Matteo did not deny it immediately.
That was the problem.
He stood beneath the high glass roof of Union Station with Claire's accusation coming through the phone and said nothing long enough for suspicion to become almost physical.
“Matteo?”
Claire's voice sharpened.
“I heard you.”
He looked at me.
“Ask her what exactly the woman said.”
I took the phone.
“Claire.”
“She said a man calling himself Matteo paid her through a courier.”
“Did she see him?”
“No.”
“Did she hear his voice?”
“Yes.”
Matteo closed his eyes.
Claire continued.
“She says he called her twice.”
“What did he tell her?”
“To put the sedative in my tea after Lily was asleep. He said nobody would be hurt.”
Luca looked at Matteo.
“That sounds reassuring.”
Matteo ignored him.
“Ask whether the calls were recorded.”
Claire heard.
“Daniel's team found one saved voicemail.”
“Play it.”
A few seconds of movement.
Then a male voice came through Claire's phone.
“Use only what I gave you. Claire will sleep for several hours. The child is not to be touched. Afterward, leave the east entrance unlatched.”
Matteo went still.
The voice sounded like him.
Exactly like him.
Even Claire stopped speaking.
Luca stared.
“Well.”
Matteo shook his head.
“That is not me.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I would never call myself Matteo to someone I was hiring.”
That was oddly persuasive.
He continued.
“Anyone working for me knew me as Ethan, Cole, Mason, or no name at all. Matteo Moretti is the identity I spent twenty years hiding.”
Daniel's voice came through another channel.
“We're checking the audio.”
I looked at Matteo.
“Who could imitate you?”
“Anyone with recordings.”
“Pierce?”
“Possibly.”
Victor.
Frank.
Luca.
Me, if technology did the work.
The list was too long.
Claire came back on.
“The woman says the courier wore a Saint Gabriel Cemetery maintenance badge.”
We all looked at one another.
The cemetery.
Someone had been using every piece of Antonio's trail before we reached it.
“Keep her alive,” Matteo said.
Claire's voice went cold.
“I wasn't planning to murder her.”
“I meant keep her protected.”
“I know what you meant.”
He flinched.
That, more than any denial, made him seem human.
We abandoned the trip back to the estate.
Antonio's recording said Pierce knew about the Wisconsin cabin.
If we delayed, we might arrive to find another empty hiding place.
Daniel split his team.
Half remained in Chicago with Claire and Lily.
The rest came with us.
Victor remained locked down at the estate.
He sent me a message before we left the city.
YOU ARE FOLLOWING THE WRONG TRAIL.
I ignored it.
Ten minutes later another appeared.
ANTONIO NEVER TRUSTED STRAIGHT LINES.
I showed Matteo.
“He's right.”
“You enjoy agreeing with Victor.”
“I enjoy staying alive.”
The cabin lay near a lake outside Lake Geneva, though “cabin” turned out to be generous.
It was a weathered two-room structure on private woodland Antonio had purchased under another name decades earlier.
We reached it after dawn.
Mist hovered over the lake.
The front door hung open.
Daniel stopped us before we crossed the porch.
“Wait.”
One of his men entered.
No shots.
No movement.
Inside, drawers had been emptied onto the floor.
Mattresses cut.
Wall panels torn loose.
Pierce had already searched it.
Matteo stood in the middle of the wreckage.
“This is where Dad told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That my birth name was Moretti.”
He crouched beside an overturned chair.
“I was thirteen.”
Luca stared at him.
“Dad knew you when you were thirteen?”
“Yes.”
“And you let us believe he didn't find you until adulthood.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matteo's laugh was tired.
“Because Antonio asked me not to destroy the family he already had.”
That silenced Luca.
Matteo looked around the room.
“I hated him for that.”
I understood.
At thirteen, he had learned his father was alive, wealthy, and raising two other sons.
Antonio had wanted contact in secret.
Matteo had wanted a father who would stand in daylight.
“He visited you here?”
“Twice a year.”
“And your adoptive parents?”
“Knew him as a family friend.”
“Did they know?”
“My mother did eventually.”
Luca sank onto the edge of the broken table.
“We had no idea.”
“That was the arrangement.”
“No.”
Luca looked at him.
“That was Dad's cowardice.”
Matteo did not defend him.
Neither did I.
Daniel searched the room.
“No evidence container.”
“There won't be.”
Matteo moved toward the fireplace.
“Antonio wouldn't hide it where someone could find it by demolition.”
He examined the old stones.
Then he looked through the window.
“The place where I learned my name.”
Not the cabin.
The phrase had been too literal.
Matteo walked outside.
We followed him toward the lake.
A narrow dock extended over the water.
Halfway down, he stopped.
“My father told me while we were fishing.”
Luca looked at the water.
“You think it's underwater?”
Matteo crouched and ran his hand beneath the dock.
“Antonio made me carve my name here.”
His fingers found something.
A plank underneath bore old knife marks.
MATTEO MORETTI.
Below it, newer writing.
A.M.
An arrow.
Daniel brought tools.
We removed one board.
Inside a sealed cavity was a metal cylinder.
Pierce's men had torn the cabin apart and missed it by thirty yards.
Matteo laughed once.
“Antonio.”
Inside the cylinder were two flash drives, a sealed envelope, and a small digital recorder.
I opened the envelope.
My father's handwriting again.
Adrian,
If you found this with your brothers, then all three of you have finally learned what secrecy cost us.
No apology followed.
That was my father.
Even dead, he refused easy absolution.
The letter explained that the recorder contained Antonio's final meeting with Pierce.
The flash drives held financial evidence and medical records.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Dr. Michael Russo.
I stopped reading.
Luca saw it.
“What?”
I handed him the page.
Michael.
Our family physician.
The man who had treated Claire after she was drugged.
The man currently inside my estate with Lily.
I called Daniel.
“Get Claire away from Michael.”
His face changed.
He transmitted the order immediately.
No response.
Again.
Nothing.
I called Claire.
Voicemail.
Matteo grabbed his phone.
Nothing.
Luca swore.
We played Antonio's recorder.
Static.
Then Pierce's voice.
“You should have left Matteo dead.”
Antonio answered.
“You should have left my family alone.”
“You gave Adrian enough information to ruin years of work.”
“He didn't know.”
“He didn't need to.”
Then Michael's voice entered the recording.
Calm.
Professional.
The same voice that had told me Claire's sedative could have killed her.
“Antonio, your heart is unstable. This argument isn't helping.”
My father laughed.
“You've been telling me my heart is unstable for six months.”
“It is.”
“Because you've been making it so?”
Silence.
Luca covered his mouth.
Pierce spoke.
“Don't be dramatic.”
Antonio answered.
“I had the blood tested elsewhere.”
Michael said nothing.
My father continued.
“Small doses. Digoxin. Enough to worsen an old man's heart without attracting attention.”
My stomach turned.
Michael had poisoned him gradually.
The physician who had attended my father until death had been helping murder him.
Pierce's voice became harder.
“Give me the archive.”
“No.”
“You have two younger sons.”
“And one older.”
There it was.
All three of us.
Pierce said, “Think carefully.”
Antonio replied.
“I finally am.”
The recording ended with movement.
A chair.
A sharp breath.
Then Michael's voice.
“Antonio?”
The file stopped.
Daniel's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Estate team found Claire's room empty.”
“And Lily?”
“Gone.”
“Michael?”
“Gone.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“He took them?”
“Security footage shows Claire leaving willingly with Michael.”
Matteo grabbed Daniel's shoulder.
“Why would she go willingly?”
“Because he told her we had been attacked.”
I knew Michael's style.
Measured.
Authoritative.
He had been around my family for years.
Claire trusted him because I trusted him.
Again.
My trust had opened a door.
I looked at the remaining flash drive.
“What's on the second one?”
Matteo inserted it into an offline laptop.
A single video.
Antonio appeared.
He sat in this very cabin.
Older than I remembered him before the decline.
“Adrian.”
He looked directly at the camera.
“If Michael is still near you when you see this, get the child away from him.”
Too late.
Antonio continued.
“Michael is not Pierce's employee.”
Matteo looked at me.
“What?”
The video went on.
“Pierce believes Michael works for him. Victor believes Michael works for Pierce. Both are wrong.”
Luca whispered, “Then who?”
My father answered.
“Michael works for himself.”
Antonio described decades of access.
Medical records.
Family secrets.
Birth certificates.
DNA tests.
He knew about Matteo before Pierce did.
He knew Claire carried Matteo's child.
He knew Antonio had begun searching for his oldest son.
And he knew something else.
Something Antonio had discovered only months before his death.
Michael had been manipulating both Pierce and Victor.
Feeding each information.
Keeping them suspicious.
Making himself indispensable.
“Why?” I asked the screen.
Antonio answered as though he had heard me.
“Because Michael believes the Moretti fortune should have been his.”
Luca frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
Then Antonio explained.
Michael Russo was not merely our longtime physician.
His mother had worked for my grandfather.
And according to family records Antonio uncovered late in life, Michael believed my grandfather was also his father.
Another hidden son.
Or at least a man who had spent his entire life convinced he was one.
The difference might not matter.
Matteo stared at the frozen image.
“So this is inheritance?”
“No,” I said.
“It's revenge.”
Daniel received a location.
Michael's car had been detected heading north.
Toward Wisconsin.
Toward us.
Then my phone rang.
Michael.
I answered.
“Where are Claire and Lily?”
“They're safe.”
“I've heard that phrase too many times tonight.”
“You found the cabin.”
“You knew we would.”
“I knew Antonio wanted you to.”
“Why take them?”
“To make sure you listen.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Put Claire on.”
Michael heard him.
“Matteo. The prodigal son.”
“Put her on.”
“No.”
I forced my voice level.
“What do you want?”
“The cylinder.”
“You already know what's inside.”
“Not everything.”
“What are you looking for?”
“My birth record.”
Antonio had mentioned none.
Michael continued.
“Your grandfather stole forty years from my mother. Antonio discovered the proof and hid it.”
“And kidnapping a child corrects that?”
“No.”
His voice remained calm.
“Lily is leverage. Nothing more.”
Something in me went cold.
“Where are you?”
“You'll receive instructions.”
“No.”
Michael paused.
“You're not in a position to negotiate.”
“Neither are you.”
He laughed softly.
“Why?”
“Because Pierce wants you dead now.”
Silence.
“And Victor does too.”
Longer silence.
I continued.
“You spent years playing both sides. Now both know.”
Michael's breathing changed.
Barely.
Enough.
I had him.
“What do you want more?” I asked. “The birth record or survival?”
“Bring the cylinder.”
“Lily first.”
“You are beginning to sound like your father.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
The call ended.
Daniel traced it.
A road less than twenty miles away.
Michael was coming closer.
Not fleeing.
Matteo looked toward the woods.
“He thinks the birth record is here.”
“Is it?”
“I don't know.”
Luca picked up Antonio's letter.
“Maybe Antonio left another clue.”
We searched.
At the bottom, beneath the signature, one line appeared.
For Michael, the truth is where he first learned to lie.
Matteo looked toward the cabin.
I looked at the recorder.
Luca looked at the fireplace.
Daniel spoke.
“Vehicle approaching.”
Everyone moved.
We took positions behind trees and stone.
A black SUV appeared along the road.
It stopped fifty yards from the cabin.
The driver's door opened.
Michael stepped out.
Alone.
He raised both hands.
No Claire.
No Lily.
“Where are they?” I shouted.
Michael looked at me across the clearing.
“With someone you trust.”
I almost laughed.
“There isn't anyone left.”
Michael smiled.
“That is exactly what Antonio wanted you to believe.”
Then another vehicle appeared behind him.
Claire was driving.
Lily sat in the back.
And beside Claire, holding a gun low against her ribs, sat the last person any of us expected.
Frank Doyle.
The man who had bled beneath my father's grave.
The man we thought was Matteo's ally.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Frank Finally Chose a Side, and My Father’s Final Message Exposed the One Betrayal None of Us Had Considered
Three Knocks After Midnight Brought a Frightened Child Into the Most Secure House in Chicago
Part 7 of 12
