Chapter 5: My Father's Last Phone Call
The Moretti headquarters occupied the top twelve floors of a glass building overlooking Boston Harbor.
My grandfather's office was on the forty-second floor.
Mine was two floors below.
I had spent most of my adult life working in that building, signing contracts, attending meetings, and convincing myself that I understood the empire my family had built.
That morning, every familiar hallway felt different.
Every security camera looked suspicious.
Every employee who greeted me seemed to know something I didn't.
Marco was waiting outside my office.
He was forty-five, broad-shouldered, and had worked for the family since before I took over the shipping division.
He had been my driver, bodyguard, and closest professional ally for eleven years.
He was also one of the few people I trusted.
"Where did you find it?"" I asked.
He handed me a folder.
"In the archives. The original accident file was transferred from the family legal department after the funeral.""
"Why was it in our archives?""
"Because your grandfather requested a copy.""
I opened the folder.
Inside were photographs of the boat, a copy of the Coast Guard report, and a transcript of a telephone conversation.
The date was November 18.
The time was 8:42 p.m.
My father's accident had supposedly occurred at 9:31 p.m.
I looked at the transcript.
Anthony Moretti had called Vittorio Moretti.
The conversation lasted eleven minutes.
"Is there an audio file?"" I asked.
Marco nodded.
He connected his laptop to the office speakers.
A moment later, my father's voice filled the room.
"Vittorio, we need to talk.""
My grandfather answered.
"Not tonight, Anthony.""
"Yes. Tonight.""
A pause.
Then my father spoke again.
"I know about the transfers.""
Silence.
"Which transfers?""
"Don't insult me. I have the company records. The offshore accounts.
The fake invoices. All of it.""
My stomach tightened.
Vittorio's voice remained calm.
"You don't understand what you're looking at.""
"I understand enough.""
"Then you understand why you should leave it alone.""
My father laughed.
"I spent thirty years helping you build this family. I won't spend the rest of my life watching you turn it into a criminal organization.""
"Careful.""
"No, you be careful. Dominic doesn't know what you've been doing. But he will.""
I closed my eyes.
My father continued.
"I've spoken to Isabella. She's carrying four children. Dominic's children. I'm going to make sure she and those babies are protected.""
Vittorio's voice changed.
"Stay away from that girl.""
"She's family.""
"She is a weakness.""
"She's the mother of your grandchildren.""
A heavy silence followed.
Then my grandfather said something that made my blood run cold.
"If you interfere, Anthony, you'll destroy everything.""
My father answered immediately.
"Then perhaps everything deserves to be destroyed.""
The recording ended.
I sat motionless.
Marco shut the laptop.
"There's more," he said.
I looked at him.
"Go on.""
"The Coast Guard report lists the accident location as approximately four miles east of the harbor entrance. But the vessel's emergency beacon stopped transmitting nearly thirty miles north of that position.""
"Meaning?""
"Meaning either the report was wrong or someone moved the boat.""
"Was there a body?""
Marco hesitated.
"No.""
I stared at him.
"No body?""
"Your grandfather said the water conditions made recovery impossible.""
I felt the room closing around me.
For seven years, I had believed my father was dead.
I had attended a funeral with a closed casket.
I had watched my grandfather place a photograph on the coffin.
And now I was learning that no one had ever recovered a body.
"Who signed the death certificate?""
Marco opened another document.
"Your grandfather.""
I stood.
"That's not possible.""
"He signed as the person who identified the remains.""
"There were no remains.""
"That's what the records suggest.""
I walked to the window.
Boston Harbor stretched beneath me.
Boats moved through the water, their white wakes cutting across the gray surface.
My father loved the ocean.
He used to tell me that the sea had no interest in family names, money, or power. It treated every man exactly the same.
I pressed my hands against the glass.
"Find the doctor who signed the certificate.""
"Already working on it.""
"And find out who was on the boat that night.""
Marco nodded.
"There's one more thing, sir.""
I turned.
He looked uncomfortable.
"What?""
"The original emergency call wasn't made by the Coast Guard.""
"Who made it?""
"An employee from one of our private docks.""
"Name?""
Marco looked down at the folder.
"Daniel Russo.""
I recognized the name immediately.
Daniel had been my father's personal security chief.
He had disappeared shortly after the accident.
My grandfather told me he had taken a job overseas.
I had never heard from him again.
"Find him.""
"There's a problem.""
"What?""
"Daniel Russo died three years ago.""
I stared at him.
"Where?""
"Portugal. Officially, a heart attack.""
"Officially?""
Marco nodded.
"His daughter is still alive. She lives in Quincy.""
I grabbed my coat.
"Get the address.""
At noon, I was sitting across from a woman named Sofia Russo in a small house in Quincy.
She was in her early thirties, with tired eyes and a wedding ring she kept twisting around her finger.
She looked at my face and immediately knew who I was.
"You're Dominic Moretti.""
"Yes.""
"Why are you here?""
I placed a photograph of my father on the table.
"Did your father ever tell you what happened to Anthony Moretti?""
Her fingers stopped moving.
"No.""
"Did he ever tell you why he left Boston?""
She looked toward the hallway.
Then she stood and closed the kitchen door.
"Who sent you?""
"No one.""
"Your grandfather?""
I shook my head.
"I'm trying to find out what he did.""
Sofia stared at me for a long time.
Then she walked to a cabinet and removed a small metal box.
"My father told me to keep this hidden.""
She placed it on the table.
"He said that if a Moretti ever came asking about your father, I should give it to him.""
My pulse quickened.
"When did he tell you that?""
"Six years ago.""
Six years.
The same year Isabella disappeared.
I opened the box.
Inside was a small USB drive, a folded piece of paper, and an old photograph.
The photograph showed my father standing beside Daniel Russo.
Both men were smiling.
On the back, someone had written:
*November 18. Before everything changed.*
I picked up the paper.
There was one sentence.
Anthony Moretti did not die in the accident.
I stared at it.
Sofia sat opposite me.
"My father said he helped Anthony escape.""
My breath caught.
"Escape from whom?""
"Your grandfather.""
I leaned forward.
"Where did he go?""
"I don't know. My father never told me.""
"Why didn't he tell the police?""
Sofia's eyes filled.
"Because your grandfather threatened my family.""
I went still.
"What did he threaten?""
She looked toward the hallway again.
"My younger brother was twelve at the time. My father said Vittorio knew where he went to school. He knew where we lived. He knew everything.""
I lowered my voice.
"Did my father contact you?""
"Once.""
"When?""
"About a year after he disappeared.""
I stared at her.
"He was alive a year later?""
Sofia nodded.
"He sent a postcard. No return address. Just three words.""
She opened the metal box again and handed me a faded postcard.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My father's.
Tell Dominic someday.
I couldn't breathe.
I looked at the USB drive.
"What's on this?""
Sofia shook her head.
"My father said it contained proof. He never watched it with me.""
I picked it up carefully.
"Why are you giving this to me now?""
She looked directly at me.
"Because my father died believing he had failed yours.""
I swallowed.
"He didn't.""
Sofia's expression hardened.
"You don't know that.""
Then she leaned forward.
"Your grandfather came to our house six years ago.""
My blood ran cold.
"What?""
"He told my father to keep his mouth shut. He said the woman carrying your children was becoming a problem.""
I stared at her.
"Did my father know Isabella was pregnant?""
"Yes. He was trying to help her.""
I thought of the letter.
The man who tried to help me escape.
"Did Vittorio threaten Isabella?""
Sofia nodded.
"He told my father that if she contacted you, all four babies would be taken away.""
My hands curled into fists.
"How?""
"I don't know. But my father said Vittorio had a lawyer preparing documents. Something about custody and financial instability.""
I looked down.
Four babies.
My grandfather had been willing to use the law as a weapon against them.
"Is there anything else?""
Sofia hesitated.
Then she spoke.
"My father said your grandfather wasn't the only person who wanted your father gone.""
I looked up.
"What do you mean?""
She pushed the photograph toward me.
On the far edge, barely visible behind my father and Daniel, stood another man.
A younger man in a dark suit.
I recognized him.
My father's lawyer.
And my grandfather's closest business partner.
Richard Barrett.
Sloane's father.
That evening, I returned to the Moretti estate.
I didn't call ahead.
I walked straight into the library, where Vittorio sat reading the financial pages.
He didn't look up.
"You're becoming difficult to manage.""
I placed the photograph on his desk.
He glanced at it.
Then his expression changed.
"Where did you get that?""
"From Daniel Russo's daughter.""
He slowly removed his glasses.
"That man should have stayed quiet.""
I stepped closer.
"My father was alive after the accident.""
Vittorio said nothing.
"Wasn't he?""
He folded the newspaper.
"Sit down.""
"No.""
"Dominic.""
"Did you know?""
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"Your father made a terrible decision.""
"Did he die?""
Vittorio didn't answer.
I leaned over the desk.
"Is my father alive?""
The old man stared at me.
Then he opened the bottom drawer and removed a photograph.
He pushed it across the desk.
It showed a man sitting on a terrace overlooking the ocean.
His hair was gray.
His face was thinner.
But I knew him.
I would have recognized him anywhere.
My father.
Alive.
And standing behind him, with one hand resting on his shoulder, was a woman.
A woman I had never seen before.
Vittorio watched me carefully.
"Your father has been alive for seven years.""
I couldn't speak.
"Where is he?""
"That is not the important question.""
I looked up.
"Then what is?""
Vittorio's voice dropped.
"Whether he still remembers what he promised me.""
Before I could respond, the library doors opened.
Sloane Barrett walked in.
Her eyes moved from me to the photograph.
Then she looked at her father, who had followed her inside.
Richard Barrett.
The man in the old photograph.
He was holding a black leather folder.
And he looked at me with the expression of someone who had been expecting this confrontation for years.
May you like
"Dominic," he said quietly.
"There's something you need to understand about Isabella.""
