Chapter 9 - The Woman in the Photograph|
The bank account belonged to a charitable foundation that had been dissolved nine years earlier.
Its public records showed donations to hospitals, schools, and a children's home on the south side of Chicago. On paper, the organization had been entirely legitimate.
Its private records told a different story.
Money had flowed through the foundation into offshore accounts, then returned to the city through shipping companies controlled by both the Barbieri and Moretti families.
The account had been active for twenty-two years.
Its last withdrawal was made four days after Caterina's mother died.
Tomasso stared at the screen in his study.
"Who had authorization?"
Marco placed a list on the desk.
"Three people. Vittorio Barbieri. Matteo Moretti. And a woman listed as Elena Moretti."
Caterina stopped breathing.
"My mother."
Marco nodded.
"Her signature appears on the original paperwork."
"That's impossible," she whispered. "She never handled the family business."
"Perhaps that was what she wanted everyone to believe," Tomasso said.
Caterina took the document from him.
Her mother had always been gentle, patient, and careful. She had taught Caterina to play piano, sew torn sleeves, and recognize when a person was lying by watching what they did with their hands.
But she had also insisted that Caterina learn to read financial records.
At the time, it had seemed an odd hobby for a woman who claimed to have no interest in money.
Now it felt like a warning she had been too young to understand.
"There's something else," Marco said. "The children's home received payments from the foundation every month for twelve years. The records identify one beneficiary only by the initials M.V."
Caterina looked up.
"Who is M.V.?"
"We don't know. The original files were removed."
Tomasso turned toward the window.
"Find the home. Find every employee who worked there. I want names, addresses, and records."
Marco left.
Caterina sat down slowly.
"My mother told me I had a cousin once. A baby. She said he died shortly after birth."
"Was the father your mother's brother?"
"No. It was my mother's older sister. She died in a car accident before I was born."
Tomasso frowned.
"Then the child should have had another name."
"He did. Michael."
Caterina's voice weakened.
"Michael Moretti. But my uncle said he died in the hospital."
Tomasso looked at the foundation records again.
M.V.
The initials did not match.
Unless the child's identity had been changed.
They spent the afternoon searching old public documents. Birth certificates, adoption records, hospital registers, and obituaries yielded little. Then Caterina found a photograph on the children's home's archived website.
It showed a group of children standing beneath a faded banner.
At the edge of the picture stood a dark-haired boy, perhaps ten years old, with a small scar above his left eyebrow.
Caterina touched the screen.
"I know him."
"From where?"
She enlarged the image.
"He came to the Moretti estate when I was little. He used to leave books outside my bedroom door. My uncle said he was the son of a driver."
Tomasso leaned closer.
"What was his name?"
"Mateo."
The foundation's beneficiary list included a Mateo Vega, born six months after the supposed death of Michael Moretti.
Caterina stared at the photograph.
"My family has been hiding a child."
"Or protecting one," Tomasso said.
She looked at him sharply.
"Why would my mother pay to protect a child from her own family?"
"Perhaps she knew what your uncle would do if he found him."
Caterina rose.
"We need to find Mateo."
Tomasso reached for his coat.
"We will."
She caught his arm.
"No. I need to find him."
"You won't go alone."
"That wasn't a request."
Their eyes met.
Then Tomasso slowly nodded.
"Fine. We go together."
Caterina picked up the photograph.
She had spent ten years searching for the truth about her parents.
Now she was beginning to suspect that her mother had left behind something more dangerous than evidence.
May you like
A living heir.
And if Lorenzo had spent twelve years paying to keep that heir hidden, then the man who called Caterina a family disgrace might have been afraid of the child all along.
