Chapter 3 - The Body I Buried Was Not My Son, and a Hidden Hospital Camera Proved Someone Had Swapped Them Before My FuneralI returned to St. Helena.
Not as a grieving father.
As a man looking for answers.
The hospital director met me personally.
She looked nervous.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Show me the neonatal unit.”
“Of course.”
We walked through polished corridors.
Everything looked clean.
Professional.
Ordinary.
That was what disturbed me.
Places that hide crimes often look ordinary.
The neonatal unit was heavily secured.
I asked for access logs.
The director hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because my son was taken from this hospital.”
She looked stunned.
“We have no evidence of that.”
“I do.”
She followed me to the security room.
I ordered the footage restored.
We found the same gap.
11:58 p.m.
12:16 a.m.
Eighteen minutes missing.
The director looked pale.
“Could be a system error.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone manually deleted it.”
She stopped breathing.
I looked at the access log.
One user.
VALENTINA MORETTI.
I stared.
My wife's hospital credentials had been used.
“Did my wife come here?”
“Not physically.”
“Then who?”
She checked the badge record.
A nurse.
Her name:
Clara Dean.
I knew her.
She had been assigned to Valentina.
We found her at home.
She was terrified.
“Mr. Moretti…”
“You're going to tell me what happened.”
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“They said they'd kill my son.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Try again.”
She cried.
“The order came through Dr. Avery.”
“What order?”
“The baby wasn't supposed to stay in the neonatal unit.”
“Where was he going?”
“Another room.”
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“Genetic testing.”
I froze.
“What?”
“They said it was routine.”
“It wasn't.”
“No.”
“What did they test?”
“I never saw the results.”
“Who did?”
She hesitated.
“Your brother.”
My blood went cold.
“Matteo?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He came to the hospital twice before the birth.”
“Why?”
“He brought documents.”
“What documents?”
“Consent forms.”
I stared.
“From whom?”
She whispered:
“Your father.”
My father had been dead for nine years.
Yet his consent forms were still being used.
I looked at Clara.
“Why would my father have a file on my unborn son?”
She didn't answer.
Then I noticed something.
A security badge on the table.
My wife's name.
But the photo had been altered.
Someone had used her identity.
The baby had been removed under false authority.
Then I asked:
“Where did the other baby come from?”
Clara started crying.
“What other baby?”
“The one I buried.”
She looked at me.
“I don't know.”
I knew she was lying.
“Clara.”
She whispered:
“There was another infant.”
“Where?”
“Room four.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Dr. Avery took both babies.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Who ordered it?”
She closed her eyes.
“Matteo.”
I stepped back.
My brother.
Again.
I returned to the estate.
He was waiting.
“You spoke to Clara.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I knew you would.”
“You took my son.”
“No.”
“You authorized the testing.”
“No.”
“You knew there was another baby.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at me.
“Because I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From our father.”
“He's dead.”
“His network isn't.”
I stared.
Matteo finally explained.
Our father had been involved in a secret organization.
It collected information on bloodlines.
Inheritance.
Children.
The organization believed family blood could be used to control assets.
My son had been identified as a successor.
But there was another issue.
A second child had been born at the same time.
A child from another family.
That baby was meant to be used as a substitute.
I stared.
“You're saying the child I buried wasn't mine?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make you believe your son died.”
“Who wanted that?”
Matteo answered:
“Everyone who wanted control of the Moretti trust.”
I felt sick.
The family trust was enormous.
But the real value wasn't the money.
It held controlling interests in shipping routes.
Ports.
Private security networks.
International contracts.
Whoever controlled the heir controlled the trust.
My son had become a key.
Someone wanted him hidden.
Maybe killed.
Maybe used.
I turned toward the nursery.
Luca was sleeping.
“How did Sophia find him?”
Matteo's eyes changed.
“I don't know.”
That was the first time he sounded afraid.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“I didn't know the baby would survive the transfer.”
“Transfer?”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Matteo.”
He finally whispered:
“Someone moved him after the hospital.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the window.
“Isabella.”
I froze.
“She's dead.”
He shook his head.
“That's what everyone believes.”
My blood ran cold.
The woman whose bracelet Sophia found.
The woman whose name was on a hospital bracelet.
The woman I had believed died twelve years ago.
Maybe she had survived.
And if she had...
May you like
Then the conspiracy was older than my son's birth.
It had been waiting for years.
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