Chapter 10 - The Dead Were Working Together
Luka did not speak for almost a full minute.
He simply stared at the photograph.
His mother.
My father.
Two people both officially dead.
Standing beside each other.
Four years after Lucia Moretti’s funeral.
Three years before my mother’s death.
Five years before I met Daniel.
Nothing about our families was real anymore.
“When did your mother die?”
I asked.
Luka’s voice came out rough.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“Sixteen years ago.”
“What happened?”
“Stroke.”
“Did you see her body?”
He looked at me.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why not?”
“She died in Sicily.”
“Who identified her?”
“My aunt.”
“Is your aunt alive?”
“Yes.”
“Call her.”
Luka didn’t move.
“Now.”
“Sofia.”
“You made me question whether my father died.”
“Now we question yours.”
He drew a breath.
Then dialed.
His aunt Teresa answered after several rings.
She lived in Palermo.
Luka spoke to her in Italian first.
His tone became harder.
Then he switched to English for us.
“Tell me exactly what happened when my mother died.”
A pause.
“Luka, why are you asking?”
“Because I found a photograph of her taken four years later.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that answers a question before words do.
“Aunt Teresa.”
Her voice trembled.
“I promised Lucia.”
Luka closed his eyes.
“Of course you did.”
“Please understand.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“Not this time.”
“Was my mother alive?”
“Yes.”
The word destroyed something in him.
I saw it.
His shoulders dropped.
His face changed.
Not anger.
Grief.
Old grief made new.
“How long?”
“Until seven years ago.”
Luka stepped backward.
“She died seven years ago?”
“Yes.”
“For real?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bury her?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A private family cemetery outside Messina.”
He laughed once.
Bitterly.
“So everyone got to bury her except her son.”
Teresa cried.
“She was protecting you.”
Luka turned away.
“Everyone says that.”
I understood exactly what he meant.
“Why was she with Gabriel Bennett?”
He asked.
A long pause.
“They were investigating Meridian.”
“How?”
“Lucia discovered Carlo’s fertility treatment had been manipulated.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your father believed he was using an anonymous donor.”
“Adrian?”
“Yes.”
Luka closed his eyes.
Teresa continued.
“But Lucia later discovered Adrian’s sample had been substituted intentionally.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who did it?”
“Richard Cross.”
Judge Richard Cross.
Again.
“What did my mother do?”
“She began collecting records.”
“Why fake her death?”
“Someone broke into her apartment.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“They wanted her to know they could reach her.”
Luka’s jaw tightened.
“She staged a stroke?”
“With help.”
“From Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
My father and Luka’s mother.
Working together after both disappeared.
A hidden alliance.
“What were they trying to prove?”
I asked loudly enough for Teresa to hear.
She went quiet.
“Who is that?”
“Sofia Bennett.”
Another silence.
Then a whisper.
“Oh, God.”
My skin prickled.
“You know me?”
“Lucia spoke about you.”
“What did she say?”
“That you were the key.”
I hated that word.
Key.
Asset.
Contingency.
Heir.
Nobody seemed to see me as a person.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Try.”
“She said Gabriel had found proof that Meridian was not only substituting donors.”
“What else?”
“They were selecting families.”
“For what?”
“Influence.”
The room became silent.
Teresa continued.
“Judges.”
“Politicians.”
“Corporate heirs.”
“They targeted bloodlines with money or power.”
Luka’s face darkened.
“Children as leverage.”
“Yes.”
My father’s letter returned to me.
The children were the assets.
It finally made sense.
Not merely financial assets.
Strategic ones.
“If you control how powerful families reproduce…”
Claire whispered.
“You can create claims.”
“Custody disputes.”
“Inheritance disputes.”
“Blackmail.”
Rafael finished.
“Dynasties.”
My stomach twisted.
Isabella whimpered.
I lifted her closer.
No.
Whatever these people had planned, she would not become another asset.
“She is a baby.”
I said.
Everyone looked at me.
“She is not a trust.”
“She is not a code.”
“She is not M-17.”
“She is Isabella.”
Luka’s eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
For the first time, I felt completely certain we were on the same side.
Teresa continued.
“Lucia believed M-17 was different.”
“Why?”
I asked.
“Because Gabriel created it himself.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He built a contingency protocol using Luka’s stored sample.”
I stared at him.
Luka looked horrified.
“My father used Luka’s DNA?”
“No.”
Teresa corrected quickly.
“Not for conception.”
“Then what?”
“Protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“If Cross ever manipulated a Bennett pregnancy, M-17 was supposed to expose it.”
Nobody spoke.
That changed everything.
Maybe M-17 had not originally been a plan to create Isabella.
Maybe it had been a trap.
“What kind of trap?”
Claire asked.
“A genetic comparison trigger.”
Teresa said.
“Gabriel knew Adrian wanted control of the Bennett-Moretti trust.”
“He believed Adrian might try to create a qualifying heir.”
“So Gabriel tied M-17 to Luka’s archived DNA.”
“If a Bennett female pregnancy was ever matched with Luka’s sample without authorization, the system would flag it.”
“Flag it to who?”
“To Gabriel.”
A chill moved through me.
“But Dad is dead.”
Teresa hesitated.
“Gabriel was alive when Sofia became pregnant.”
The room stopped.
I forgot how to breathe.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last hear from him?”
“Ten months ago.”
Ten months.
One month before my embryo transfer.
“What did he say?”
“He told me Adrian had started moving.”
“What does that mean?”
“He believed Cross Biomedical had reopened a dormant Meridian lab.”
“Did he say where?”
“No.”
“What else?”
Teresa’s voice trembled.
“He said if Sofia became pregnant, everything would accelerate.”
I looked at Isabella.
My father knew.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
He knew my pregnancy was coming.
“Why didn’t he contact me?”
“I asked him.”
“What did he say?”
Teresa paused.
“He said Daniel was listening to everything.”
My skin turned cold.
My husband.
My house.
My phone.
Our nursery.
Our fertility appointments.
Had Daniel been reporting all of it?
Luka spoke.
“Teresa, where did Gabriel and my mother stay when that photograph was taken?”
“A motel outside Hartford.”
“Room 17?”
“Yes.”
“Why there?”
“Temporary safe house.”
“Did they leave anything behind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who paid for it?”
“Lucia.”
“Under what name?”
Teresa hesitated.
“Evelyn Cross.”
I looked at Claire.
“That isn’t my mother’s name.”
“No.”
“Then whose?”
Rafael answered.
“Adrian’s first wife.”
I stared.
“Adrian was married before?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
Rafael’s face changed.
“To Lucia.”
Luka went white.
“What?”
Nobody moved.
Rafael looked like he had been waiting decades for this moment and hated it.
“Before Lucia married Carlo, she was married to Adrian Cross.”
Luka’s expression became dangerous.
“For how long?”
“Two years.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Carlo asked us not to.”
“Why?”
“Because Adrian was violent.”
The word sat heavily.
Luka’s hands curled.
“Did he hurt her?”
“Yes.”
“Did Carlo know?”
“Yes.”
“Did I know?”
“No.”
“Was Adrian my biological father?”
Rafael looked at the floor.
“I believe so.”
Luka walked away.
I wanted to follow.
I didn’t.
This was his revelation.
His pain.
He needed to own it.
Claire turned back to the larger problem.
“If Gabriel was alive ten months ago, we need to find him.”
“How?”
I asked.
“Teresa.”
Claire spoke.
“Did Gabriel use a recurring contact method?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A physical mailbox.”
“Where?”
“Albany.”
Rafael was already typing.
“Address?”
Teresa gave it.
A small private postal center.
Luka returned before the call ended.
His face was composed again.
Too composed.
“We go.”
“You’re not driving.”
I said.
He looked at me.
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“You just learned your dead mother lied to you for nine years and your biological father may be the man trying to steal our daughter.”
The word our slipped out.
Both of us noticed.
Neither commented.
“You’re not fine.”
Rafael picked up the keys.
“I’ll drive.”
Six hours later, we reached Albany.
Claire remained in Boston preparing the custody hearing.
Vanessa stayed under protection with another attorney.
I traveled with Isabella.
Luka barely spoke.
The private mailbox center was inside a faded strip mall.
Box 417.
The manager checked identification.
The account belonged to a consulting company.
Payments had been made in cash for eleven years.
“Has anyone collected mail recently?”
Luka asked.
The manager checked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
My heart jumped.
“Who?”
“Older man.”
“Description?”
“Gray hair.”
“Tall.”
“Walked with a cane.”
“Did he show ID?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
The manager frowned at the screen.
“Gabriel Bennett.”
I grabbed the counter.
Alive.
Three days ago.
My father had been here three days ago.
“Do you have cameras?”
“Yes.”
We watched the footage.
An elderly man entered.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Cane in his left hand.
He looked nothing like the father I remembered.
Until he turned.
My breath stopped.
The eyes.
Mine.
His.
I covered my mouth.
“That’s him.”
Luka stood perfectly still.
The footage showed Gabriel opening the mailbox.
He removed one envelope.
Then paused.
He looked directly at the camera.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Then held up a folded piece of paper.
The manager zoomed.
Three handwritten words.
SOFIA, TRUST LUKA.
Tears blurred my vision.
Then Gabriel flipped the paper.
Another message.
DANIEL IS NOT THE ENEMY.
I stared.
“What?”
Luka leaned closer.
Gabriel turned the paper again.
A third line.
ADRIAN HAS THE WRONG SON.
My heart pounded.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
Then another man appeared in the footage behind my father.
He wore a baseball cap.
Gabriel handed him the envelope.
The man turned toward the camera.
I recognized him.
Daniel.
May you like
My husband had met my supposedly dead father three days before Isabella was born.
And Gabriel had voluntarily handed him something.
