Chapter 8 - The Secret Beneath the Family Chapel
The Moretti family chapel stood behind the old estate.
It had been built by Mateo's grandfather.
Inside were wooden pews, stained-glass windows, and a small memorial room containing family records.
Mateo rarely entered.
The building reminded him too much of funerals.
His wife.
His father.
The relatives lost to violence.
Now an old caretaker had provided information about a locked cabinet beneath the chapel's records room.
---
The cabinet contained documents associated with Lorenzo Moretti's estate.
Some were ordinary.
Property agreements.
Insurance files.
Letters.
Others were troubling.
One described a proposed transfer of assets that would have recognized an additional heir.
Me.
Gia Moretti.
I stared at the document.
My father had intended to acknowledge me publicly.
Then he died.
Mateo examined the date.
"Three days before his death."
My throat tightened.
For years, my mother told me Lorenzo wanted a relationship but never managed to make one possible.
Now the documents suggested he had been trying.
---
Another file concerned Bellini.
It showed significant payments to his medical practice from a family-controlled company.
Some payments had legitimate descriptions.
Others were vague.
Several occurred around the time of the crash.
The financial trail warranted investigation.
---
Then Rebecca found a letter from Valentina.
It was addressed to Lorenzo.
The envelope had never been mailed.
I am concerned that Dr. Bellini is withholding medical information from patients and that his relationships with certain family companies create conflicts of interest.
I have asked for independent advice.
Please do not tell him until we understand what is happening.
The letter was dated one month before the crash.
Mateo read it twice.
His hands began trembling.
"She was trying to protect us."
I looked at him.
"Perhaps."
He shook his head.
"She told me Bellini couldn't be trusted."
His voice broke.
"And I told her she was imagining things."
For a moment, I saw the full weight of his grief.
Twelve years of pain.
A dead wife.
A son growing up without his mother.
And the possibility that Valentina's concerns had been dismissed before anyone understood their significance.
---
I wanted to comfort him.
But I also knew that no comforting sentence could resolve the evidence.
So I sat beside him.
He cried.
And I let him.
---
Later, I returned to the chapel alone.
I stood before Lorenzo's memorial.
My father.
A stranger whose name had shaped my entire life.
I wanted to hate him for hiding me.
I wanted to thank him for trying to acknowledge me.
Mostly, I wanted to ask why he'd made so many decisions without considering what they would do to his children.
I touched the edge of the memorial.
Then whispered, "I wish you'd told us the truth."
The chapel remained silent.
But when I stepped outside, Leo was waiting.
He held two paper cups of hot chocolate.
"Thought you might be cold."
I laughed through tears.
"Thanks."
May you like
He handed me one.
And we walked toward the house together.
