Chapter 9 - The Price of Four Little Lives
The old Moretti lodge looked almost exactly as I remembered it.
Weathered stone walls.
Dark wooden beams.
A long porch overlooking the lake.
Behind it stood the old barn where Nicholas and I had hidden during summer storms.
I arrived just before noon.
My vehicle stopped at the entrance.
I stepped out carrying a leather briefcase.
Inside were the documents Nicholas had demanded.
Transfers.
Resignations.
Assignments.
Every piece of paper he'd convinced himself could restore the life our father had taken from him.
He didn't know the authorities had already secured the records needed to challenge the illegal scheme.
He didn't know investigators had built a case around the evidence Sophia had hidden.
And he didn't know that people once loyal to him had begun cooperating.
But I knew one thing.
My boys were inside.
Everything else could wait.
Nicholas stood on the porch.
For a moment, we simply stared at each other.
Twenty-five years.
A quarter century.
I remembered him at twenty-nine.
Laughing beside our father's boat.
Drinking too much.
Making promises he never kept.
Telling me the family business belonged to both of us.
Now he was older.
His hair was nearly silver.
His face was lined.
But his eyes were the same.
Cold.
Restless.
Hungry.
“Alexander,” he said.
“Nicholas.”
He smiled.
“You look terrible.”
“I've had a difficult week.”
“Still sarcastic.”
“Still a criminal.”
His smile faded.
He glanced toward the briefcase.
“Did you bring the documents?”
“Yes.”
“Come inside.”
I followed him through the front door.
The lodge smelled of wood smoke and old leather.
Our father's hunting photographs still hung on the walls.
I recognized one showing Nicholas and me standing beside a canoe.
We were teenagers.
Both smiling.
Both convinced the world belonged to us.
I looked away.
“Where are the boys?”
Nicholas gestured toward the sitting room.
“They're comfortable.”
“Show me.”
He sighed.
“Always impatient.”
I turned toward him.
“Show me my children.”
Something in my voice made him reconsider.
He opened a door.
And there they were.
Matthew.
Oliver.
Noah.
Benjamin.
Sitting on a rug beside Eleanor.
All four looked frightened.
But unharmed.
Matthew saw me first.
“Daddy!”
He ran forward.
I dropped to my knees.
He threw himself into my arms.
Oliver followed.
Then Noah.
Then Benjamin.
Suddenly four small bodies surrounded me.
Four little voices calling my name.
Four pairs of arms wrapping around my neck.
I held them as tightly as I dared.
“I'm here.”
Matthew began crying.
“You took forever.”
“I know.”
“You promised.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Oliver pressed his face against my shoulder.
“Are we going home?”
“Yes.”
Noah whispered, “Eleanor said you'd come.”
I looked at her.
She was pale.
There was a bruise near her wrist.
But she smiled through tears.
“I told them you'd keep your word.”
Benjamin opened his hand.
Inside lay the broken axle from his toy truck.
“I left you a clue.”
I laughed through tears.
“I found it.”
His face brightened.
“Did it work?”
“Perfectly.”
Nicholas watched us from the doorway.
His expression was unreadable.
For one brief instant, I thought I saw something like regret.
Then he looked at the briefcase.
“Enough.”
I stood slowly.
The boys clung to me.
Nicholas gestured to a guard.
“Take the children back.”
“No,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes.
“We have an agreement.”
“I brought the documents.”
“Then sign them.”
“Let the children leave with Eleanor first.”
Nicholas laughed.
“You think I'm an idiot?”
“I think you want the company.”
“I do.”
“Then you'll get what you came for.”
He stared at me.
“After they're gone, you have no reason to cooperate.”
I looked toward my sons.
“Then let them wait in the vehicle with Eleanor while we finish.”
Nicholas considered it.
Finally he nodded.
“Fine. But the gate stays closed.”
Eleanor led the boys outside under supervision.
Matthew refused to let go of my hand.
I crouched.
“Matty, I need you to go with Eleanor.”
“Why?”
“Because grown-ups have some things to discuss.”
“Will you come too?”
“Yes.”
“Pinky promise?”
I wrapped my finger around his.
“Pinky promise.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
“I'll wait.”
I watched them disappear through the doorway.
My brother closed it behind them.
Then he turned toward me.
“Four sons.”
I said nothing.
“Father would have loved that.”
I looked at him.
“Father would have loved knowing they were safe.”
Nicholas's face hardened.
“Father never understood what I deserved.”
“You stole from him.”
“He treated you like a prince and me like a problem.”
“You had every opportunity I did.”
“That's what you always believed.”
I stared at him.
He moved toward the fireplace.
“Do you remember the summer you got into Harvard?”
“Yes.”
“Father bought you a car.”
“He bought you one the year before.”
Nicholas shook his head.
“Always an explanation.”
I felt exhaustion settle over me.
For twenty-five years, my brother had built a mythology around his own victimhood.
Every failure belonged to someone else.
Every betrayal became justified by some imagined injustice.
“Nicholas,” I said, “you could have come home.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Home?”
“You could have faced what you did.”
“And gone to prison?”
“You made that choice.”
He stepped closer.
“Father chose you.”
“No.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Father chose not to let you destroy everything.”
Nicholas struck the table.
“You have no idea what he took from me!”
I remained still.
“What did he take that justified imprisoning Sophia?”
He froze.
“What did he take that justified stealing four children?”
“Those children changed the trust.”
“They're human beings.”
“They are legal beneficiaries.”
“They're my sons!”
My voice echoed through the lodge.
For a moment, silence followed.
Then Nicholas smiled bitterly.
“There he is.”
I stared at him.
“The real Alexander Moretti.”
I shook my head.
“No. The real Alexander spent thirty years believing money made him powerful.”
I looked toward the door.
“Those boys taught me otherwise.”
Nicholas's expression twisted.
“Sign the papers.”
I opened the briefcase.
Placed the documents on the table.
He handed me a pen.
I examined the first page.
The wording attempted to transfer my controlling interests and waive claims under the second trust.
But several conditions required authorization from independent trustees.
Nicholas apparently believed forged supporting documents would complete the process.
I looked at him.
“This won't accomplish what you think.”
“Sign.”
“The trust can't be transferred this way.”
“I have legal counsel.”
“You have criminals pretending to be counsel.”
He slammed his fist onto the table.
“SIGN!”
I looked toward the window.
Outside, Eleanor stood beside the vehicle.
The boys were inside.
Matthew pressed his face against the glass.
Waiting.
My heart tightened.
I picked up the pen.
And signed the resignation document.
Nicholas exhaled.
Then I signed the second page.
The third.
The fourth.
When I reached the final document, I paused.
Nicholas leaned forward.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“You know what I remember most about our childhood?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“The day you taught me to swim.”
Nicholas stared.
“I was six. You were ten.”
His expression shifted.
“I remember.”
“You told me you wouldn't let go.”
He looked away.
“I didn't.”
“You did eventually.”
“You learned to swim.”
I nodded.
“You waited until you knew I could manage.”
For a moment, he looked like my brother again.
The older boy who had once pulled me from the deep end of a swimming pool.
Then I asked the question that had haunted me.
“When did you become someone who could hurt children?”
His face hardened.
“Don't.”
“When did you stop seeing people?”
“Alexander—”
“When did Sophia become an obstacle instead of a woman who loved me?”
Nicholas stepped backward.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
And for one moment, beneath the anger, I saw shame.
But shame wasn't enough.
Not after everything he'd done.
A sudden commotion sounded outside.
Nicholas turned.
A guard hurried through the door.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Nicholas frowned.
“What?”
“The communications are down.”
He went still.
Outside, vehicles could be heard approaching.
Nicholas looked toward me.
“You brought them.”
I said nothing.
His expression twisted with fury.
“You promised to come alone!”
“I came alone.”
“You called the police!”
“The authorities were already investigating you.”
He grabbed my jacket.
“You set me up!”
I looked into his eyes.
“You did that yourself.”
A command echoed from outside.
Law enforcement officers identified themselves and ordered the occupants to comply.
Nicholas released me.
His eyes darted toward the rear corridor.
For one terrible second, I feared he would run toward the children.
I stepped into his path.
“It's over.”
He glared at me.
“You think this ends anything?”
“Yes.”
He reached beneath his jacket.
I moved instinctively.
A gun appeared.
Then an officer shouted.
Nicholas froze.
“Drop the weapon!”
His gaze moved between me and the doorway.
For a moment, he seemed to consider everything.
His company.
His freedom.
His lost years.
His anger.
Then he looked at me.
“You were always Father's favorite.”
I shook my head.
“Maybe.”
His expression changed.
I continued.
“But you were my brother.”
His hand trembled.
“And I loved you.”
For a second, he looked devastated.
Then the gun fell from his hand.
Officers entered.
Nicholas was taken into custody.
I stepped backward.
My legs felt weak.
The lodge was suddenly full of people.
Instructions.
Radios.
Movement.
But I heard only one thing.
A child's voice outside.
“Daddy!”
I turned.
Matthew was running toward me.
Oliver followed.
Noah.
Benjamin.
Eleanor hurried behind them.
I dropped to my knees.
They crashed into my arms.
And I held them.
All four.
Alive.
Safe.
Mine.
Matthew pulled back.
“Can we go home now?”
I looked at him.
Then at his brothers.
Then toward the road that would take us back to Sophia.
May you like
“Yes,” I whispered.
“We're going home.”
