Chapter 4 - The Mistress Who Was Never the Real Target
The FBI did not let me go to locker 317 alone.
They also did not let me decide whether I wanted to go.
Agent Rhodes took my phone.
Rebecca objected.
I objected louder.
Vincent, when he learned about the message, nearly tore apart the room where police had placed him.
None of it changed anything.
For the next four hours, professionals took control of my life.
They traced the message.
Spoofed.
Reviewed hospital cameras.
Vanessa had not walked out.
A woman wearing hospital scrubs entered her room at 7:12 a.m.
Three minutes later, the security camera on that hallway went dark.
At 7:19, an orderly pushed a covered gurney through a service elevator.
The orderly’s face was hidden.
The badge was false.
Vanessa had been abducted from the hospital.
Pregnant.
Medically unstable.
And somehow the kidnappers believed I possessed something they needed.
Locker 317 turned out to be at South Station.
A luggage locker in an older storage section near the bus terminal.
Rhodes wanted surveillance.
I wanted Vanessa alive.
Those goals were not necessarily compatible.
At 1:30 p.m., I sat in a secure FBI office wearing a wire beneath a borrowed sweater.
“You will follow instructions,” Rhodes said.
“I understand.”
“If anything changes, you walk away.”
“If they have Vanessa there—”
“You walk away.”
“I’m a physician.”
“You’re also pregnant.”
That silenced me.
I hated that pregnancy had already become a weapon people could use to limit my choices.
But he was right.
My child mattered more than my pride.
The brass key fit locker 317.
Inside was a small black case.
No documents.
No money.
One burner phone.
And a photograph.
Dominic Moretti standing beside Harold Reed.
Behind them was Julian.
The photo had been taken outside a marina.
On the back, Dominic had written:
The second set is where Claire saved a stranger on our anniversary.
I stared at it.
Rhodes, listening remotely, whispered through my hidden earpiece.
“Do you know what that means?”
Yes.
Three years earlier, Vincent and I had spent our anniversary at a restaurant near Boston Harbor.
A man collapsed outside.
I performed CPR until paramedics arrived.
Vincent joked for years that only I could turn an anniversary dinner into a trauma shift.
Where Claire saved a stranger.
The marina.
Rowes Wharf.
“There’s another location,” I whispered.
The burner phone rang.
I answered.
A distorted voice.
“You opened the locker.”
“Yes.”
“Where is the drive?”
“The FBI has it.”
Silence.
Then laughter.
“You always were terrible at lying, Claire.”
My blood turned cold.
That voice.
Not the distortion.
The rhythm.
The pause before my name.
I knew it.
“Julian.”
Rhodes swore in my earpiece.
The caller stopped laughing.
Then the distortion vanished.
My brother-in-law spoke naturally.
“Merry Christmas.”
I felt suddenly sick.
“Where is Vanessa?”
“Safe enough.”
“She was bleeding.”
“She’s being cared for.”
“By Malcolm Pierce?”
A pause.
Good.
That landed.
“You found Father’s files.”
“Yes.”
“And Vincent?”
“He knows.”
Julian sighed.
“My brother always did need someone else to clean up his mistakes.”
“You murdered Dominic.”
“No.”
“Then tell me who did.”
“That is more complicated than the FBI will allow you to believe.”
“Vanessa.”
“She became inconvenient.”
“She’s carrying Vincent’s child.”
Julian laughed softly.
“Is she?”
That sentence lodged inside me.
“What does that mean?”
“You’re a doctor. Ask better questions.”
The phone disconnected.
Rhodes’s team moved immediately.
They had traced enough of the call to a tower zone near the waterfront.
Not precise.
But useful.
I was taken back to the vehicle.
Vincent was waiting at the FBI office when we returned.
Against instructions.
Of course.
He crossed the room toward me.
Rhodes blocked him.
“Back.”
“I need to see my wife.”
I looked at Vincent.
“No.”
The word hurt us both.
He stopped.
“I heard Julian called you.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That Vanessa may not be carrying your child.”
His face changed.
Rebecca, who had arrived minutes earlier, crossed her arms.
Vincent looked confused.
“She said the fertility treatment—”
I held up a hand.
“What fertility treatment?”
“She told me she had undergone treatment because she had trouble conceiving.”
“With you?”
“No.”
I stared.
“Explain.”
“She froze embryos years ago.”
“With whom?”
Vincent rubbed his face.
“I don’t know.”
I almost laughed.
“You slept with a woman who claimed to be pregnant with your child, and you never asked whether she had embryos with another man?”
“She said the pregnancy happened naturally.”
“But she told you about fertility treatment.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After the positive test.”
“Did you see the test?”
“Yes.”
“Paternity testing?”
“Too early.”
“Did you intend to do it?”
He hesitated.
That was answer enough.
“Vincent.”
“I didn’t want to pressure her while she was bleeding.”
“This started before last night.”
“I know.”
“So you were just going to accept another child as yours?”
His face hardened.
“I was prepared to take responsibility if it was mine.”
“If.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca stepped in before I could continue.
“Claire, this matters legally, but not right now.”
She was right.
I hated that everyone around me kept being right when I wanted permission to fall apart.
Rhodes entered with a file.
“We found the second location.”
The clue about our anniversary led agents to a safety deposit service near Rowes Wharf.
The key from locker 317 did not open it.
But Dominic’s photograph contained a number hidden beneath the frame.
Box 218.
Inside was a second flash drive.
And a sealed envelope addressed to Vincent.
He opened it in front of us.
His hands shook.
Son,
If you have reached this point, then Claire found what I hoped she would never need to find.
Before you blame anyone else, understand my first mistake.
I allowed your brother to believe that I loved you more.
Vincent stopped.
His throat worked.
He continued reading.
Julian spent his entire life trying to beat a competition I never intended to create. That does not excuse what he has done. But men rarely become monsters in a single day. They become monsters one justification at a time.
I confronted Julian about the stolen funds.
He admitted moving money.
He claimed Malcolm Pierce designed the laundering structure.
Julian said Malcolm had threatened him.
I did not believe him.
Then I learned Malcolm had altered my medication.
I believe Malcolm intended to kill me.
I do not know whether Julian knew.
Do not destroy your brother until you know which sin belongs to which man.
Vincent lowered the letter.
Rhodes looked grim.
“So Julian may not have poisoned Dominic.”
“No,” I said. “But he knew about the theft.”
“And he abducted Vanessa,” Rebecca added.
Rhodes nodded.
“Which makes him dangerous regardless.”
The second flash drive was less encrypted.
It contained videos.
One showed Dominic confronting Julian in an office.
The timestamp was seven weeks before Dominic died.
“You stole from me,” Dominic said.
Julian stood by a window.
“I moved money.”
“Forty-one million dollars.”
“It wasn’t supposed to remain gone.”
“That sentence only makes sense to thieves.”
Julian turned.
“You gave Vincent everything.”
“I gave Vincent responsibility.”
“You gave him New York. You gave him development rights. You gave him your name.”
“You have my name.”
“I had your leftovers.”
Dominic stared at his younger son.
“You are forty years old. Stop blaming your childhood for crimes you commit as an adult.”
Julian’s face twisted.
Then he said something that changed the room.
“You think this is about money? Malcolm owns half the politicians you donate to. He owns regulators. He owns judges. You think I could tell him no after he put me inside those deals?”
“Then we go to the FBI.”
Julian laughed bitterly.
“And he releases everything. The offshore accounts. The bribery. Your company collapses.”
“My company is not worth a murder.”
“What murder?”
Dominic froze.
Julian did too.
Then Dominic stepped closer.
“Why did you say murder?”
The recording ended.
Vincent whispered, “Jesus.”
Rhodes immediately asked the technician to recover any damaged continuation.
Another file showed Malcolm Pierce entering Julian’s office late at night.
No audio.
Another showed Vanessa’s father meeting Dominic.
Then a photograph.
Malcolm standing beside Harold Reed.
Dated one week before Harold disappeared.
“This is Pierce,” I said.
Rhodes nodded.
“But Julian is the one who called you.”
“Meaning they may still be working together.”
Vincent paced.
“Julian said Malcolm threatened him.”
Rebecca replied, “People can be victims and perpetrators at the same time.”
I looked at Vincent.
So could husbands.
He understood the thought from my expression.
He looked away.
At 5:50 p.m. on Christmas Day, agents located the black SUV used in Vanessa’s kidnapping.
Abandoned.
Blood in the back seat.
Vanessa’s.
No body.
No suspect.
But the SUV’s navigation history contained an address.
An old Moretti Development property outside Worcester.
A rehabilitation center that had closed three years earlier.
FBI teams moved.
Vincent demanded to go.
They refused.
I did not demand.
I knew better.
We waited.
Forty-seven minutes.
Then Rhodes’s phone rang.
His expression changed.
“They found her.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Pregnancy?”
Rhodes listened.
Then looked at me.
“Alive. She’s conscious.”
I released a breath I had not realized I was holding.
“But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“They found medical equipment.”
My pulse quickened.
“What kind?”
“Ultrasound machine. IV supplies. Medications.”
I stood.
“Was Pierce there?”
“No.”
“Julian?”
“No.”
“Then who was treating her?”
Rhodes looked at the notes being sent to his phone.
“One woman was arrested.”
“Who?”
He read the name.
“Dr. Natalie Pierce.”
I knew it.
Malcolm Pierce’s daughter.
An obstetrician.
My colleague.
A woman I had shared operating rooms with.
A woman who had hugged me after my miscarriage.
I sat down slowly.
Vincent whispered, “This is bigger than Julian.”
Then Rhodes added the detail that finally revealed what Vanessa had hidden from everyone.
“Vanessa told the agents the embryo she is carrying was created four years ago.”
Vincent frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I met Vanessa this year.”
May you like
Rhodes’s gaze hardened.
“Exactly.”
