Chapter 7 - Mrs. Harper’s SecretThe Moretti estate was evacuated before sunrise.
Vincent refused to take chances.
The twins, Claire, and Mrs. Harper moved to his mother’s property in Bedford while police and environmental specialists took over the mansion.
Vincent remained behind for questioning.
Claire barely slept.
Neither did Mrs. Harper.
At breakfast, Ethan and Noah ate waffles while arguing about whether Grandma Moretti’s old golden retriever understood English.
Claire watched Mrs. Harper instead.
The woman had been unusually quiet since Daniel Price’s arrest.
Finally Claire found her alone in the pantry.
“You know him.”
Mrs. Harper turned.
“I told you. He worked at the estate.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Mrs. Harper’s expression closed.
“Then I don’t know what you mean.”
“When police took him away, he looked at you.”
“That proves nothing.”
“You looked scared.”
“I had just watched a man break into a room with two children.”
“He looked at you specifically.”
Mrs. Harper turned away.
Claire lowered her voice.
“If you know something that can help the boys—”
“Don’t.”
Claire stopped.
Mrs. Harper gripped the counter.
“You think because you found one vent you understand this family.”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t know what happened after Mrs. Moretti died.”
“Then tell me.”
Mrs. Harper closed her eyes.
For several seconds she seemed to age.
Finally she whispered, “Daniel Price was Amelia’s informant.”
Claire frowned.
“What?”
“Mrs. Moretti discovered the old chemical storage room during renovations years ago. She wanted it removed. Mr. Moretti’s construction managers told her it had been.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.”
“How did Price fit in?”
“He discovered records proving the contractor had falsified remediation documents.”
Claire stared.
“Who owned the contracting company?”
Mrs. Harper hesitated.
Then answered.
“Cross Development.”
Julian’s family company.
Amelia’s own family.
Suddenly everything connected differently.
Mrs. Harper continued.
“Amelia confronted her brother. Julian claimed he knew nothing. He blamed an executive beneath him.”
“And Dr. Cole?”
“Amelia consulted him after experiencing dizziness.”
“So Julian was telling the truth.”
“Partially.”
Claire leaned against the counter.
“Why didn’t you tell Vincent?”
“Mrs. Moretti made me promise.”
“She died.”
“I know.”
“And then his children became sick.”
Tears filled Mrs. Harper’s eyes.
“I thought the room had been cleared.”
Claire softened.
“What happened nine months ago?”
Mrs. Harper looked toward the doorway.
“Price contacted me.”
“Why?”
“He said someone had been asking questions about Amelia’s old investigation.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t say over the phone.”
“Then you fired him?”
“No.”
Mrs. Harper’s voice broke.
“I pretended to.”
Claire stared.
“He believed someone inside the household was watching staff movements. We agreed that publicly terminating him would give him freedom to investigate without attracting attention.”
“So his firing was fake.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he attack me?”
“I don’t know.”
That part didn’t fit.
“Could he have been trying to protect the boys?”
“By breaking into their room?”
Mrs. Harper shook her head.
“No.”
Claire said, “Tell the police everything.”
“I will.”
“When?”
A voice behind them answered.
“Now.”
Vincent stood in the pantry doorway.
Mrs. Harper went pale.
“Sir.”
“How long?”
Her mouth trembled.
“How long have you known?”
She looked down.
“Years.”
Vincent’s expression was devastatingly calm.
“You knew Amelia believed something in that house was making her sick.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“She begged me—”
“She is dead.”
Mrs. Harper flinched.
“My sons nearly died.”
“I know.”
“You knew about Price.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to me.”
“I was trying to protect—”
“Don’t say protect.”
His voice cracked.
Claire had never heard him sound like that.
“Everyone keeps protecting me by hiding things that happen to the people I love.”
Mrs. Harper cried silently.
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent looked at her for a long moment.
Then walked away.
Claire started after him.
Mrs. Harper touched her arm.
“Give him a minute.”
“He shouldn’t be alone.”
“He has been alone for three years.”
Claire looked down the hallway where Vincent had disappeared.
“That’s exactly the problem.”
She found him outside near the paddock fence.
September air moved through the trees.
He stared at the distant hills.
“She knew.”
Claire stood beside him.
“Apparently.”
“She was sick and didn’t tell me.”
“She may not have understood what was happening.”
“She told everyone except me.”
“That’s probably not true.”
He turned.
“You don’t have to fix this.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you defending her?”
“I’m defending the possibility that people make bad decisions when they’re scared.”
He looked away.
After a moment he said, “We were fighting before she died.”
Claire stayed silent.
“I was building a company. Traveling constantly. She said the house felt empty even when I was home.”
His jaw tightened.
“The night she died, she called me.”
Claire’s chest hurt.
“I didn’t answer.”
“Vincent—”
“I was in a meeting.”
“You couldn’t know.”
“That sentence doesn’t change anything.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“But neither does punishing yourself forever.”
Before he could respond, his phone rang.
Detective Monroe.
Vincent answered.
His expression changed as he listened.
“When?”
Pause.
“Are you sure?”
Another pause.
Then: “We’re coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Claire asked.
“Daniel Price agreed to talk.”
“And?”
“He says he didn’t install the contaminated duct.”
“Then who did?”
“He claims he knows.”
Claire waited.
Vincent looked toward the house.
“And he says whoever did it wasn’t trying to hurt Ethan and Noah.”
“What?”
“He says they were trying to hurt me.”
At police headquarters, Price sat behind glass in an interview room with his lawyer.
Detective Monroe explained before they entered.
“Price claims the ventilation modification was intended to expose Mr. Moretti’s private office.”
“My office is downstairs,” Vincent said.
“It was when the modification was planned.”
Vincent frowned.
Then his face changed.
Eight months earlier, renovations had forced him to use the west-wing study as his temporary office.
Directly beneath the twins’ bedrooms.
Claire understood.
“The boys’ rooms were never the intended target.”
Monroe nodded.
“According to Price, someone expected Mr. Moretti to spend ten or twelve hours a day in that wing.”
“But I moved back downstairs early,” Vincent said.
“And the boys remained upstairs.”
Claire felt sick.
“So someone tried poisoning Vincent and accidentally poisoned his children instead.”
Monroe said, “That’s Price’s claim.”
Vincent looked through the glass.
“Who?”
Monroe opened a file.
“Price says he was paid to install part of the duct but quit when he discovered where the air source came from.”
Claire stared.
“He participated?”
“He says he believed he was rerouting ventilation for renovation work. Then he realized someone had connected it to the old chemical room.”
“Who hired him?”
Monroe turned a photograph around.
Claire recognized the man.
Dr. Nathan Cole.
Vincent’s face hardened.
But Monroe wasn’t finished.
“Cole transferred the money.”
“So Cole ordered it.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“Because Price says Cole was working for someone else.”
Vincent stared at her.
“Who?”
Monroe placed a second photograph on the table.
Julian Cross.
Claire’s heart sank.
Then Monroe added a third.
A woman.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Claire had never seen her.
Vincent had.
His face went blank.
“No.”
Claire looked at him.
“Who is she?”
May you like
Vincent whispered the answer.
“My mother.”
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