Chapter 3 - The Name Hidden Beneath the FloorClara refused to speak further.
Not because she didn't trust Moretti.
Because she was terrified.
For the next two days, she remained under guard at the hospital.
I visited her every afternoon.
Moretti came too.
At first, he didn't know how to talk to children.
He would stand awkwardly beside my bed.
“Do you need anything?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“No.”
“Toys?”
“No.”
Finally, one afternoon, he brought me a rabbit.
It was white.
New.
Perfect.
I looked at it.
“Mr. Buttons is better.”
Moretti nodded seriously.
“Then Mr. Buttons stays.”
That was the first time I saw him smile.
It lasted less than a second.
But I remembered it.
Three days later, Clara returned to the mansion.
Security cameras covered every hallway.
Two guards stood outside our room.
Moretti had ordered an investigation into everyone who worked inside the house.
Then something happened.
I was playing with Mr. Buttons when I heard a tapping sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It came from beneath the floor.
I looked around.
Nothing.
I tapped back.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound stopped.
Then came again.
This time from the wall.
I ran to Moretti's office.
“Mr. Moretti!”
He looked up.
“What?”
“The house is talking.”
Marco almost laughed.
Moretti didn't.
“What do you mean?”
I took his hand.
He followed me.
I showed him the floorboard.
“Here.”
He crouched.
At first, nothing.
Then he heard it.
A hollow sound.
His expression changed.
Security removed the board.
Beneath it was a narrow metal compartment.
Inside sat an old cassette recorder.
And another photograph.
This one showed Julian Moretti standing beside a young woman.
Clara.
But Clara was only nineteen.
Moretti stared.
“That's my father.”
Clara came running when she saw the photograph.
She stopped.
Her face went white.
“I thought it was gone.”
Moretti turned toward her.
“What is this?”
Clara sat down.
Her voice shook.
“Your father saved my life.”
“How?”
“I was working at the warehouse.”
“The warehouse fire?”
She nodded.
“Someone locked the doors.”
Moretti stared at her.
“Why?”
“Because they wanted everyone inside to die.”
“Who?”
Clara looked at him.
“Your uncle.”
The room became silent.
Moretti's uncle, Vincent Moretti, had died eleven years earlier.
At least that was what everyone believed.
Marco stepped backward.
“That isn't possible.”
Clara shook her head.
“He didn't die.”
Moretti's face hardened.
“What are you saying?”
“He disappeared.”
“Where?”
Clara looked at the recorder.
“Listen.”
Marco pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then Julian Moretti's voice emerged.
“If my son ever hears this, it means I'm dead.”
Moretti stopped breathing.
His father's voice continued.
“Vincent betrayed me.”
A pause.
“He wants the empire.”
Another pause.
“But he can't have it unless he destroys my son first.”
Moretti stared at the recorder.
Then his father's final words came.
“Clara knows where I hid the evidence.”
The recording ended.
No one spoke.
Then a phone rang.
Marco answered.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found Vincent.”
Moretti's eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
May you like
Marco swallowed.
“Outside the hospital.”
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