Chapter 2 - By Noon, the Entire City Knew My Baby Had Been Called Illegitimate
I moved into an apartment owned by Evelyn’s law firm.
It was nothing dramatic.
Two bedrooms.
Neutral furniture.
A doorman downstairs.
Secure parking.
No connection to the Moretti family.
That last part mattered most.
At 8:30 that morning, Evelyn served Vincent electronically and through a process server.
At 8:47, my phone began ringing.
Vincent.
I ignored it.
Then his mother.
His aunt.
His attorney.
Vincent again.
At 9:02, Samantha sent a message.
Claire, I’m sorry things became so ugly. I never wanted your marriage to end.
I stared at it.
Then forwarded it to Evelyn.
“Don’t respond,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
At 10:14, everything became worse.
My college roommate, Rachel, called.
“Claire.”
She sounded panicked.
“What happened?”
“You need to look online.”
I did.
Someone had leaked photographs.
One showed me outside a hotel seven years earlier beside a man identified by the gossip account as wealthy married investor Andrew Caldwell.
Another showed me getting into his car.
A third appeared to show him kissing my cheek.
The caption was vicious.
CHICAGO MAFIA WIFE’S SECRET PAST? SOURCES QUESTION PATERNITY OF MORETTI HEIR.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Rachel swore.
“This is insane.”
“I know.”
“Andrew was your internship supervisor.”
“I know.”
“He was sixty.”
“Fifty-eight.”
“He treated you like his daughter.”
“I know.”
More importantly, Andrew Caldwell had never been my lover.
He had been my employer.
And the hotel?
A professional architecture conference in Boston.
His wife had been there.
So had forty-seven other people from our firm.
I called Evelyn.
She already knew.
“Do not post anything.”
“They’re calling my baby illegitimate.”
“I know.”
“Evelyn—”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“But your first job is protecting yourself and the baby. Mine is making whoever did this regret being born.”
That almost made me smile.
Then she added:
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“We have the original photo from the hotel conference.”
My breathing stopped.
“What?”
“Rachel sent it.”
The original showed Andrew kissing my cheek.
His wife stood immediately beside him.
Someone had cropped her out.
Someone had deliberately converted an innocent photograph into evidence of an affair.
My sadness became anger.
At 11:40, Vincent called again.
This time, I answered.
“What?”
His voice was rough.
“Where are you?”
“None of your business.”
“Claire.”
“Why are you calling?”
“Did you leak anything about last night?”
I actually had to sit down.
“That is your first question?”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“I didn’t leak the photos.”
“Congratulations.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I’m trying to control this.”
“You should have tried controlling your childhood sweetheart before she accused your pregnant wife of cheating.”
“Samantha says she didn’t leak them.”
“And you believe her.”
Silence.
There it was again.
I laughed without humor.
“Goodbye, Vincent.”
“Wait.”
I almost hung up.
Then he said:
“The original photograph.”
I stopped.
“What about it?”
“I found it.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“And?”
“I know it was cropped.”
I closed my eyes.
Vincent continued.
“I called Caldwell.”
“You called Andrew?”
“Yes.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“I asked questions.”
That meant probably.
“He said there was never an affair.”
“There wasn’t.”
“He said his wife knew you well.”
“She did.”
Another silence.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I may have been wrong.”
May.
One word.
That was all it took to remind me exactly why I had left.
“You ordered me to kneel.”
“I know.”
“You threatened your own baby.”
“I know.”
“And twenty-four hours later, the best you can manage is that you may have been wrong?”
His voice dropped.
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“I’m trying to find it.”
“No.”
I stood.
“The truth was available six months ago.”
“What?”
“You could have asked me.”
He said nothing.
“The truth was sleeping beside you every night.”
I disconnected.
At noon, I met Evelyn at her office.
She had already hired a digital-forensics specialist.
The photographs circulating online showed signs of editing.
Not crude editing.
Professional work.
Dates altered in metadata.
Crops.
One image appeared to have been taken from my old social-media account and reconstructed.
“Someone invested money in this,” Evelyn said.
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“You tell me.”
I immediately thought of Samantha.
But Evelyn was more careful.
“Wanting your husband is motive.”
She tapped the file.
“This is infrastructure.”
“What does that mean?”
“Access.”
“Money.”
“People willing to leak things.”
“Someone wanted Vincent to believe a specific story before the public ever saw it.”
The words unsettled me.
By three, we knew more.
The first anonymous account that circulated the photographs had been created twelve days earlier.
Three days after my pregnancy became known to several Moretti family members.
That timing made my skin crawl.
Then came another surprise.
Vincent’s grandmother, Lucia Moretti, appeared at Evelyn’s office.
Lucia was seventy-eight, elegant, silver-haired, and one of the only people alive who could tell Vincent to sit down and reasonably expect him to obey.
She carried a handbag and enough fury for the entire building.
When she saw me, she hugged me.
I almost cried.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“That boy is an idiot.”
I blinked.
Lucia continued.
“I raised his father better than this.”
Evelyn offered her coffee.
Lucia refused.
“I did not come for coffee.”
She turned to me.
“Vincent told me what he did.”
My stomach tightened.
“All of it?”
“He tried to shorten the story.”
“I made him start again.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Lucia sat.
“Samantha Hayes has wanted my grandson since she was sixteen.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Lucia’s expression sharpened.
“You know she loved him.”
“You do not know how much Gregory Hayes wanted that marriage.”
Gregory was Samantha’s father.
He controlled Hayes Maritime, one of the largest privately held shipping companies on the Great Lakes.
“Vincent marrying Samantha would have joined two businesses that Gregory has spent fifteen years trying to combine.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“So Samantha isn’t doing this alone?”
Lucia shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“But Gregory Hayes does not waste opportunities.”
Then Lucia said something that surprised me.
“Vincent did not marry you because it was convenient.”
“I know.”
“He nearly destroyed a business alliance to marry you.”
That hurt more than it comforted.
“Then why treat me like this afterward?”
Lucia’s face changed.
“I asked him that.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he began receiving information about you two weeks after the wedding.”
My heart sank.
“What information?”
“Anonymous emails.”
“Photographs.”
“Bank records.”
“Messages.”
I stared.
“Messages between me and Andrew?”
“And another man.”
“I don’t know another man.”
Lucia nodded.
“I believe you.”
It was that simple.
Three words.
I believe you.
My husband had not managed them once.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
Lucia reached for my hand.
“I told Vincent he was a fool.”
“That seems generous.”
“He is also frightened.”
“I’m tired of that being an excuse.”
“It isn’t.”
Lucia squeezed my fingers.
“I didn’t come to ask you to forgive him.”
“Good.”
“I came to tell you there are people inside the Moretti family who preferred Samantha to you before they knew your name.”
That changed the room.
Evelyn leaned forward.
“Who?”
Lucia hesitated.
“My brother-in-law, Renato Moretti.”
Vincent’s uncle.
A board member.
One of the most influential men in the family.
Renato had never liked me.
At our wedding, he had kissed my cheek and whispered:
“Let’s hope love is enough.”
I thought he was being sentimental.
Now I wondered.
Lucia continued.
“Renato has business with Gregory Hayes.”
“Shipping.”
“Ports.”
“Construction.”
“And?”
Lucia’s mouth tightened.
“And Vincent has been trying to remove Renato from certain operations for almost a year.”
Evelyn looked at me.
The picture expanded.
This was no longer simply Samantha wanting my husband.
If Vincent divorced me under scandal and eventually married Samantha, the Hayes and Moretti families would be commercially tied.
Renato benefited.
Gregory benefited.
Samantha got Vincent.
And I disappeared.
My baby complicated everything.
Especially if the child was publicly considered illegitimate.
At 5:00, I had my obstetric appointment.
I almost canceled.
Evelyn insisted I go.
The ultrasound technician smiled as the small shape appeared on screen.
“There.”
My child.
Our child.
Tiny arms.
A heartbeat strong and rapid.
I cried.
I hated that part of me wanted Vincent beside me.
Not the man from the club.
The old Vincent.
The one who once told me he wanted three children.
My phone remained face down in my purse.
After the appointment, the doctor stopped me.
“Claire, have you been under unusual stress?”
I laughed weakly.
“Some.”
“Your blood pressure is elevated.”
My smile disappeared.
She spoke gently.
“At this stage, stress alone isn’t automatically dangerous, but I want you resting.”
“No unnecessary conflict.”
“No skipped meals.”
“Call immediately if you have cramping or bleeding.”
I promised.
That promise lasted six hours.
At 11:17 p.m., someone tried to enter the apartment building using my married name and claiming to be my sister.
I had no sister.
The doorman refused entry.
Security footage showed a woman in a baseball cap walking away.
Evelyn called the police.
Then Vincent somehow learned.
Fifteen minutes later, three black SUVs appeared outside.
I opened my curtains and swore.
My phone rang.
Vincent.
“What?”
“I’m downstairs.”
“You are not coming up.”
“Someone tried to get to you.”
“So you brought an army?”
“I brought security.”
“I already have security.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Please.”
The word stopped me.
Vincent Moretti rarely said please.
I walked to the lobby but did not leave the secure area.
He stood beyond the glass doors.
Black coat.
No tie.
He looked exhausted.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he held up something.
A small cream box.
My ultrasound box.
The one he had never opened.
“I found this.”
My throat closed.
“It was in your desk for three months.”
“I know.”
“You never opened it.”
“I opened it tonight.”
He looked down.
“I should have opened it the day you gave it to me.”
“Yes.”
“I should have gone with you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have asked you before believing anything.”
“Yes.”
His eyes lifted.
“And I should never have said what I said last night.”
I gripped the edge of the lobby desk.
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I am not asking you to come home.”
That surprised me.
“I know I don’t have the right.”
“Good.”
“But someone is targeting you.”
“Maybe.”
“I can protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“You were the person I needed protection from last night.”
The words hit him.
He lowered the box.
“I know.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’ll stay outside.”
“What?”
“I won’t come in.”
“I won’t ask where you’re staying tomorrow.”
“But until we know who tried to enter, my men will stay across the street.”
I wanted to refuse.
Then I thought of the person in the baseball cap.
My baby.
My blood pressure.
“Fine.”
Vincent nodded.
He turned.
“Wait.”
He looked back.
I hated myself slightly.
“Did Samantha know where I was?”
His expression hardened.
“No.”
“Renato?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Lucia?”
“Yes.”
“Your attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Then find out who followed me.”
“I will.”
He walked outside.
I returned upstairs.
At 2:06 a.m., I woke with pain.
Sharp.
Low in my abdomen.
Then warmth.
I turned on the bathroom light.
Blood.
For one second, I simply stared.
Then terror swallowed everything.
I called Evelyn.
Then my doctor.
An ambulance arrived.
As paramedics wheeled me through the lobby, Vincent was already running toward us from across the street.
“What happened?”
I could barely speak.
“I’m bleeding.”
His face lost all color.
He reached for the stretcher.
I grabbed his hand before I could stop myself.
“Vincent.”
“I’m here.”
The ambulance doors opened.
“Don’t let me lose the baby.”
His fingers closed around mine.
“You won’t.”
May you like
He had no way to promise that.
But for the first time in three months, fear in his eyes matched mine.
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