Chapter 6 - The Order Vincent Could Not Remember GivingFor the second time that morning, Vincent Moretti had to consider the possibility that he was the villain in his own mystery.
He stood in Isabella’s living room while everyone watched him.
Naomi.
His newly discovered sister.
His mother.
Carlo.
Elena.
Every person had a reason not to trust him.
Vincent looked at the phone.
“Proof.”
Matteo laughed.
“You sound like Antonio.”
“Proof.”
“Marcus recorded the order.”
Vincent’s stomach tightened.
“Play it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because leverage is only useful if the other person doesn’t have it.”
Vincent’s voice became cold.
“What do you want?”
“Daniel’s files.”
“Why?”
“Because he stole records that will destroy more than me.”
“Who?”
“You.”
Vincent stared.
“Bring the files to Pier Thirty-Seven tonight.”
Matteo paused.
“Come alone.”
The line disconnected.
No one moved.
Vincent looked toward Naomi.
She held his gaze.
“What?”
“Do you believe him?”
Naomi answered carefully.
“I believe he has something.”
“That was not the question.”
“No.”
Vincent’s face tightened.
She continued.
“I don’t believe you ordered Daniel killed.”
“Why?”
“Because last night you were horrified when you saw his body.”
“People can regret orders.”
“Yes.”
“People can forget what they’ve done.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
Naomi stepped closer.
“Because you told me before we found Daniel that you were afraid somebody had used your authority.”
Vincent frowned.
“What exactly did I say?”
Naomi closed her eyes, recalling.
“You said: ‘If a Moretti order went out with my voice, assume nothing until I say otherwise in person.’”
Vincent stared.
Isabella looked toward the laptop.
“Voice cloning.”
Carlo understood.
“Deepfake audio.”
Elena nodded.
“The same way they made the Naomi footage.”
Vincent exhaled.
“Then Marcus may have a recording of me ordering Daniel’s death.”
“But not a real one,” Naomi said.
“Maybe.”
He looked at her.
“You still trust me too easily.”
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“I just pay attention.”
The words affected him more than they should have.
Alessandra sat down.
“Matteo wants you to think you caused Daniel’s death.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because guilt makes you predictable.”
Naomi glanced toward him.
That was exactly what she had told him earlier.
Vincent hated patterns when they proved uncomfortable truths.
Carlo asked, “Why poison yourself?”
Vincent thought.
“What if I did?”
Naomi frowned.
“You believe Matteo?”
“No.”
“But?”
“What if the poison was part of my plan?”
Isabella looked interested.
“Explain.”
Vincent walked toward the window.
“Last night I knew communication was compromised.”
“Yes.”
“I knew someone could fabricate video.”
“Probably.”
“I knew Daniel was in danger.”
Naomi nodded.
“What if I suspected someone was manipulating memory?”
Elena frowned.
“With drugs?”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked at his hospital band, now sealed in Naomi’s evidence bag.
“The compound didn’t erase old memory.”
“No,” Naomi said.
“It interrupted new memory formation.”
“Yes.”
“What if I intentionally took a controlled dose?”
Everyone stared.
Carlo laughed.
“That would be insane.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You’ve known me twenty-five years.”
Carlo stopped laughing.
“Fair.”
Naomi shook her head.
“You were frightened last night.”
“Because dose may have been wrong.”
“Or because someone increased it.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
Exactly.
He remembered pouring whiskey.
Did he drink because he thought the glass was safe?
Or because he expected something to happen?
A fragment returned.
His office.
Naomi leaving.
Vincent opening a drawer.
A tiny vial.
His own hand putting drops into his glass.
He grabbed the table.
Naomi moved closer.
“What?”
“I did.”
“You poisoned yourself?”
“Partly.”
He forced the memory.
He had placed a small amount into the whiskey.
Then someone later accessed the decanter.
The Naomi double.
“She added more.”
Naomi stared.
“You dosed yourself first.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The memory continued.
Phone call with Dr. Grant.
How long before new memories stop forming?
Depends on dose.
Will I remain functional?
Possibly.
Vincent had asked another question.
Can someone tell if I am pretending to forget?
Dr. Grant said no.
Vincent opened his eyes.
“I wanted them to think the drug worked.”
Isabella smiled slowly.
“You were setting a trap.”
Vincent nodded.
“But the second dose made it actually work.”
Naomi’s face tightened.
“You arrogant psychopath.”
Everyone looked at her.
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
She stepped forward.
“You intentionally took a memory-disrupting compound?”
“A small dose.”
“You could have died.”
“I spoke to a doctor.”
“Oh, excellent.”
She laughed angrily.
“You medically supervised your stupidity.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Naomi stared.
“Because I spent half the night thinking you were dying.”
Silence.
The room changed.
Vincent looked at her.
Naomi realized what she had admitted.
She looked away.
Isabella watched with interest.
Carlo muttered, “Finally.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Vincent returned to the problem.
“If I planned a trap, I left instructions.”
Naomi nodded.
“Many.”
“Not enough.”
He looked at the hotel keycard.
The notes.
Safe.
Warehouse.
“What am I still missing?”
Naomi’s expression changed.
“Second key.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“The clinic photograph.”
If I forget, Naomi has the second key.
“You never gave me a key,” she said.
Vincent stared.
“Maybe not literal.”
Naomi thought.
“You kept asking me one question.”
“What?”
“Do you still wear Evan’s watch?”
Naomi froze.
Vincent looked at her wrist.
Bare.
She slowly reached into her handbag.
An old men’s wristwatch.
Silver.
Scratched.
“I carry it.”
“Why?”
“It was my brother’s.”
“Open it.”
Naomi frowned.
“It doesn’t open.”
“Try.”
She examined the back.
Vincent took a pocketknife.
A tiny seam.
The rear plate popped free.
Inside was a micro-SD card.
Naomi stared.
“You put this there?”
“Apparently.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“You touched Evan’s watch?”
Naomi thought.
“At the clinic.”
She remembered.
“You asked to see it.”
Vincent inserted the card into Isabella’s laptop.
One file.
Video.
Vincent in the clinic.
Timestamp 2:18 a.m.
His eyes looked unfocused.
But his voice was steady.
“If you’re watching this, the overdose worked more effectively than planned.”
Naomi folded her arms.
Video-Vincent continued.
“Naomi is probably angry.”
Carlo laughed.
Naomi glared.
“Good.”
Video-Vincent looked almost amused.
Vincent stared at himself.
“I intentionally ingested a low dose of CX-17.”
Isabella whispered, “Experimental anti-anxiety compound.”
Elena frowned.
“You know it?”
“Romanos invested in the lab.”
Everyone looked at her.
“That matters.”
On-screen Vincent continued.
“I wanted Marcus to report that I was vulnerable.”
Naomi understood.
“He was baiting Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“The decoy Naomi increased the dose,” video-Vincent said.
Naomi’s face hardened.
“I underestimated whoever was controlling Marcus.”
Vincent leaned closer.
Then video-him looked straight into the camera.
“Daniel Reyes is dead because someone sent an execution order using my voice.”
Vincent exhaled.
Not real.
Relief.
“The order was fabricated.”
He continued.
“Daniel and I confirmed it three days ago.”
Isabella looked toward Vincent.
“You knew Daniel.”
“Yes.”
On-screen Vincent said, “Daniel agreed to stage a meeting at Hudson warehouse. He believed Marcus would follow.”
Naomi whispered, “But Daniel was killed before the meeting.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
The video continued.
“I believe Matteo is not the architect.”
Everyone froze.
Alessandra whispered, “What?”
Video-Vincent leaned forward.
“Matteo is guilty of theft, bribery, blackmail, and several acts I will address personally.”
Carlo almost smiled.
“But someone has spent years arranging evidence to make him appear responsible for every death connected to this family.”
Vincent looked toward his mother.
Alessandra paled.
“Last night Daniel gave me one name.”
The video glitched.
Static.
Vincent swore.
Then returned.
“…Brooks.”
Naomi froze.
“What?”
Video-Vincent continued.
“…knew Evan before the Halcyon.”
Static again.
Then—
“Do not trust the story of Evan’s death.”
Naomi covered her mouth.
The video skipped.
“…because Evan Brooks is alive.”
Silence.
Naomi’s knees nearly gave out.
Vincent caught her.
“No.”
She stared at the screen.
“No.”
Isabella paused the video.
Naomi shook her head.
“My brother is dead.”
Vincent held her shoulders.
“Naomi.”
“I identified him.”
“What?”
“I identified his body.”
Her breathing quickened.
Vincent stared.
“You saw his face?”
“Yes.”
“Clearly?”
Naomi stopped.
The memory.
Hospital morgue.
Bandages.
Trauma.
She had seen part of his face.
His tattoo.
His watch.
Dental confirmation handled by police.
Records could be altered.
Vincent whispered, “The watch.”
Naomi looked down at it.
“If Evan died wearing this…”
She went pale.
“How did you get it?”
Naomi’s lips parted.
“It was mailed to me.”
“When?”
“A week after the funeral.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“From whom?”
“No return address.”
The room became still.
Naomi looked at the watch like it had become a ghost.
“My brother may be alive.”
Vincent resumed the video.
His recorded self said one final sentence.
“Find Evan, and you find the person who poisoned me.”
The screen went black.
Naomi stared.
Vincent touched her hand.
“We’ll find him.”
Her eyes filled.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He squeezed her fingers.
“But we’re going to try.”
For once, Naomi did not pull away.
Then Isabella’s laptop beeped.
Incoming encrypted message.
No sender.
One photograph loaded.
A man sitting in a chair.
Older.
Beard.
Scar across his cheek.
Naomi made a sound Vincent would never forget.
“Evan.”
Her brother looked directly at the camera.
Alive.
Below the photograph were coordinates.
And one sentence.
May you like
Come alone, Naomi.
Or your brother dies for real.
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