And he had allowed his daughters to believe she was dead.
For years.
Until his own death.
Anna lowered the letter.
"No."
Dante looked at her.
"Anna—"
"No!"
She stood so abruptly that the chair scraped across the floor.
"My father wouldn't do that!"
Dante remained silent.
"He wouldn't let us suffer like that. He wouldn't watch my sister cry herself to sleep every night!"
Her voice broke.
"He wouldn't!"
Dante moved closer.
Anna stepped backward.
"Don't."
He stopped immediately.
She pressed both hands against her face.
Everything she'd believed about her childhood was collapsing.
Her mother's funeral.
Her father's grief.
The years of struggling to survive.
The sacrifices she'd made raising her younger sister.
Had all of it been built on a lie?
And if her mother was alive, where had she been?
Why hadn't she returned?
Why had Evelyn appeared now?
Anna looked toward Dante.
"Your uncle knows."
Dante nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"He knows what happened to my mother."
"I believe he does."
"And your brother?"
Dante's expression darkened.
"I intend to find out."
At nine fifteen, Victor returned carrying a laptop.
His face was unusually serious.
"Sir, we recovered something from the old Westbridge archives."
Dante immediately turned toward him.
"What?"
"Your father's private medical correspondence."
Anna sat down.
Victor opened the laptop.
"Most of the files were encrypted, but we found several backup copies."
He displayed a document.
Dante leaned forward.
Anna watched his expression change as he read.
"What is it?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Victor looked uncomfortable.
"Sir, there's a recording attached."
Dante glanced toward him.
"Play it."
Victor hesitated.
"I think you should prepare yourself."
Dante's voice hardened.
"Play the recording."
A video appeared.
The image was grainy.
A hospital room.
White walls.
Medical equipment.
A younger Dante lay unconscious in a hospital bed.
Anna immediately recognized Westbridge.
A woman entered the frame.
Annabelle Foster.
Her mother.
Anna gripped Dante's hand.
The recording continued.
Annabelle approached the bed and checked Dante's medical chart.
Then she looked toward someone standing outside the camera's view.
"His condition is stable," she said.
A man's voice answered.
"Then we can proceed."
Anna frowned.
She recognized that voice.
Richard Moretti.
Annabelle shook her head.
"No. Absolutely not."
Richard stepped into the frame.
"You don't understand the situation."
"I understand perfectly."
Annabelle held up a document.
"This man hasn't been given the opportunity to review what you're asking him to sign."
Richard's expression hardened.
"His family has authorized the arrangement."
"His family doesn't get to decide everything for him."
Anna felt Dante's hand tighten.
On the screen, Richard moved closer.
"You should remember who pays your salary."
Annabelle stared directly at him.
"And you should remember that I'm required to protect my patients."
The recording suddenly ended.
Anna looked at Dante.
He was pale.
Victor remained silent.
Then Dante whispered something.
"What did you say?" Anna asked.
He looked toward the screen.
"I remember that room."
Anna's heart accelerated.
"What?"
"The window."
He pointed.
"The painting beside the bed."
His breathing changed.
"I remember waking up."
Victor stepped closer.
"Sir?"
Dante closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he whispered, "My father was there."
Anna watched him.
"And Lorenzo."
His eyes opened.
"Lorenzo told me I'd signed the documents myself."
Victor slowly lowered his gaze.
Dante looked toward him.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Victor didn't answer.
"Victor."
The security chief swallowed.
"Your father contacted me shortly before he died."
Dante became still.
"About what?"
Victor hesitated.
"He believed someone had interfered with your recovery."
Anna felt a chill.
Dante stared at him.
"Interfered how?"
Victor opened another file.
"This is why I never trusted the original accident report."
Dante's voice became dangerously quiet.
"What original accident report?"
Victor looked directly at him.
"The one your family never allowed you to see."
At ten thirty, Anna stood outside Dante's office, trying to reach her younger sister.
Three calls.
No answer.
She sent another message.
Claire, please call me. It's important.
Nothing.
Anna stared at her phone.
Her sister was twenty-seven now, living in Portland and working as an elementary school teacher.
They spoke almost every day.
Claire never ignored her calls.
Especially not three consecutive calls.
Anna dialed again.
Straight to voicemail.
Her stomach tightened.
She turned toward the office.
Inside, Dante and Victor were reviewing the accident report.
She could hear Dante's voice.
Angry.
Controlled.
Demanding answers.
Anna wanted to join them.
But something about Claire's silence frightened her.
She opened her sister's social media account.
The latest photograph showed Claire smiling outside her apartment that morning.
Nothing unusual.
Then Anna noticed a comment beneath the photograph.
It had been posted less than an hour earlier.
Your mother would be so proud.
The account had no profile picture.
No previous posts.
Only a username.
ALWAYS_COME_HOME.
Anna's blood turned cold.
She clicked the account.
A private message appeared immediately.
Stop asking questions about Westbridge.
Another message followed.
Your sister is safer when you cooperate.
Anna's fingers went numb.
She turned toward Dante's office.
"Dante!"
Before she could reach the door, her phone rang.
Claire.
Anna answered instantly.
"Claire! Where are you?"
Silence.
Then a woman's voice spoke.
Not Claire's.
Not Evelyn's.
A voice Anna remembered from childhood.
Soft.
Familiar.
Terrifying.
"Anna, sweetheart."
Her knees nearly gave way.
"Mom?"
The woman began crying.
"Listen carefully. Your sister doesn't know who she's with."
Anna pressed the phone against her ear.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't trust Richard."
Anna stumbled toward the office.
"Where are you?"
A door slammed somewhere on the other end of the call.
Her mother's breathing became frantic.
"Anna, I need you to remember something."
"What?"
"The night before my funeral, I gave you a little wooden box."
Anna froze.
She remembered.
A small box decorated with painted blue flowers.
Her mother had told her to keep it somewhere safe.
Anna still had it.
"Yes," she whispered.
"There's something hidden beneath the lining."
Anna's heart pounded.
"What is it?"
Her mother's voice dropped.
"The truth about Dante's accident."
Suddenly, a man shouted in the background.
Her mother gasped.
Then she whispered one final sentence.
"Anna, the person who ordered it is standing beside Dante right now."
The call disconnected.
Anna slowly lowered the phone.
Inside the office, she heard Dante speaking to Victor.
She reached for the door handle.
Then stopped.
Because through the narrow opening, she saw Victor holding a second phone.
May you like
Its screen was illuminated.
And the number displayed on it was Claire's.
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