Chapter 6 - The Interrogation in the Study
The private study of Aleandro Moretti was a room few men entered and even fewer left unchanged. Lined with dark walnut bookshelves, heavy leather armchairs, and a single massive mahogany desk lit by a green-shaded banker’s lamp, it reeked of cigar smoke, old paper, and absolute power.
Elena sat on the edge of a leather chair near the fireplace, her hands trembling uncontrollably in her lap. Mia sat on her knee, having fallen asleep exhausted from the morning's adventure, her tear-stained face pressed softly against her mother’s chest, clutching her one-eared rabbit.
Across the desk sat Aleandro. He hadn't touched the stack of investigative reports spread out before him. Instead, his dark, piercing eyes were fixed entirely on Elena, unblinking and merciless.
"You came to my estate two years ago," Aleandro began, his voice dangerously low, cutting through the silence of the study like a razor. "You claimed you were from a parish in upstate New York. You claimed your husband died in a construction accident before the child was born."
Elena swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. She raised her chin, injecting every ounce of courage she possessed into her voice. "Every word of my employment application was true, Mr. Moretti. I am from upstate. My husband did die. I came here because I needed work to feed my baby."
"Then explain the mark," Aleandro interrupted, slamming his palm flat against the mahogany desk. The sharp crack made Mia stir slightly in her sleep, and Elena instinctively shielded the child's ears.
"What mark?" Elena asked, genuine confusion flickering in her wide, frightened eyes.
"The crescent birthmark at the base of her neck. The vaccination scar from the pediatric clinic on St. James Street in Boston." Aleandro leaned forward, his massive frame caging her in with sheer intimidation. "That clinic was exclusively used by the Moretti family private foundation. That birthmark is identical to the one borne by my daughter, Sophia, who died of leukemia in November of 2018."
Elena’s face drained of what little color it had left. She stared at him in stunned disbelief, her mouth parting slightly. "Your... your daughter? Mr. Moretti, I swear to all the saints, I don't know what you are talking about. Mia was born in a Catholic charity hospital in Chicago! I have her birth certificate, I have her baptismal records—"
"Forgeries can be bought for a thousand dollars in any alley in Queens," Aleandro snarled, standing up so fast his chair scraped backward against the Persian rug. He began pacing the length of the study, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. "For three years, I believed she was dead. I buried an empty casket because the Boston doctors told me her body was compromised by experimental chemo. And now, a housekeeper brings a child onto my property with the exact face, the exact age, and the exact physical markers of my bloodline."
"I am not a thief!" Elena cried out, tears finally breaking free and spilling down her cheeks. "You can check my background a thousand times, Mr. Moretti! I am just a mother trying to keep her child alive! If she has the same mark as your little girl, it's a miracle of God, not a conspiracy!"
Before Aleandro could fire back another accusation, the heavy study door swung open without a knock. Marco Bellini stepped inside, holding a thick manila envelope, his expression unusually grim.
"Boss," Marco said, glancing briefly at Elena before stepping closer to Aleandro's desk. "The background check on the hospital in Chicago checked out. But... I had our contacts in Boston pull the old confidential files from the St. James oncology ward. The doctor who oversaw Sophia's final weeks... he disappeared the night she supposedly passed away. And look at this."
Marco pulled a single photograph from the envelope and laid it gently on the desk.
May you like
Aleandro looked down. It was a polaroid taken in the hospital corridor on the night of the storm in November 2018. Standing near the exit doors, holding a bundle wrapped in a pale blue blanket, was a young nurse whose face Aleandro recognized instantly.
It was Elena’s cousin, who had worked as a temporary administrative assistant in the Moretti shipping offices before vanishing without a trace.
