Chapter 5 - The Father Buried With The Truth
I stared at Celeste.
For the first time in my life, I did not know what to say.
Not because I was shocked.
Because every answer I had believed for years was suddenly becoming a lie.
My father.
Elias Moretti.
The man whose name built the foundation of our family.
The man whose portrait hung in every room of the estate.
The man people still whispered about long after his death.
The man I spent my entire life trying to understand.
Was connected to Ewan’s death.
“No.”
The word left my mouth before I could stop it.
Celeste watched me.
“You want to believe that.”
I looked at her.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Her voice was quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
“You think your father was a hero because that is the version everyone gave you.”
I stepped toward her.
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“No.”
My voice dropped.
“You are standing in my house.”
“I know exactly where I am standing.”
That answer bothered me.
Because Celeste had always been confident.
But tonight was different.
Tonight she was not acting powerful.
She was acting like someone who had survived something.
“What did my father do?”
Celeste looked toward the photograph in my hand.
“You should ask what he was afraid of.”
I said nothing.
“Ewan found documents.”
“What documents?”
“Accounts.”
“From where?”
“Companies that did not officially exist.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Offshore accounts?”
She nodded.
“Money moved through businesses connected to the family.”
I laughed once.
Cold.
“You’re telling me my father stole from us?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He was protecting someone.”
That made no sense.
“My father died eleven years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And Ewan died six years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we still talking about them?”
Celeste looked at me.
“Because some people do not disappear when they die.”
A chill moved through me.
I hated that sentence.
Because I knew it was true.
In my world, dead men left behind enemies.
They left behind debts.
They left behind secrets.
But I had never imagined my own family’s secrets would survive longer than the people who created them.
---
I spent the next hour in my office.
The old files were already waiting.
My security team had brought every document connected to Pier 44.
Every report.
Every photograph.
Every investigation.
For six years, I had looked at them searching for a killer.
Tonight, I looked at them searching for a pattern.
The difference was everything.
“Boss.”
My security chief, Matteo, placed a folder on the desk.
“We found something.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Damaged.
Pier 44.
The night of the fire.
I looked carefully.
The official report said only six people were present.
But in the photograph...
There was a seventh person.
Standing near the warehouse entrance.
A man wearing a dark coat.
His face was hidden.
“Who is this?”
Matteo hesitated.
“That is the problem.”
“What problem?”
“We checked every photograph from that night.”
“And?”
“This image does not exist in the original evidence file.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Someone added it later.”
The room became silent.
Someone had changed the evidence.
Someone had controlled the investigation.
Someone powerful enough to rewrite history.
“Who had access?”
Matteo looked uncomfortable.
“Only three people.”
“Names.”
He placed a paper in front of me.
“Your father.”
A pause.
“Detective Arthur Voss.”
Another pause.
“And Celeste Vandermark’s father.”
I stared at the last name.
Vandermark.
The family I was about to join.
The family that had been beside mine for decades.
I leaned back.
Suddenly every memory felt different.
Every conversation.
Every dinner.
Every smile.
“How long has Celeste known?”
Matteo looked at me.
“We don’t know.”
“No.”
I closed the folder.
“We find out.”
---
At sunrise, I returned to the hospital.
Delia was awake.
She looked at me immediately.
“You know.”
It was not a question.
I stood beside her bed.
“My father was involved.”
Her expression changed.
Not surprise.
Sadness.
“I was afraid you would find out this way.”
“Tell me the truth.”
She looked down.
“I don’t know everything.”
“But you know enough.”
“Yes.”
“Why did Ewan trust you?”
A small smile appeared.
“Because I didn’t know who he was.”
I waited.
“He came into my clinic as an injured man.”
“Not a Moretti.”
“Not a powerful person.”
“Just a man who was scared.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Because nobody had ever described my brother that way.
Scared.
Ewan Moretti.
The man everyone thought feared nothing.
“What did he tell you?”
Delia looked toward the window.
“He said he found proof that someone close to your family had been selling information.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t know at first.”
“Then?”
“He discovered it.”
“Who was it?”
Her eyes moved back to mine.
“Someone you trusted.”
I felt my patience disappear.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because everyone is afraid to say the name.”
“Say it.”
Delia was silent.
Then she whispered:
“Your uncle.”
The room stopped.
My uncle.
The man who raised me after my father died.
The man who stood beside me when I took control.
The man who called himself my second father.
“No.”
Delia looked at me.
“I saw him.”
My hands tightened.
“Saw him where?”
“At Pier 44.”
The words were almost impossible to hear.
“On the night Ewan died.”
I stepped back.
“No.”
“He was there.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I wish I was.”
I turned away.
Because accepting the truth meant accepting something worse.
That for six years...
The person I trusted most may have been the person I should have feared.
Then my phone rang.
Matteo.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was urgent.
“Boss.”
“What happened?”
“We found the person who entered the estate system.”
I waited.
“Who?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your uncle.”
I looked at Delia.
And for the first time...
I understood why Ewan died.
May you like
He had not discovered a secret.
He had discovered a betrayal.
