Chapter 2 - The Letter Beneath the PillowElena survived the night.
Barely.
The doctors said exhaustion, dehydration, and a dangerous dose of sedatives had nearly shut her body down.
But they could not explain how the medication had entered her system.
I could.
Someone had put it there.
By sunrise, every security camera surrounding my estate had been examined.
No intruder had appeared.
No vehicle had been recorded.
No gate had opened.
Which meant one thing.
The person had already been inside.
My house had been compromised.
I hated that more than I hated the threat itself.
At 7:30 a.m., I walked into the kitchen and found Mia sitting at the table with a plate of pancakes.
She was holding a fork in one hand and Mr. Rabbit in the other.
Mrs. Bell, my oldest housekeeper, stood nearby.
“She won't eat unless the rabbit eats too,” Mrs. Bell said.
I looked at the rabbit.
Then at the empty plate beside it.
“Does the rabbit eat?”
Mia nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“Pancakes?”
“Yes.”
I pulled out a chair.
Mia watched me sit.
“You're big.”
“You mentioned that.”
“You look less scary when you're sitting.”
“That's useful information.”
She took a tiny bite.
Then pushed the fork toward the rabbit.
I stared.
“Does he have a mouth?”
“No.”
“Then how does he eat?”
“He pretends.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
For a moment, everything felt strangely normal.
Then Mia looked at me.
“Is Mommy going to die?”
I stopped.
“No.”
“You promise?”
“I promise we're going to do everything we can to keep her safe.”
She seemed satisfied.
Then she asked:
“Are you the boss?”
“Yes.”
“Of everything?”
“No.”
“Of the house?”
“Yes.”
“Of the people outside?”
I hesitated.
“Some of them.”
“Are you a bad man?”
The question landed harder than I expected.
I had been called worse.
By judges.
By journalists.
By men who hated me.
But hearing it from a three-year-old felt different.
“I've done bad things.”
Mia looked at me.
“Mommy said you're not bad.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before what?”
“Before Daddy came back.”
My entire body went still.
“Mia.”
She looked down.
“Your daddy is dead, right?”
She nodded.
“Mommy said that.”
“Then who came yesterday?”
She squeezed Mr. Rabbit.
“I don't know.”
I pushed my chair back.
“Where is the letter?”
She looked confused.
“What letter?”
“The one under your mother's pillow.”
“I don't know.”
I went upstairs.
The envelope remained on my desk.
My name was written in black ink.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet.
Adrian,
If you are reading this, I have failed to keep Mia safe.
There is something you need to know about the Moretti family.
Your father did not die naturally.
I stopped breathing.
I read the sentence again.
My father, Lorenzo Moretti, had died eight years earlier.
Heart attack.
That's what every doctor had said.
That's what the official report said.
That's what I had believed.
The letter continued.
He was killed because he refused to give them what they wanted.
And now they believe I know where it is.
I read the final paragraph.
If anything happens to me, protect Mia. She is not only my daughter. She is the last living witness to what happened that night.
No signature.
Only one word written beneath it.
Carter.
I folded the paper.
Marco entered.
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“My father.”
Marco stopped.
“What about him?”
I handed him the letter.
He read it.
His expression changed.
“That's impossible.”
“Is it?”
“The autopsy—”
“Was performed by a doctor paid by my father.”
Marco said nothing.
I walked to the window.
Eight years of assumptions had just become eight years of lies.
“Find everything about Elena Carter.”
“Already doing it.”
“Not her employment file.”
Marco understood.
“You want the real file.”
“I want everything.”
He nodded.
Then his phone rang.
He listened.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“The hospital called.”
I turned.
“It's Elena.”
“What happened?”
“She woke up.”
My heart pounded.
“I'm going.”
When I reached the hospital, Elena was sitting upright.
Pale.
Weak.
Terrified.
The moment she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
“You found her.”
“Mia?”
“She came to you?”
“Yes.”
Elena covered her face.
“Thank God.”
I stepped closer.
“Who did this?”
She shook her head.
“It's not safe.”
“Who was the man?”
She looked at me.
Then whispered:
“My husband.”
I froze.
“Your husband is dead.”
Elena's eyes filled with fear.
“I know.”
“Then who was he?”
She swallowed.
“His name is Daniel.”
“Daniel Carter?”
She nodded.
“He never died.”
“Why did you tell everyone he was dead?”
“Because your father told me to.”
I stared at her.
“My father knew?”
“He saved me.”
“From Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Daniel come back?”
Elena's voice broke.
“Because he believes Mia belongs to him.”
I felt anger rise.
“She is three.”
“She was born with something he wants.”
“What?”
Elena looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“A memory.”
I frowned.
May you like
“What memory?”
“The night your father died.”
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