Chapter 4 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
The temperature in my small, cramped room seemed to plunge to freezing.
Vincent stared at the bank statement, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter.
“For twenty years,” Vincent said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “My father paid your adoptive parents ten thousand dollars a month. A quarter of a million dollars a year.”
“I didn't know!” I cried out, stepping back until I hit the edge of my dresser. “I never saw a dime of that money! I grew up wearing hand-me-downs. We barely had food!”
Vanessa let out a cruel, triumphant laugh.
“Oh, what a brilliant performance,” she mocked, crossing her arms. “You didn't know? Please. You and your fake parents have been bleeding the Moretti family dry for decades. And when the old man died, the payments stopped. So you got a job here as a maid to find a new angle to extort us.”
Vincent looked at me. The warmth that had been in his eyes just moments ago was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating suspicion.
“Is it true, Hannah?” he asked softly. “Did you know who I was when you applied for this job?”
“No!” Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “I came here through an employment agency! I just wanted an honest living. You have to believe me!”
“Why should he?” Vanessa snapped. She stepped closer to Vincent, placing a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. “Darling, she’s a parasite. She’s been using your grief against you. Call the guards. Throw her and this old hag out into the street where they belong.”
Vincent looked down at the bank statement again. He looked broken.
He nodded slowly. “Get her out of my house.”
My heart shattered. After everything—after the birthmark, the ribbon, the truth—I was going to be thrown away like trash because of a piece of paper I had never seen.
“Wait!” Margaret’s voice rang out, surprisingly loud and fierce.
She stepped between Vincent and me, shielding me with her frail body.
“You are making a terrible mistake, Vincent,” Margaret pleaded, her eyes flashing with defiance. “That money wasn't extortion. It was hush money!”
Vincent frowned, holding up his hand to stop the guards who had just appeared in the hallway. “What are you talking about?”
“Your father didn't pay them to keep quiet about the baby,” Margaret spat, her voice trembling with rage. “He paid them to hide her! Because if he knew where Emily was, he would have killed her.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. What a ridiculous story.”
“Is it?” Margaret reached into her deep coat pocket.
She pulled out a heavy, intricately engraved silver pocket watch. It caught the dim light of the room, gleaming against her weathered skin.
“The night I took the baby to that group home,” Margaret said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I was met by a man. He handed me the first payment in cash. And in the rush, he dropped this.”
She held the watch out to Vincent.
Vincent took it slowly. He popped the latch open.
His eyes scanned the inner lid, and his breath hitched.
“This watch doesn't belong to my father,” Vincent said quietly.
“No,” Margaret agreed. “It belongs to the man who delivered the money. The man who knew where Emily was hiding all these years.”
Vincent turned slowly, his eyes locking onto the tall, broad-shouldered man standing silently in the doorway alongside the guards.
It was Leo.
Vincent’s most trusted advisor. His right-hand man for fifteen years.
Leo’s face was completely unreadable.
“Those are your initials, Leo,” Vincent said, holding up the watch. “L. M.”
Leo stepped into the room, waving the guards away. He closed the door behind him, trapping the five of us in the small space.
“I didn't blackmail your father, Boss,” Leo said, his voice gruff but completely steady. “I was the one making the payments from his private accounts.”
Vincent took a step toward his closest friend, his fists clenched. “You knew my sister was alive? You watched her scrub my floors for six years and said nothing?”
“I did it to keep her alive,” Leo fired back, not backing down. “Your father wanted her dead, Vincent. He ordered a hit on your mother and the baby.”
I let out a quiet gasp. My own father wanted me dead?
Vanessa’s face suddenly went pale. “This is absurd. We are leaving.”
“No one is leaving,” Vincent barked. He grabbed Leo by the collar of his expensive suit. “Why would my father want his own wife and daughter dead?”
Leo didn't flinch. He just looked past Vincent, directly at Vanessa.
“Because of her family,” Leo said grimly.
Vanessa’s eyes widened in sheer panic.
“He’s lying!” she screamed.
But Leo ignored her. “Your father’s empire was built on your mother’s legitimate businesses, Vincent. If Emily lived, she was the sole legal heir to the clean money. Your father couldn't allow that. And Vanessa’s father helped orchestrate the hit to secure the merger between your two families.”
Vincent let go of Leo, taking a stunned step back. He looked at the woman he was supposed to marry.
“Vanessa?” Vincent whispered.
Vanessa’s panic suddenly vanished. A cold, ugly sneer twisted her beautiful face.
She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a faded, yellowed piece of paper.
“You want the truth?” Vanessa spat, waving the paper in the air. “Here is a train ticket from September 14, 1998. The night your mother died. Look at the passenger name!”
Vincent snatched the ticket.
May you like
“Margaret Ellis,” he read aloud.
“Exactly,” Vanessa smiled wickedly. “Your precious old saint didn't save anyone. When the hitmen came, Margaret ran away on a train to New York. She abandoned your mother to die like a coward!”
