Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Stole My Husband Had Another NameFor twenty-three years, I had believed my mother was dead.
Now I had heard her voice.
And before I could ask her a single question about all the birthdays she had missed, all the school performances she had never attended, or all the nights I cried for her as a child, Dominic Moretti had taken the phone from her hand.
I stood in the kitchen staring at the disconnected call.
My first instinct was to call the number back.
My second was to run to Chicago and confront Dominic myself.
Instead, I did something the woman I had once been might never have done.
I called Daniel.
He arrived with Rebecca forty minutes later.
By then, I had written down every word I remembered.
Daniel read my notes carefully.
He circled the mention of Lakeview Savings.
Then he looked up.
"Are you certain the woman used your grandmother's nickname?"
"Yes."
"Could anyone else have known it?"
"Possibly. But she sounded—"
I stopped.
How could I describe it?
I had forgotten the exact sound of my mother's voice years ago.
Yet something about the woman on the telephone had reached into a place inside me that never stopped waiting for her.
"She sounded familiar," I whispered.
Rebecca sat beside me.
"We're going to verify her identity."
"What if Dominic hurts her?"
Daniel looked troubled.
"We're contacting the appropriate investigators. But don't try to confront him."
I stood.
"She called me. He found her while we were speaking."
"I understand."
"No, you don't!"
My voice cracked.
"I spent my entire childhood believing she was buried in a cemetery. I visited her grave every Mother's Day. I brought flowers. I told her about school and my wedding and Lily. And now you're telling me to sit here calmly while the man who threatened my daughter might have my mother?"
Daniel didn't interrupt.
When I finished, he said quietly, "I'm telling you not to give Dominic another person he can use against you."
That stopped me.
He was right.
And I hated that he was right.
I sat down.
"Find her."
"We'll do everything we legally can."
I looked at Rebecca.
"And the bank?"
She nodded.
"We're working on it."
The following morning, investigators confirmed that Lakeview Savings had been acquired by a regional banking group years earlier.
Its original safe-deposit records had been transferred to a secured archive.
Box 317 had belonged to Evelyn Rossi Bennett.
The key had been registered under her name.
But the account had included an authorized secondary contact.
Anna Rossi Bennett.
My mother.
The bank's surviving records showed that the box remained sealed.
Nobody had accessed it in more than twenty years.
I stared at the paperwork.
"Then why did they steal the key?"
Daniel considered the question.
"Perhaps they believed it would be enough to gain access."
"Is it?"
"No. The bank still requires identification and authorization. And now there's a preservation request in place."
Rebecca leaned forward.
"We're pursuing a court order to inspect the contents in connection with the pending litigation and reported threats."
I felt an unexpected flash of relief.
For the first time, Dominic had failed to obtain something he wanted.
Then Daniel produced another document.
"I also have information about Sophia."
He placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a young blonde woman standing beside Dominic outside a restaurant.
Sophia.
But the date was nineteen years earlier.
She looked barely twenty.
I frowned.
"She told Vincent she hadn't seen Dominic since childhood."
"That's one of several statements that appear to be false."
Daniel placed another record beside the photograph.
"Sophia Reynolds was born Sophia Rossi."
I stared.
"Rossi?"
He nodded.
"She later changed her surname after her mother remarried."
My thoughts raced.
"Is she related to my mother?"
"Possibly distantly. The Rossi name appears in several branches of the same extended family, but we've traced Sophia's father."
"Who?"
Daniel looked directly at me.
"Anthony Rossi. Dominic Moretti's former financial associate."
I remembered hearing that name.
Not from Vincent.
From Grandmother.
Once, when I was fifteen, she had received a telephone call that left her shaking.
After hanging up, she had said, "Anthony Rossi has no business asking about you."
I thought he was a distant relative.
I had never asked.
"Where is Anthony now?"
"Deceased. He died sixteen years ago."
"How?"
"Officially, an accidental drowning."
Daniel paused.
"But there were questions about it at the time."
I closed my eyes.
Another death.
Another unanswered question.
Another person connected to Dominic Moretti.
I thought about Sophia standing behind the counter of my bakery.
Her perfect hair.
Her artificial tears.
Her casual cruelty when she destroyed my competition cake.
Had she returned to Vincent for love?
Or had she been working with Dominic from the beginning?
"Does Vincent know?"
Daniel hesitated.
"That remains unclear."
I stared at him.
"You're telling me my husband's first love has a hidden connection to the man threatening our daughter, and nobody knows whether Vincent is involved?"
"I know how that sounds."
"It sounds like I've spent seven years sleeping beside a stranger."
Rebecca touched my arm.
"Claire, we have evidence of financial connections and inconsistent statements. We still need to establish who knew what and when."
I looked toward Lily's room.
She was singing softly to Mr. Buttons.
My daughter had no idea that her father's decisions had placed us at the center of something so dangerous.
I turned back to Daniel.
"Then let's find out."
Sophia Reynolds had never considered herself a cruel woman.
That was how she justified the things she did.
She believed life was a competition, and she had been losing for too long.
When Vincent Moretti married Claire Bennett, Sophia had watched photographs of their wedding appear in magazines.
The bride looked radiant.
The groom looked devoted.
Sophia remembered tearing one page from a newspaper and throwing it into her fireplace.
She told herself she wasn't jealous.
She simply believed Vincent had chosen the wrong woman.
Claire was ordinary.
A baker.
A woman who wore simple dresses and spoke to waiters as though they mattered.
Sophia, meanwhile, understood expensive restaurants, charity galas, and the delicate politics of Chicago's wealthy circles.
She believed she belonged beside a man like Vincent.
And for years, she waited for an opportunity to prove it.
When Dominic approached her eight months earlier, she thought her opportunity had finally arrived.
He had shown her evidence that Vincent's marriage was deteriorating.
He told her Claire was unhappy.
That Vincent was lonely.
That a woman with Sophia's history could help him remember his former life.
All she had to do was reenter his social circle.
Then persuade him to support a few business ventures.
Sophia had accepted.
But Dominic's true plans were more complicated.
He wanted access to the family trust.
He wanted the South Side property.
And he wanted documents hidden decades earlier by Evelyn Bennett.
Sophia had laughed when he first mentioned Claire's grandmother.
"She's dead," she said.
Dominic smiled.
"Dead people are often inconveniently organized."
At first, Sophia treated the arrangement like an elaborate business transaction.
She would help Dominic get what he wanted.
In return, he would make sure Vincent left Claire.
Then she would become Mrs. Moretti.
But over time, Dominic's demands became darker.
He wanted information about Lily.
Her school.
Her routines.
Her medications.
He asked Sophia whether Claire had ever mentioned a small gold key.
And now, standing inside the bakery's office, Sophia realized she had underestimated the man she'd agreed to help.
Dominic sat across from her.
He looked almost relaxed.
"You lost the key," he said.
Sophia crossed her arms.
"I didn't lose anything. Your men retrieved it."
"Without the authorization, it's worthless."
"Then forge the authorization."
Dominic smiled thinly.
"That is precisely the kind of foolishness that gets people arrested."
Sophia looked away.
She was beginning to understand that Dominic enjoyed humiliating people.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Get close to Claire."
Sophia laughed.
"She hates me."
"Then find another way."
"Vincent already suspects we're working together."
Dominic's expression changed.
"How much does he know?"
"Enough to stop answering my calls."
Dominic rose.
"Then you've become less useful than I hoped."
A chill moved through Sophia.
"You promised me—"
"I promised you an opportunity."
He leaned closer.
"You mistook that for a guarantee."
She stepped back.
"Vincent will protect me."
Dominic studied her.
Then laughed softly.
"Will he?"
Sophia hated the uncertainty that followed.
For eight months, she had used Vincent's attention as proof of her own value.
But he had not answered her last six calls.
He had canceled their investment meetings.
And she had heard through a mutual acquaintance that he was refusing invitations because he was trying to see his daughter.
Sophia hadn't expected Claire to leave.
She had expected tears.
Arguments.
Perhaps another expensive gift.
Not divorce papers.
Not court proceedings.
Not an empty mansion.
And certainly not Vincent Moretti withdrawing the affection she'd fought so hard to reclaim.
Dominic moved toward the door.
"Find out what Claire knows."
"And if she won't speak to me?"
He looked over his shoulder.
"Then perhaps her daughter will."
Sophia felt a flicker of genuine fear.
"Lily is a child."
Dominic's eyes hardened.
"Then you should hope her mother cooperates."
He left.
Sophia remained in the office.
For the first time, she wondered whether destroying Claire's marriage had been the beginning of something she couldn't stop.
Vincent summoned Sophia to his private office that evening.
She arrived wearing a pale blue dress and a carefully worried expression.
"Vincent."
He didn't rise.
"Sit down."
She hesitated.
"Are you angry with me?"
He slid a photograph across the desk.
It showed her meeting Dominic.
Her face lost color.
"Where did you get that?"
"Answer the question I haven't asked yet."
She looked at him.
Vincent's voice became dangerously quiet.
"How long have you been working for my uncle?"
Sophia swallowed.
"Vincent, I can explain."
"Try."
She folded her hands.
"Dominic approached me months ago. He said he wanted to invest in some businesses."
"Did you know he was supposed to be dead?"
"Not initially."
"Did you know why he disappeared?"
"No."
"Did you know he was moving money through Claire's bakery?"
Her eyes shifted.
Vincent noticed.
"Sophia."
"I thought it was legitimate investment capital."
"Don't insult me."
His voice rose for the first time.
Sophia flinched.
Vincent stood.
"You told me you wanted a business of your own. You told me you were trying to rebuild your life. And I handed you something Claire had worked for because I thought—"
He stopped.
Because he suddenly realized how ridiculous his own reasoning sounded.
He had taken his wife's dream and given it to another woman.
Not because Sophia needed it.
Because he wanted Sophia to admire him.
Because giving things away made him feel powerful.
And because he had assumed Claire would always forgive him.
Sophia lowered her eyes.
"You wanted to help me."
"At Claire's expense."
"You made that choice."
The words struck him.
He stared at her.
Sophia seemed to realize what she'd said.
"Vincent, I didn't mean—"
"No."
He raised a hand.
"You're right."
She stopped.
"I made that choice."
He walked around the desk.
"And it was one of the worst choices I've ever made."
Sophia's eyes filled.
"You still love Claire."
Vincent looked at her.
He could have lied.
He had become good at lying to himself.
Instead, he answered.
"Yes."
Sophia looked as though she'd been slapped.
"Then why did you come back to me?"
He thought about the months of lunches.
The phone calls.
The flattery.
How easy it had been to spend time with someone who never asked him to be a good husband or father.
Sophia admired his power.
Claire had demanded his presence.
Sophia liked the man the city feared.
Claire wanted him to become the man their daughter could trust.
And Vincent had chosen the easier audience.
"Because I was selfish," he said.
Sophia stood.
"You can't put all of this on me."
"I'm not."
He opened the office door.
"But you're finished using my businesses."
Her expression hardened.
"You think you can simply throw me away?"
Vincent looked at her.
"No. I think I can finally stop pretending that what we've been doing is harmless."
Sophia's voice trembled.
"You promised we'd always be there for each other."
"I made vows to Claire."
He swallowed.
"And I broke them."
She stared at him.
Then she laughed bitterly.
"She won't take you back."
Vincent said nothing.
Sophia stepped closer.
"Even if you crawl to her, even if you give her everything, she won't forgive you."
Vincent looked toward the window.
"Maybe she shouldn't."
For a moment, Sophia saw something she had never seen in him before.
Defeat.
Not the temporary frustration of losing a business negotiation.
Something deeper.
The beginning of a man understanding that consequences couldn't always be purchased away.
She turned and left.
But outside the office, she took out her phone.
And called Dominic.
"Vincent knows," she whispered.
Dominic listened.
Then said, "In that case, we move to the next stage."
Sophia closed her eyes.
"What stage?"
His answer came without hesitation.
"The child."
The next stage began the following afternoon.
Lily and I had moved into another temporary residence under the arrangements made by Rebecca and Daniel.
The new building had controlled access, security cameras, and an underground parking area.
Daniel had insisted on keeping our movements predictable only to the small number of people who needed to know them.
For the first time in days, I felt able to make breakfast without constantly watching the window.
Lily sat at the kitchen island helping me roll dough.
Her little hands were covered in flour.
"Mommy, this one looks like a turtle."
I smiled.
"Then we'll call it a turtle bun."
She giggled.
"And this one looks like Daddy's angry face."
I glanced down.
The dough had two crooked eyes and a deeply furrowed brow.
I burst out laughing.
Lily looked surprised.
Then she laughed too.
It was the first time we had laughed together about Vincent without feeling frightened.
I kissed the top of her head.
"You have quite an imagination."
We baked cinnamon rolls.
Then Lily carefully arranged them on a plate.
"Can we give some to the security man?"
"Of course."
She carried the plate toward the living room.
I turned to wash my hands.
Then the intercom rang.
The security receptionist downstairs said someone had delivered flowers.
I frowned.
"From whom?"
"A woman named Sophia Reynolds."
My entire body went cold.
"Do not accept them."
"Understood."
"Has she entered the building?"
"No, ma'am."
I telephoned Daniel.
He answered immediately.
"Claire?"
"Sophia knows where we are."
There was a pause.
"How?"
"She sent flowers."
Daniel's tone changed.
"Stay inside. I'm contacting building security."
I moved toward the living room.
Lily was standing near the window.
She looked confused.
"Mommy?"
"What is it?"
"That lady is downstairs."
I approached carefully.
Across the street stood a blonde woman in a cream coat.
Sophia.
She looked directly up at our window.
Then she raised one hand.
And waved.
Lily stepped backward.
"I know her."
I took her hand.
"It's okay, baby. Come away from the window."
My phone buzzed.
A message from Sophia.
Claire, please. I need to talk to you.
Another arrived.
Dominic is dangerous.
I stared at the words.
Then a third message appeared.
He knows about the little yellow house Lily drew.
My blood turned to ice.
That drawing had been made inside our protected residence.
I slowly turned toward the kitchen table.
Lily's drawing lay beside the cinnamon rolls.
Yellow house.
Red tree.
Three figures.
I looked back at my phone.
A photograph arrived.
It showed the same drawing.
Taken from somewhere outside our kitchen window.
Then Sophia sent one final message.
He has someone inside your security team.
I grabbed Lily and moved away from the glass.
The apartment suddenly seemed full of places where someone could be watching.
I called Daniel again.
No answer.
I called Rebecca.
Straight to voicemail.
Then the apartment doorbell rang.
Once.
Twice.
A man's voice came through the intercom.
"Mrs. Moretti, this is building security. We need to speak with you."
I looked through the peephole.
The man wore a security uniform.
But he wasn't the guard who had been stationed on our floor that morning.
He smiled toward the door.
"Mrs. Moretti?"
I remained silent.
Then he lowered his head toward the intercom.
His next words made my blood freeze.
"Mr. Dominic Moretti sends his regards."
I backed away.
And for the first time, I understood that someone had been protecting Dominic's secrets long before Sophia returned.
Someone knew where we were.
Someone knew Lily's routines.
Someone was close enough to photograph drawings on our kitchen table.
My phone vibrated one more time.
This time, the message came from Vincent.
May you like
Claire, don't open your door.
I'm coming.
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