Chapter 4 - The Letter Behind the Nursery Wall
Elena could not breathe.
“My mother.”
The photograph showed Margaret sitting in an unfamiliar room.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
Today’s newspaper lay across her knees.
Lorenzo enlarged the image.
No visible windows.
Bare wall.
Wooden chair.
Margaret did not appear physically restrained.
But her expression said enough.
“Can you trace it?” Elena asked.
Marco was already working.
“No.”
“Try again.”
“We are.”
Elena looked at Lorenzo.
“They have my mother.”
“Or she’s with them voluntarily.”
Elena flinched.
Lorenzo regretted it immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“She wouldn't do this.”
“You haven't spoken to her in eight months.”
“She raised me.”
“Sofia was my wife, and apparently she kept secrets from me.”
The sentence landed between them.
Trust was no longer simple for either of them.
The message had asked what Margaret stole.
Elena searched her memories.
Her mother had left behind very little.
Clothes.
Books.
A silver necklace.
Several boxes Elena had stored.
Nothing valuable.
Then she remembered something.
“A music box.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What?”
“My mother mailed me a music box two weeks before she supposedly died.”
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
Within thirty minutes, Lorenzo and Elena were in an armored SUV.
Marco drove.
Two vehicles followed.
Elena had never seen Lorenzo outside the mansion.
The city seemed to respond to him.
People moved.
Doors opened.
Men watched.
But beside her, he was simply a father checking the nursery camera on his phone every thirty seconds.
Matteo remained with Rosa and Dr. Kaplan.
“You trust Kaplan now?” Elena asked.
“No.”
“Then why leave him?”
“Because Marco found evidence his credential was cloned.”
“So Claire framed him?”
“Possibly.”
“That's a lot of possibly.”
“Welcome to my life.”
Elena looked out the window.
“I don't want your life.”
Lorenzo glanced at her.
“Good.”
Her apartment had been searched.
Drawers emptied.
Mattress overturned.
Boxes ripped apart.
Elena stopped in the doorway.
“No.”
Lorenzo motioned his men forward.
“Stay behind me.”
She ignored him.
“The music box.”
It had been kept in the bedroom closet.
Gone.
Elena sank onto the bed.
“We’re too late.”
Lorenzo examined the room.
“Maybe not.”
He picked up a torn cardboard box.
“What was in here?”
“Her nursing books.”
“Where are they?”
Elena looked around.
Missing.
Every book belonging to Margaret had been taken.
Except one.
It lay beneath the dresser.
Elena pulled it out.
Neonatal Nutrition and Infant Development.
Inside the cover, Margaret had written Elena’s name.
Lorenzo turned pages.
Something fell out.
A photograph.
Sofia holding Matteo.
On the back:
HE DOESN’T NEED MORE MEDICINE. FIND OUT WHO PROFITS WHEN HE STAYS SICK.
Elena felt sick.
“This was planned.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“My wife knew.”
“Why send this to my mother?”
“Because she didn't trust me.”
The pain in his voice was unmistakable.
Elena looked at him.
“Maybe she was protecting you.”
“By lying?”
“Sometimes frightened people make bad choices for good reasons.”
Lorenzo gave her a long look.
“You say that like experience.”
Elena did not answer.
They returned to the mansion.
Kaplan examined the photograph and handwriting.
“It looks like Sofia’s.”
“Did Sofia contact you?” Lorenzo asked.
“No.”
“Did Margaret?”
Kaplan hesitated.
Lorenzo saw it.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About two months ago.”
Elena stepped forward.
“What did she say?”
“She asked about Matteo.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Lorenzo demanded.
“She said she was conducting research.”
“What research?”
“Feeding aversion.”
Kaplan removed his glasses.
“She was worried Matteo was being overtreated.”
Lorenzo’s face darkened.
“Overtreated for what?”
“Reflux. Colic. Formula intolerance. Sofia kept bringing him to different specialists.”
Elena frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Matteo kept crying after feeds.”
“And every new doctor prescribed something?”
“Not medication necessarily. Different formulas. Supplements. Feeding schedules.”
“Which made it worse,” Elena said.
Kaplan nodded.
“Possibly.”
Then Elena remembered Sofia’s note.
Who profits when he stays sick?
“Was someone billing Lorenzo for all of this?”
Kaplan laughed without humor.
“Everyone was billing Lorenzo.”
The private clinics.
Consultants.
Imported formulas.
Special nurses.
Equipment.
A sick child inside the Rossi family was worth millions.
But money alone did not explain Sofia’s death.
That evening, Elena searched the nursery.
If Sofia had hidden one photograph, perhaps there were more.
Lorenzo joined her.
“What are we looking for?”
“I’ll tell you when I find it.”
“That is an irritating answer.”
“You use it constantly.”
They searched drawers.
Books.
The bassinet.
Closets.
Nothing.
Then Matteo began crying.
Elena lifted him.
Lorenzo picked up the bottle.
They had developed a routine.
Hold.
Wait.
Offer.
Never force.
Matteo drank.
Halfway through, his free hand reached toward the wall.
He had done it before.
Elena noticed a ribbon hanging from decorative molding.
“Was that always there?”
Lorenzo looked.
“No.”
He pulled it.
A small panel opened.
Inside was an envelope.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
His name was written across it.
LORENZO.
Sofia’s handwriting.
His hands trembled as he opened it.
The letter was six pages.
He read silently.
Elena watched his face change.
“What does it say?”
He handed her the first page.
Lorenzo,
If you are reading this, I failed to tell you in person.
Matteo is not sick in the way they want you to believe.
Someone has been manipulating his feeding problems to keep you frightened and distracted.
Margaret Carter helped me understand what was happening.
Trust her daughter if Margaret cannot reach you.
Elena stopped.
“My name?”
Lorenzo nodded.
“She knew you.”
“I never met her.”
“Keep reading.”
The letter explained that Sofia had met Margaret through St. Catherine’s.
Margaret believed Matteo had developed a feeding aversion after repeated unnecessary interventions.
But Sofia had discovered something worse.
Someone within Lorenzo’s organization had arranged medical providers.
Someone had approved supplements without Sofia’s consent.
Someone had altered records.
And Sofia had suspected that the same person was preparing to remove Lorenzo from control of the Rossi organization by portraying him as unstable after his wife and child became ill.
There was one name missing.
Sofia had written:
I won't put his name here. Margaret has the proof.
Lorenzo lowered the pages.
“Your mother knows.”
Elena nodded.
“And someone knows she knows.”
Marco entered suddenly.
“We traced the photograph.”
“Where?”
“An abandoned property outside Newark.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Get the cars.”
Elena moved too.
“No.”
She stared at him.
“That’s my mother.”
“And Matteo needs you.”
“So does she.”
“I’m not taking you into a possible trap.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
“I absolutely do.”
“Why? Because you have guns?”
“Because I know what men who send photographs like that are capable of.”
Elena stepped closer.
“And I know what it feels like to believe your mother is dead.”
That stopped him.
Lorenzo finally nodded.
“You stay beside me.”
They drove for forty minutes.
The property was dark.
Marco’s team entered first.
Clear.
No guards.
No Margaret.
Only the wooden chair.
And today’s newspaper.
Elena saw something on the wall.
A message.
Not written.
Scratched.
S + M.
Then an arrow.
Pointing downward.
Lorenzo moved the chair.
A floorboard was loose.
Beneath it lay a phone.
Elena picked it up.
One video file.
She pressed play.
Margaret appeared.
Alive.
Terrified.
“Elena, if you're watching this, don't trust the person standing closest to Lorenzo.”
The video shook.
Margaret looked toward someone off camera.
Then she whispered a name.
The audio cut out.
Lorenzo grabbed the phone.
“Can Marco recover it?”
“Probably.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
Lorenzo pushed Elena behind him.
The door opened.
May you like
Marco stood there.
And beside him was the last person Elena expected to see.
