Chapter 3 - the estate manager's secret
The glass conservatory at the rear of the Valenti estate was cold and quiet, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through the frosted panes above. Rare orchids and dark ivy lined the stone walls, surrounding a iron table where Bernadette Hayes sat quietly, a cup of Earl Grey tea resting untouched in front of her.
Her short silver-blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, her black formal dress elegant and unwrinkled. Despite her sixty-three years, she sat with the posture of a queen.
The heavy iron door swung open. Gabriel walked in, his polished shoes echoing against the stone floor. He didn't sit down. He walked straight to the table and set the silver locket down on the white tablecloth directly beside her teacup.
Bernadette looked down at the locket. She didn't look surprised. She let out a long, slow breath, her shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of her expensive dress.
"I knew this day would come, Gabriel," Bernadette said softly, her voice refined and calm. "I just hoped it wouldn't happen on your birthday."
"You lied to me, Bernadette," Gabriel said, leaning his hands on the iron table, towering over her. "You told me yesterday you hired Claire from a agency list. But you wrote her recommendation letter seven months ago."
"I did what was necessary to protect that little girl," Bernadette replied, looking up to meet his dark glare.
"Who was Marcus Morgan?" Gabriel demanded, his deep voice vibrating in the quiet glass room. "Why did he have my personal locket? The locket my father gave me twenty-five years ago before he was executed?"
Bernadette took a small sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a delicate clatter. "Marcus Morgan wasn't a mechanic from the South Side, Gabriel. His real name was Marcus Valenti."
Gabriel froze. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"What did you say?" Gabriel asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Marcus was your father's son from his second, secret marriage in Boston," Bernadette revealed, her eyes filled with old, buried sorrow. "Your father kept him hidden away to protect him from the Commission. When your father died twenty-five years ago, Marcus was only fifteen. I hid him. I gave him a new identity. I paid for his education."
"He was my half-brother?" Gabriel asked, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the iron chair so hard the metal groaned. "And you kept him from me for twenty-five years?"
"I had to!" Bernadette insisted, standing up from her chair, her authoritative composure cracking. "Your father's enemies were hunting every blood relative who carried the Valenti name! If the Moretti syndicate had known Marcus existed, they would have slaughtered him!"
"He died three years ago in a car crash!" Gabriel shouted, slamming his fist onto the iron table. "Is that a lie too?"
"No," Bernadette whispered, tears shining in her eyes. "The crash was real. But it wasn't an accident. Someone cut the brake lines on his truck in South Chicago three weeks before Mia was born."
Gabriel stepped back, his mind processing the sheer volume of lies that had surrounded his life for decades.
"Who cut the brake lines, Bernadette?" Gabriel asked coldly.
"I don't know," she sobbed softly. "Marcus called me from the hospital while he was dying. He knew whoever killed him would come for his wife and unborn child next. He begged me to hide Claire. So I waited until the dust settled, and I brought her here, into the safest fortress in Illinois."
Gabriel turned his back on her, staring out through the glass windows into the dark, rain-soaked gardens.
"You brought my brother's child into my house as a servant," Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
"I brought her here so you could protect her without asking questions!" Bernadette said.
Gabriel reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out his encrypted phone, and dialed his head of security.
"Marco," Gabriel said into the receiver. "Go to the estate archives in the basement. Pull the original police report for the vehicle crash of Marcus Morgan, dated three years ago."
"I have it right here on my monitor, Don Gabriel," Marco's voice came through instantly over the speaker. "Thomas asked me to pull it ten minutes ago."
May you like
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "What does the report say?"
"The report says the vehicle was registered to a commercial garage in Cicero," Marco read off the screen. "But the official lead investigator who signed off on closing the case without an autopsy was Thomas Reed."
