The Father I Never Knew

Chapter 03 - The Father I Never Knew

I did not open the envelope for ten minutes.

That annoyed Luca.

Not because he was impatient.

Because he was afraid for me.

I could tell.

I hated that I could tell.

Mrs. Moretti sat opposite me, hands folded.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

My voice sounded strange.

“Don’t apologize before I know what you’re apologizing for.”

Fair.

She nodded.

The envelope contained a letter.

No greeting.

Only facts.

My biological father’s name was Thomas Vale.

He worked as Vittorio Moretti’s accountant.

He died at thirty-two.

Official cause: car accident.

Unofficial cause: unknown.

I stared at the page.

My mother, Claire Carter, had been married to Thomas.

After his death, she married Edward Carter.

The man I called Dad.

The man who raised me.

The man whose mortgage I was helping pay.

He was my stepfather.

Not my biological father.

I laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

“Does he know I don’t know?”

Mrs. Moretti nodded.

“Yes.”

That hurt.

Luca looked away.

Good.

I did not want sympathy in his face.

The letter continued.

Thomas had discovered irregular transfers between Bellini companies and a Moretti medical foundation.

He told Vittorio.

Then he died.

My mother took me and left Chicago.

Edward Carter married her two years later.

When my mother died, Edward kept the truth buried because she asked him to.

My hands shook.

“Why did my father—Thomas—want Mrs. Moretti to find me?”

“He didn’t.”

Mrs. Moretti corrected gently.

“Vittorio did.”

Before his death, Vittorio left instructions.

If Thomas Vale’s daughter ever entered Luca’s life, she was to receive a sealed file.

“What file?”

“I never had it.”

Luca frowned.

“Who did?”

“Your father’s lawyer.”

Luca’s expression hardened.

“Martin Hale.”

I knew the name.

Older.

Gray hair.

Polite.

He attended the engagement dinner.

Sat three seats away from Vanessa.

My stomach turned.

Mrs. Moretti continued.

“Martin told me the file was destroyed after Vittorio died.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Martin married Carlo Bellini’s sister.”

Silence.

Everyone in these families seemed connected by marriage, debt, fear, or blood.

Usually all four.

Luca called Daniel.

“Find Martin.”

Daniel’s voice came through speaker.

“He left the dinner early.”

“When?”

“Right after Emma brought the soup.”

My skin went cold.

He had seen me.

Recognized my surname.

Left.

Luca looked at me.

“He knew.”

I thought of Martin Hale raising a champagne glass earlier that evening.

Smiling.

Twenty-eight years after my biological father died.

“Why was Thomas killed?”

Mrs. Moretti shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

I looked at the letter again.

One line had been underlined.

Thomas believed someone inside Moretti accounts was moving money through St. Agnes Children’s Foundation.

Luca frowned.

“That foundation closed years ago.”

“When?”

“After my father died.”

Coincidence.

Maybe.

Then Mrs. Moretti said:

“Vanessa runs the new charitable trust that replaced it.”

Of course she did.

Luca stood.

He paced once.

Then stopped.

“You think Vanessa knew Emma’s identity.”

Mrs. Moretti nodded.

“She asked me about the Carter maid three weeks ago.”

I stared.

“What did she ask?”

“Whether your mother had ever mentioned Thomas Vale’s daughter.”

My stomach dropped.

Vanessa had known who I was.

Maybe from the beginning.

Every coffee order.

Every insult.

Every time she sent me into a room.

Not random.

I thought of my application.

The estate employment agency.

Seven months ago.

“Who hired me?”

Luca looked at me.

“Mrs. Peterson interviewed you.”

“Who told her to?”

He did not answer immediately.

That was enough.

“Luca.”

“My office flagged your application.”

“Why?”

“Because of the surname.”

“You knew?”

“Not about Thomas Vale.”

“Then what?”

Luca rubbed his face.

“Your father—Edward—called me.”

My breath stopped.

“He what?”

“Before you started.”

I stood.

“Why?”

“He asked whether the position was safe.”

I laughed.

I could not help it.

Safe.

In Luca Moretti’s mansion.

“He knew where I was applying?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He said you needed the money and would refuse if you knew he interfered.”

My chest tightened.

He was right.

That made me angrier.

Mrs. Moretti looked at me.

“He loves you.”

“I know.”

That was the problem.

Love and secrecy were becoming impossible to separate.

At 2:40 in the morning, I called Edward.

He answered immediately.

“Emma?”

“Am I Thomas Vale’s daughter?”

Silence.

Not confusion.

Not shock.

Silence.

I closed my eyes.

“Dad.”

His voice broke.

“Yes.”

That one word changed my childhood.

I sat on the hotel carpet.

Luca moved toward me.

Stopped.

Good.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your mother begged me not to.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“I know.”

“Why did you call Luca?”

Another pause.

“Because I knew the Moretti name.”

“How?”

Edward exhaled.

“I worked with Thomas.”

I stared at the phone.

“You knew him?”

“Yes.”

“How well?”

“He was my best friend.”

I stopped breathing.

Edward had not simply married my widowed mother.

He had known Thomas.

Loved him.

Then raised his daughter.

“Dad…”

“I was there the night he died.”

Everything inside me froze.

“What?”

Edward began crying.

Quietly.

“I should have told you years ago.”

“Tell me now.”

He took a breath.

“Thomas didn’t die in a car accident.”

I looked at Luca.

“He was killed in the Moretti garage.”

The room went silent.

“By who?”

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Edward whispered:

“Luca’s father.”