Chapter 3 - Blood Is Not Loyalty
I did not drive away.
I sat in the front seat of my car staring at the Moretti estate.
Bianca.
Vincent’s younger sister.
The woman who had sat at the family table twenty minutes earlier and laughed when I told Vincent the message in the company chat was accurate.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure the current registered agent for one of Larkspur’s Illinois entities is a law firm, and the beneficial ownership filing names a trust.”
“Whose trust?”
“Bianca Moretti is a beneficiary.”
I closed my eyes.
“That doesn’t mean she controls it.”
“No. It means you do not confront her alone.”
I looked back at the house.
Too late.
“Nathan, I’m still at the estate.”
“Leave.”
“Not yet.”
“Claire.”
“If Bianca knows something, I want to see her face before anyone warns her.”
“You are not a detective.”
“No.”
I started the engine, then turned it off.
“I’m the woman whose signature was forged.”
I hung up before Nathan could argue.
When I returned to the dining room, Vincent looked surprised.
“You forgot something?”
“Yes.”
I looked directly at Bianca.
“Your explanation.”
Her smile disappeared.
Richard frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
I set my phone on the table and opened the corporate record Nathan had emailed me.
“Larkspur Capital has an ownership structure tied to a trust. Bianca is a beneficiary.”
Elena’s face drained of color.
Vincent looked at his sister.
“Tell me this is wrong.”
Bianca stared at the screen.
Then at me.
“You had a lawyer run Larkspur while you were sitting at our table?”
“Yes.”
A faint, humorless smile touched her lips.
“I underestimated you.”
Vincent stood.
“What does that mean?”
She leaned back.
“It means Claire finally learned to stop asking permission.”
Richard’s voice was hard.
“Bianca.”
She looked at him.
“Do you want the truth too, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She stood.
“I inherited part of the Larkspur trust from Grandfather.”
Richard went white.
“That trust was dissolved.”
“No. You thought it was.”
Vincent moved closer.
“Our grandfather owned Larkspur?”
“Not exactly. He funded it.”
Richard’s fist tightened.
“My father used Larkspur for hostile acquisitions in the eighties and nineties. I shut it down after I took control.”
“You shut down the operating companies,” Bianca said. “Not the trust.”
Elena whispered, “How long have you known?”
“Since I turned twenty-five.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Bianca looked directly at her father.
“Because everything in this family belongs to Vincent.”
He flinched.
The sentence had nothing to do with me.
This was older.
Deeper.
Bianca’s eyes shone.
“The company. The board seat. Grandfather’s townhouse. Dad’s respect. Every serious conversation. Every real decision.”
Vincent’s voice was quiet.
“You own twelve percent of Moretti Holdings.”
“And you control forty-six.”
“I didn’t choose Grandfather’s estate plan.”
“No. You just benefited from it.”
Richard slammed his hand against the table.
“Enough. Did you forge Claire’s signature?”
Bianca looked at me.
“No.”
“Did Larkspur?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a flash drive.
“I’ve been trying to find out who is controlling the trust.”
Vincent stared at it.
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
She laughed.
“Because I knew exactly what you would do. You would take over.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer to everything in this family.”
She placed the drive on the table.
“I found payments from the trust to a private security firm, a title consultant, and an information broker. One of them accessed Claire’s personal data.”
My skin crawled.
“When?”
“Two months before the forged transfer.”
Richard looked sick.
Vincent picked up the drive.
“Who authorized the payments?”
“That’s what I couldn’t identify.”
I turned to Bianca.
“Then why were you acting surprised?”
“Because I was surprised you had the transfer documents.”
“You knew someone was targeting me.”
“I knew someone had researched you.”
“And you said nothing.”
Her expression hardened.
“I was trying to find proof.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
Everyone in this family had the same disease.
They called secrecy strategy.
They called exclusion protection.
They called silence love.
I looked around the table.
“Does anyone in this family ever tell the person in danger that she is in danger?”
Nobody answered.
That was answer enough.
Nathan arrived forty minutes later.
I had texted him one sentence.
Come inside. Bring a laptop.
He walked into the dining room in a navy suit, glanced at Vincent, then at the documents.
“I assume this is the part where everyone hates the lawyer.”
Vincent’s expression remained cold.
“I already dislike you.”
Nathan smiled.
“That saves time.”
I nearly laughed.
For the next two hours, the dining room became an investigation room.
Sophia gave Nathan access to the title records.
Bianca opened the flash drive.
Vincent called his chief information officer and ordered a quiet forensic review.
Richard unlocked more files from the safe.
I watched them work.
At some point, Vincent placed coffee beside me.
I didn’t thank him.
He did not ask me to.
That small restraint hurt more than I expected.
At six-thirty, Nathan found the first real connection.
A security contractor paid by Larkspur had also done work for Moretti Holdings.
“Who hired them?” I asked.
Vincent checked the vendor history.
His face went blank.
“My mother.”
Everyone looked at Elena.
She stared back.
“I have never seen that company in my life.”
The purchase authorization carried her digital approval.
Vincent swore under his breath.
Bianca whispered, “Another stolen credential.”
Nathan nodded.
“Probably.”
I leaned back.
“So someone has access to family accounts, company systems, and my personal credentials.”
“Yes,” Nathan said.
“Who could do that?”
Sophia answered.
“Someone trusted by all of you.”
The room went quiet.
Then the estate’s house manager entered.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Richard looked up.
“A courier delivered this for Mrs. Claire Moretti.”
The package was small.
No return address.
My name was typed on the front.
Vincent immediately stood.
“Don’t open it.”
I looked at him.
“See? That tone.”
“Claire.”
Nathan took the box.
“Let security scan it.”
Twenty minutes later, it came back clear.
Inside was a phone.
A cheap prepaid phone.
The screen lit up the moment I touched it.
One text message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE DIVORCE AND LEFT.
A second message appeared.
The photograph beneath it made my blood turn cold.
It was me.
That morning.
Standing outside Moretti Holdings with Vincent’s suitcases.
Taken from across the street.
Then a third message came.
NEXT TIME, THE CAMERA WON’T BE THE ONLY THING POINTED AT YOU.
Vincent took the phone from my hand.
His entire expression changed.
I had seen angry Vincent.
I had never seen this.
“Everyone out,” he said.
Richard frowned.
“Vincent—”
“Not Claire. Not Nathan. Everyone else.”
Sophia and Bianca hesitated.
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Now.”
They left.
He turned to Richard.
“I’m moving Claire to a secure location.”
“No,” I said.
He looked at me.
“No?”
“I am not being moved anywhere.”
“You were just threatened.”
“Yes.”
“Then this is no longer a discussion.”
Nathan leaned back.
“Actually, legally, it absolutely is.”
Vincent ignored him.
“Claire, someone followed you.”
“And someone wants me frightened enough to disappear.”
“That’s why—”
“That’s why I’m not disappearing.”
Our eyes locked.
For the first time all day, something passed between us that had nothing to do with marriage.
Recognition.
Vincent slowly nodded.
“What do you want?”
It was such a simple question.
He should have asked it years ago.
“I want access to everything.”
“You’ll have it.”
“No more secrets.”
He hesitated.
I raised an eyebrow.
“No more secrets.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
“And I choose my own security.”
“Fine.”
“And Nathan stays involved.”
Vincent’s mouth tightened.
Nathan smiled.
“Starting to like you too.”
I ignored them.
“One more thing.”
Vincent waited.
“If this ends with proof you married me for that land, there will be nothing left to discuss.”
His face became very still.
“I did not.”
“Then prove it.”
That night, I did not return to the penthouse.
I went to the North Shore mansion my father had given me.
The place had been empty for years except for staff.
I stood in the library where my father used to read and wondered how many secrets he had died carrying.
At midnight, I opened an old desk.
Inside the bottom drawer was a handwritten note taped beneath the wood.
Claire—
If anyone ever tells you the Morettis are your enemy, ask which Moretti.
My hands began to shake.
Beneath the note was a key.
And on the back, my father had written an address.
Bianca asked to speak with me privately before I left the estate.
We stood on the terrace overlooking the winter gardens.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
“You hate us.”
“I don’t know you well enough to hate all of you.”
“That might be worse.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn’t you tell Vincent about the trust?”
Her laugh was bitter.
“Because he would have fixed it.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No. I wanted to matter.”
The honesty surprised me.
Bianca continued.
“Do you know what it’s like growing up next to Vincent? He walks into a room and everyone assumes he knows what to do.”
“He often assumes it too.”
She smiled.
“Exactly.”
I leaned against the stone railing.
“So you wanted your own problem.”
“I wanted one thing in this family that wasn’t already his to solve.”
“And that nearly got people killed.”
Her expression fell.
“I know.”
“Then learn the difference between independence and isolation.”
She stared at me.
“That sounds like something you should say to your husband.”
“I have.”
For the first time, she laughed for real.
Then her face grew serious.
“If you leave him, he will pretend he is fine.”
“I know.”
“He will work eighteen hours a day and make everyone miserable.”
“That is not my responsibility.”
“I know that too.”
I studied her.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I spent years blaming Vincent for being the favorite when the truth is he never got to be anything else.”
I thought about that.
Children assigned roles often carried them into adulthood like uniforms.
Bianca the overlooked one.
Vincent the responsible one.
Richard the patriarch.
Elena the peacemaker.
And me?
The quiet wife.
Maybe the entire disaster had begun because we had all stayed in character too long.
Bianca looked toward the windows.
“He loves you.”
“I know.”
She blinked.
“That sounded certain.”
“Love is not the part I doubt.”
“Then what is?”
“Whether he knows how to share a life instead of manage one.”
Bianca nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
My phone buzzed then.
Another unknown number.
For one second, fear tightened my chest.
It was only a blank message.
Then an image loaded.
The front gate of the North Shore mansion.
Taken ten minutes earlier.
I showed Bianca.
Her face changed.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
The next image arrived.
My father’s old library window.
Then text.
YOU FOUND THE HOUSE.
I felt cold.
A final message appeared.
DON’T FIND THE REST.
Bianca grabbed my arm.
“You’re not going there alone tonight.”
I almost told her not to order me around.
Then I stopped.
This was what accepting help looked like.
“All right,” I said.
Her eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just expected a fight.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
May you like
That night, three independent security teams surrounded my property.
And for the first time in years, I slept with the library light on.
