Chapter 8 - The Secret Elena Was Afraid to Tell Me
Elena asked to speak with me alone.
Marco objected.
I allowed it anyway.
We sat in the breakfast room while the rest of the estate moved around us in controlled chaos.
The babies were safe in a temporary nursery with independent air filtration and continuous monitoring.
Sophie colored at the far end of the room with Dr. Gable nearby.
Elena kept looking at her daughter.
“What haven't you told me?” I asked.
She folded her hands.
“Camila is alive.”
I stared.
“I assumed she was.”
“No. You don't understand.”
She swallowed.
“Your father's records say she moved to Mexico five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“She didn't.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know anymore.”
“You don't know where your sister is?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Three years ago. Two weeks after your father died.”
My instincts sharpened.
“Why didn't you report it?”
“She sent me a message first.”
“What message?”
Elena removed an old folded paper from her wallet.
She had carried it for years.
Don't look for me. Vittorio's death changes nothing. Leon is still watching. Protect Sophie.
My eyes stopped on the name.
Leon.
“You knew Leon.”
“Not personally.”
“You knew his name.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing when Sophie described him.”
“I wasn't certain.”
“Elena.”
“I was afraid!”
Her voice cracked.
Sophie looked over.
Elena immediately lowered her tone.
“I spent years believing your father could reach anyone. Then he died, and Camila still vanished.”
“What did Leon want with her?”
“I don't know.”
“What did your father want?”
“She had evidence.”
“The hospital report?”
“More than that.”
“What?”
“Recordings.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of my father?”
“She secretly recorded a meeting between hospital administrators and Vittorio. They discussed changing medical records.”
“Where are the recordings?”
“I don't know.”
“Evelyn?”
“Camila trusted her.”
That explained Evelyn's involvement.
Maybe she had spent years trying to locate evidence my father buried.
But frightening my children?
No explanation could excuse that.
“Why did you take a job in my home?”
Elena looked at me.
“At first?”
“Yes.”
“To watch you.”
The truth landed hard.
“For Evelyn?”
“For my sister.”
“Camila asked you?”
“Before she disappeared. She wanted to know what kind of man you were.”
I almost laughed.
“What kind did she expect?”
“Your father.”
Fair.
“And what did you decide?”
Elena looked toward the nursery corridor.
“That you weren't him.”
Those four words affected me more than I expected.
She continued.
“You scared me at first. Everyone moved when you spoke. Nobody questioned you.”
“That hasn't changed much.”
A sad smile.
“No. But then Sophie broke a vase.”
I remembered.
An eighteenth-century vase in the west salon.
Worth more than Elena made in a year.
Sophie had been two.
“I thought you'd fire me,” Elena said.
“I hated that vase.”
“You said that after.”
“It was ugly.”
“You got on the floor and helped Sophie pick up her crayons.”
I shrugged.
“She was crying.”
“That was when I realized your father would have cared about the vase. You cared about the child.”
I looked away.
Compliments made me more uncomfortable than threats.
“Why didn't you trust me with the truth?”
“Because trusting Morettis destroyed my sister.”
Before I could answer, Marco entered.
He looked grim.
“We found Camila.”
Elena stood so fast her chair fell.
“Where?”
“Alive.”
She covered her mouth.
“Where?”
“Milwaukee.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
A photograph appeared on Marco's tablet.
Older woman.
Different hair.
But clearly Elena's sister.
“She uses another name. Works at a hospice.”
“Why hasn't she contacted me?”
Marco looked toward me.
“Because she believes Adrien ordered Leon to find her.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She thinks you inherited your father's operation.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
“Someone has been sending her photographs of this house for three years. Messages warning her that if she contacts Elena, Sophie becomes leverage.”
My anger became ice.
“Leon.”
“Likely.”
“Bring Camila here.”
“She won't come.”
“Then I go to her.”
Elena looked alarmed.
“Adrien—”
“She has spent three years afraid of my name. I'm not sending men to drag her back.”
I looked toward Sophie.
“I'll ask.”
Four hours later, Elena and I entered a small hospice office in Milwaukee.
Camila Vasquez sat behind a desk.
When she saw me, she backed into the wall.
I stopped several feet away.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“I am not him.”
She laughed bitterly.
“That's what powerful men always say.”
“Elena trusted me enough to bring me.”
Camila looked at her sister.
Elena nodded.
Slowly, Camila sat.
I placed a photograph of Leon on the desk.
“He targeted my children.”
Camila's expression changed.
“What?”
“He installed devices in their nursery.”
“No.”
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“What was he to my father?”
Camila closed her eyes.
“Cleaner.”
Not janitor.
Cleaner meant problems.
Evidence.
Witnesses.
Scandals.
Things powerful men wanted erased without public violence.
“Did he threaten you?”
“For years.”
“Why?”
“Because I kept a copy.”
“The recording.”
She nodded.
“Do you still have it?”
“No.”
My disappointment showed.
Camila looked at Elena.
“I gave it to Evelyn.”
The room went silent.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Then Evelyn has had proof this entire time.”
“Yes.”
“Why not expose it?”
Camila shook her head.
“She said there was something bigger.”
“What?”
“The hospital wasn't the only institution your father manipulated.”
I felt suddenly tired.
“Of course it wasn't.”
“She traced payments to judges, executives, inspectors.”
“Old corruption.”
“Not old.”
That caught me.
“What do you mean?”
“Some payments continued after Vittorio died.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Evelyn?”
“No. She was trying to find out.”
Then Camila said something I had not expected.
“Evelyn isn't trying to steal your company.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
“She told me two months ago she believed someone inside Moretti Holdings was still using Vittorio's hidden accounts.”
“Who?”
“She didn't know.”
“Then why force me to resign?”
“Maybe she thinks it's you.”
That possibility hit differently.
What if Evelyn believed I had continued my father's corruption?
What if she thought removing me was protecting people?
It wouldn't excuse targeting children.
But it would explain motive.
“Did Evelyn ever mention Leon?”
Camila went pale.
“She was afraid of him.”
“Why hire him?”
“She didn't.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She thought Leon was working for you.”
The room became silent.
Everybody believed Leon worked for somebody else.
I thought Evelyn hired him.
Evelyn thought I did.
Camila thought my father did.
Leon had created a triangle of suspicion around himself.
Meaning the man who installed the devices might not be anyone's servant anymore.
He might be the person controlling everything.
My phone rang.
Marco.
“Adrien, come back.”
“What happened?”
“We located Evelyn.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“She came to the estate.”
I looked at Elena.
“Why?”
Marco paused.
“Because Leon kidnapped her grandson.”
And suddenly every move Evelyn had made began to look different.
Not innocent.
But coerced.
Manipulated.
Just like Priya.
Just like Caroline.
Fear was Leon Varga's real business.
And he had learned from the best teacher available.
May you like
My father.
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