Chapter 5 - One Nanny Was Lying
Dario arrived at noon.
He came alone.
That was unusual.
My cousin normally traveled with a driver and assistant, but that day he parked his own dark sedan outside the mansion and walked in carrying nothing but concern on his face.
He hugged me.
I hated myself for wondering whether the embrace was real.
“Are the babies okay?”
“They are now.”
“What happened?”
“Doctors aren't certain.”
I watched his eyes.
No obvious reaction.
“Some kind of environmental issue.”
“Environmental?”
“Maybe ventilation.”
There.
A fraction of a pause.
So small most people would miss it.
But I had spent half my life reading men who lied professionally.
Dario walked toward the bar.
“At least they're safe.”
“For now.”
He turned.
“What does that mean?”
I poured water instead of whiskey.
“It means Isabella died bringing them into this world. I refuse to lose them because I'm too busy fighting board members and chasing acquisitions.”
Dario studied me.
“Adrien.”
“I've been thinking about stepping down.”
He didn't move.
“From operations?”
“Everything.”
Silence.
“You don't mean that.”
“Maybe I do.”
His face showed concern.
Perhaps genuine.
“You built Moretti Holdings.”
“So did you.”
“Not like you.”
“If I resigned Friday, the board would appoint you interim chairman.”
Dario frowned.
“I don't want your chair.”
A perfect answer.
Too perfect?
I didn't know anymore.
“I'm tired.”
“You haven't slept.”
“That isn't what I mean.”
He came closer.
“You don't make permanent decisions while afraid.”
The sentence hit me harder than expected.
Because that was exactly what Isabella would have said.
Maybe Dario remembered.
Maybe he knew me.
Maybe he was innocent.
That uncertainty was becoming unbearable.
Then he said something that changed the conversation.
“Move the children out of the house for a while.”
I looked at him.
“Where?”
“Our Lake Geneva property. Smaller staff. Easier security.”
Marco, listening from the adjoining room, would have heard it too.
The Lake Geneva property was one of the locations where Moretti Estate Systems had recently completed upgrades.
If Dario were involved, sending the triplets there might be part of the plan.
Or he might simply be worried.
I nodded slowly.
“I'll think about it.”
He squeezed my shoulder.
“Whatever you need.”
After Dario left, Marco entered.
“Well?”
“I don't know.”
“He suggested moving them.”
“So would you.”
“Not to Lake Geneva.”
“You suggested the safe residence last year.”
“Different situation.”
I sat down.
“Audio?”
“Ethan says there are artifacts.”
“Meaning?”
“The voice is probably synthetic.”
I looked up.
“Probably?”
“He found unnatural phase repetition. Whoever made it had clean recordings of Dario.”
“Board meetings.”
“Interviews. Investor calls. Thousands of hours.”
So someone had planted fake evidence pointing at my cousin.
“Then Dario might be the target too.”
Marco nodded reluctantly.
“Or he's sophisticated enough to fake evidence against himself so we'd dismiss it.”
“That would be impressive.”
“I don't like impressive enemies.”
Neither did I.
Then Ethan appeared.
“We recovered another message from Priya's phone.”
He placed a printed line on my desk.
If Moretti refuses Friday, use C.M.
C.M.
Caroline Mercer.
One of the other nannies.
We brought Caroline in.
She entered angry.
Unlike Priya, she did not look afraid.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Sit.”
“I've been locked in a guest room for eight hours.”
“My children were targeted.”
“And I love those children.”
“Then help me.”
“I have.”
“Do you know Leon Varga?”
“No.”
“Has anyone contacted you?”
“No.”
“Threatened you?”
“No.”
“Paid you?”
“No.”
Her answers came too quickly.
I placed the recovered message on the table.
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“C.M.,” I said. “Interesting initials.”
“There are millions of people with those initials.”
“In my house, there is one.”
She stood.
“I want a lawyer.”
“Good.”
That surprised her.
“I'll call one.”
“You're not stopping me?”
“No.”
Caroline stared.
“Why?”
“Because innocent people should have lawyers too.”
Something in her expression softened.
Then broke.
She sat again.
“I'm not innocent.”
Marco shifted.
I remained still.
“What did you do?”
Her voice dropped.
“I took money.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
“For what?”
“Information.”
“What information?”
“Your schedule. Dario's schedule. When the babies slept.”
“Who paid you?”
“I don't know.”
“How did they contact you?”
“An encrypted messaging app.”
“Did you put anything inside the nursery?”
“No.”
“Did you let Leon in?”
“No.”
“Then why does the message say ‘use C.M.'?”
She closed her eyes.
“Because I was supposed to take the babies somewhere.”
Every nerve in my body tightened.
“Where?”
She began crying.
“A clinic.”
“What clinic?”
“A private pediatric clinic outside the city.”
“Why?”
“They told me if the crying continued, I should convince Dr. Gable it was safer to take them for overnight observation.”
There it was.
The real purpose.
The sound devices were never intended simply to terrify my children.
They were designed to force a medical relocation.
“To which clinic?”
She gave us the name.
I had never heard of it.
Marco searched.
It existed.
Small.
Private.
Recently acquired by an investment company.
Ethan pulled corporate records.
The investment company traced through three holding entities.
The final beneficiary wasn't Dario.
It was someone named Evelyn Cross.
I knew that name.
Everybody in my family did.
Evelyn Cross had been my father's attorney for twenty-two years.
She had handled trusts.
Estates.
Family succession plans.
And after Isabella died, Evelyn had helped me rewrite the documents determining who would control Moretti Holdings if anything happened to me.
Marco looked at the screen.
“Why would your family lawyer own a pediatric clinic?”
“She shouldn't.”
Caroline wiped her eyes.
“I didn't know anyone wanted to hurt them.”
“You were willing to secretly move my children.”
“They said you were becoming unstable.”
“Who?”
“I never met them.”
“Voice?”
“Woman.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she sound like?”
“Older. Calm. Educated.”
Evelyn was sixty-two.
Calm.
Educated.
A woman who could tell someone they were losing a hundred million dollars and somehow make it sound like weather.
Marco asked, “What happens if the children arrive at the clinic?”
Caroline shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I believed her.
Maybe that was foolish.
But fear leaves patterns. So does greed. Caroline's guilt was messy, panicked, shortsighted.
This plan was not.
“Did you receive instructions for Friday?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“If you hadn't stepped down by noon, I was supposed to take Nora to the clinic first.”
“Why Nora?”
“I don't know.”
I did.
Nora was the child I was most protective of publicly because she had been the smallest at birth.
Whoever designed the plan understood emotional leverage.
A buzzing device frightened all three.
A fake medical emergency involving Nora would break me.
I stood.
“Marco.”
“Yes.”
“Find everything on Evelyn Cross.”
He was already moving.
Caroline looked up.
“What happens to me?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you tell us everything.”
“I have.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“You've told us everything you think we know enough to ask about.”
She stared at me.
“Tell me what you're afraid I'll discover later.”
For thirty seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, “There was a man.”
“What man?”
“He came to the nursery two months ago.”
“Leon?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“I never knew his name.”
“What did he want?”
“He measured the wall.”
“Why didn't you report him?”
“He said he was with the renovation team.”
Description?
Tall.
Gray shirt.
Baseball cap.
The man Sophie saw.
“Anything distinctive?”
Caroline closed her eyes, trying to remember.
“A ring.”
My pulse changed.
“What kind?”
“Silver. Black stone.”
The Moretti family had rings like that.
Not mandatory.
Old-fashioned.
My father had given them to a handful of relatives and senior associates twenty years earlier.
Dario owned one.
So did I.
So did Evelyn Cross.
Not because she was blood.
Because my father had once called her family.
I opened a drawer.
Removed my own ring.
Placed it on the desk.
Caroline's face changed.
“That.”
“Exactly?”
“Yes.”
Marco swore quietly.
Then my secure phone rang.
Only four people had that number.
I answered.
Dario.
“Adrien.”
His voice sounded different.
“Twelve minutes ago someone broke into my apartment.”
I stood.
“What was taken?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why call?”
“Because whoever entered left something.”
“What?”
Dario's breathing sounded tight.
“A photograph of your children.”
I looked at Marco.
“What did it say?”
Silence.
Then Dario answered.
“Friday. One Moretti steps down. Or three Morettis disappear.”
And suddenly I understood.
Dario wasn't the only Moretti being manipulated.
Whoever was behind this wanted us afraid of each other.
May you like
Because families are easiest to destroy when you can convince them the knife is already in a relative's hand.
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