Chapter 4 - ISABELLA KNEW
Vincent looked as though he had forgotten how to breathe.
Isabella Moretti had been dead five months.
Everyone in the house knew the official story.
Rain.
A curve along the Palisades.
A vehicle that crossed a barrier.
An accident.
Vincent had blamed himself because Isabella had been driving home from an argument with him.
Now Norah was telling him she expected something to happen.
“What exactly did she say?”
His voice was almost a whisper.
Norah twisted her hands together.
“She called around eleven.”
“The night before the crash?”
“Yes.”
“You spoke to my wife and said nothing?”
“I was scared.”
Vincent slammed his palm against the table.
Enzo startled in Dr. Romano’s arms.
Vincent immediately stopped.
That tiny moment mattered.
The old Vincent might have continued.
Instead, he looked at his son.
Then lowered his voice.
“What did she tell you?”
Norah cried silently.
“She asked whether Cassandra had been visiting the nursery.”
Cassandra snapped:
“This is insane.”
Vincent did not even look at her.
Norah continued.
“I told her yes.”
“What else?”
“She asked if Enzo had been unusually sleepy.”
My skin prickled.
Exactly what I had noticed.
Norah wiped her face.
“She said she thought someone was trying to make Enzo look medically fragile.”
Vincent’s head turned slowly toward Cassandra.
“Why?”
Norah shook her head.
“Isabella wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
Cassandra laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
Mrs. Hargrove opened the journal again.
“There are dates.”
She pointed.
Every entry describing Enzo’s strange sleep episodes corresponded with days Cassandra had visited.
Not every visit.
But enough.
Cassandra folded her arms.
“I was Isabella’s friend.”
Mrs. Hargrove looked at her.
“You were her cousin.”
That surprised me.
Cassandra’s jaw tightened.
Vincent explained without looking away from her.
“Second cousins. Their families grew up together.”
Mrs. Hargrove continued.
“Mrs. Moretti stopped trusting her after Enzo was born.”
Cassandra stared at the older housekeeper.
“You have always hated me.”
“No.”
Mrs. Hargrove’s voice remained perfectly controlled.
“I simply noticed Mrs. Moretti did.”
Cassandra stepped toward Vincent.
“You cannot seriously believe I harmed Isabella.”
“I haven’t said what I believe.”
“You don’t need to.”
Vincent looked down at the journal.
“What else did she write?”
Mrs. Hargrove turned several pages.
A name appeared repeatedly.
Vale Holdings.
Cassandra’s father’s company.
Shipping.
Real estate.
Private security.
A legitimate empire that had done business beside the Moretti organization for decades.
Isabella had found unexplained transactions between Vale companies and one of Vincent’s ports.
Millions moved through consulting agreements that seemed to provide nothing.
Vincent’s expression changed.
“I never approved these.”
Cassandra went rigid.
“Isabella misunderstood corporate transfers.”
Vincent looked at her.
“My wife had a finance degree from Columbia.”
No one spoke.
He turned another page.
There was a photocopied email taped inside.
From Cassandra’s father.
To Isabella.
Family disagreements should stay private. If Vincent learns what you’re doing, you may destroy more than business.
Vincent read it twice.
Then looked at Cassandra.
“What was she doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She became paranoid after Enzo was born.”
My stomach turned.
Norah whispered:
“That’s what they told me to write.”
Everyone turned.
“What?”
Vincent asked.
“In the nursery logs.”
Norah’s face crumpled.
“They wanted records showing Isabella was anxious.”
Cassandra became very still.
“Who is they?”
Norah looked at her.
“You.”
Cassandra’s composure finally shattered.
“You lying little opportunist.”
Vincent stepped between them.
Norah flinched.
“You paid me!”
“No.”
“Your driver brought the envelopes.”
“That proves nothing.”
“You paid my mother’s medical bills.”
“Charity.”
“You told me I owed you.”
Cassandra’s face changed.
Norah continued.
“At first you only asked me to write down that Isabella seemed nervous.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Then?”
“After she died, Cassandra asked me to record Enzo’s sleep episodes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Norah.”
“I swear.”
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“Why?”
Tears spilled down her face.
“She said if Enzo was documented as medically unstable, certain guardianship arrangements could be changed.”
Vincent went silent.
Mrs. Hargrove inhaled sharply.
I did not understand.
Vincent did.
“Isabella’s trust.”
Cassandra looked away.
After Enzo’s birth, Isabella had placed her entire personal inheritance into a protected trust.
Real estate.
Investments.
Shares in DeLuca Shipping.
The beneficiary was Enzo.
Vincent did not control it.
Neither did Cassandra.
But if Enzo were declared permanently medically incapacitated, guardianship power could shift to a three-person family panel.
One seat belonged to Vincent.
One to Isabella’s surviving family.
The third—
“Vale Holdings,” Vincent whispered.
Mrs. Hargrove nodded.
Isabella’s mother and Cassandra’s father were from the same family trust structure.
Cassandra laughed nervously.
“That still gives us nothing.”
“No.”
Vincent’s eyes lifted.
“It gives me a reason.”
Cassandra stared at him.
Then Dr. Romano spoke.
“There’s something else.”
Everyone turned.
He had been examining Isabella’s notebook.
“One of these dates.”
He pointed.
“The night Enzo was taken to the pediatric clinic for excessive sleepiness.”
Vincent nodded.
“I remember.”
“According to Isabella, Cassandra was present.”
“So?”
Dr. Romano frowned.
“I was not Enzo’s doctor then.”
“Dr. Sorrell was.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He retired suddenly two weeks after Isabella died.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Find him.”
Victor Salvi was already moving.
Within twenty minutes, security learned Dr. Sorrell had relocated to Connecticut.
He agreed to speak privately by phone.
Vincent put him on speaker.
The retired pediatrician sounded frightened the moment he heard Cassandra’s name.
“I warned Isabella.”
“About what?”
Vincent asked.
“Enzo’s tests.”
“What tests?”
“The baby was healthy.”
Everyone froze.
Dr. Sorrell continued.
“Someone wanted me to sign a preliminary diagnosis suggesting a neurological disorder.”
Vincent’s face turned cold.
“Who?”
“I refused.”
“Who asked?”
Silence.
Then:
“Cassandra Vale.”
Cassandra shook her head.
“Liar.”
The doctor continued.
“Isabella found out. She confronted me because she thought I had cooperated.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“What happened next?”
“She apologized.”
His voice softened.
“Then she told me she had discovered something that connected Enzo’s medical records to financial control of her trust.”
Vincent looked at the journal.
“Did she tell you what?”
“No.”
“But she said she was putting evidence somewhere Cassandra would never find.”
Mrs. Hargrove suddenly sat down.
I looked at her.
“What?”
She stared toward the nursery.
“The blue envelope.”
Norah stopped crying.
“Yes.”
Vincent turned.
“What blue envelope?”
Norah whispered:
“Isabella told me that if anything happened to her, I should find a blue envelope in Enzo’s room.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“And you never did?”
“I looked.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
Mrs. Hargrove shook her head.
“No.”
She stood.
“Not everywhere.”
We followed her upstairs.
Into Enzo’s original nursery.
Isabella had designed it herself.
Pale blue walls.
White shelves.
A carved wooden moon above the crib.
Mrs. Hargrove walked directly toward an old music box shaped like a sailboat.
Vincent stared.
“Isabella’s father gave her that.”
“I know.”
Mrs. Hargrove turned it over.
The bottom panel slid sideways.
A thin blue envelope dropped into her hand.
Nobody moved.
Vincent opened it.
Inside was a storage-unit key.
A photograph.
And one line in Isabella’s handwriting.
If you found this, Cassandra already knows I learned the truth. Do not trust Matteo.
Vincent’s face went white.
I had heard that name before.
Matteo Moretti.
Vincent’s uncle.
The man who had practically raised him after his father died.
The second-most powerful man in the Moretti family.
Vincent stared at the warning.
Then his phone rang.
Victor answered his own at the same moment.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
Vincent looked up.
“What?”
“Cassandra’s room is empty.”
Everyone turned toward the doorway.
Victor continued.
“One of the garage cars is missing.”
Cassandra Vale had disappeared.
May you like
And Isabella’s final warning suggested she was not the only person Vincent needed to fear.
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