Chapter 13: The Man Who Died Twice
The death certificate trembled in my hands.
October 19, 1998.
Victor Moretti had supposedly died twenty-eight years ago, long before the warehouse explosion, long before I learned his name, and long before Michael had ever called him Father.
Yet I had seen Victor with my own eyes.
I had heard him speak.
I had felt his hand twist around my wrist.
And I had watched him disappear into the smoke.
“Who signed this?”” I asked.
The officer glanced at the document.
“Dr. Samuel Voss.””
The name struck me like a bullet.
Samuel Voss.
The doctor listed on my birth record at Saint Agnes.
The doctor whose signature appeared beside my name on the original transfer papers.
“Where is he?”” I demanded.
“Dead. He died in 2004.””
“Then who identified the body?””
The officer hesitated.
“That information is classified.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course it is.””
“Miss Reed, you need to understand that this investigation predates your birth. Several federal agencies have spent decades trying to establish Victor Moretti's identity.””
“Why?””
“Because Victor Moretti may not be the name of one person.””
The world seemed to tilt.
The officer continued.
“There are records showing a Victor Moretti entering the country in 1971. Another Victor Moretti appears in a European financial registry in 1986. A third was declared dead in 1998.””
“And the man we saw tonight?””
“We don't know.””
I looked toward the ambulances.
Michael was being loaded into one. Isabella lay on a stretcher beside him, her face pale beneath an oxygen mask.
Daniel stood nearby, holding Lily against his chest.
Luca sat against the rear wheel of another ambulance while Elena argued with a paramedic.
Our family had survived a burning warehouse, a shooting, and an attempted execution.
Yet the most dangerous secret was still waiting for us.
“Where are you taking Michael?”” I asked.
“Federal medical custody.””
“No.””
The officer stiffened.
“Excuse me?””
“He needs surgery. He doesn't need to be interrogated.””
“He's a person of interest in a major criminal investigation.””
“He's also a wounded man.””
I stepped toward the ambulance.
“You can question him when he's alive enough to answer.””
For a moment, the officer looked as if he intended to stop me.
Then a voice called from behind him.
“Let her through.””
A woman in a dark suit approached, displaying a federal identification card.
“Special Agent Mara Ellis,” she said.
“I've been assigned to the Moretti investigation since 2007.””
I stared at her.
“You knew about Victor?””
“I knew about the organization. I didn't know how much of it he controlled.””
“Then why didn't you stop him?””
The question escaped before I could soften it.
Agent Ellis accepted it without flinching.
“Because every time we got close, someone disappeared. Witnesses died. Records vanished.
Judges changed their rulings. We were investigating a man who seemed to know what we would do before we did it.””
She looked toward the burning warehouse.
“Tonight, that changed.””
“Because the archive uploaded.””
“Yes.””
“Then you have everything.””
“Not everything.””
She took the death certificate from my hands.
“We have evidence of identity fraud, child trafficking, bribery, and murder. But the original archive contained one file that was never transmitted.””
I remembered the master key.
“The fourth-child file?””
Agent Ellis nodded.
“Victor's original identity.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why would he erase his own identity?””
“Because the name Victor Moretti belonged to someone else first.””
She opened a folder and showed me a photograph.
A young man stood outside Saint Agnes Medical Center. He wore a white shirt and a dark coat. His face was almost identical to the man who had entered the warehouse.
But the date beneath the photograph read 1974.
“That man was the original Victor Moretti,” Ellis explained.
“He was a surgeon. He helped establish Saint Agnes and the adoption program. He died in 1998.””
“Then who took his place?””
“We believe his younger brother.””
I looked up.
“His brother?””
“Adrian Moretti.””
The name barely registered before the agent continued.
“Adrian had no official identity after his brother died. He took Victor's name, inherited his accounts, and continued his work.””
I thought of the man who had saved me as an infant.
Adrian Vale.
The man who had worn disguises, carried secrets, and helped us break into the archive.
“Adrian Vale,” I whispered.
Agent Ellis watched my face.
“You know him?””
“He told me he carried me out of Saint Agnes.””
She closed her folder.
“Then we need to find him.””
I turned toward the ambulances.
Adrian wasn't there.
Neither was Gabriel.
“Where did they go?””
The officer checked his radio.
“Gabriel Moretti was taken into custody. Adrian Vale left the scene before the perimeter was established.””
My pulse quickened.
“He wouldn't run.””
Agent Ellis gave me a hard look.
“People who have lived under false identities for decades tend to run when the truth catches up with them.””
I thought about Adrian's injured shoulder, his steady hands, and the way he had looked at me when he told me he had carried me from the hospital.
He had seemed ashamed.
Not of what he had done.
Of what he had failed to prevent.
I pulled out my phone.
There was one unread message.
Unknown number.
*Come to the chapel where your mother first told you the truth. Come alone.*
A second message arrived.
*Ask Adrian why he chose you.*
I showed Agent Ellis.
She immediately reached for her radio.
“We're going to the chapel.””
“No,” I said.
“He asked for me.””
“Which is precisely why you won't go alone.””
She ordered two unmarked vehicles to follow us.
By dawn, we reached the abandoned chapel where Vanessa Bellini had first revealed Michael's connection to the Saint Agnes fire.
The doors stood open.
Inside, candles burned along the aisle.
Adrian waited near the altar, his injured shoulder wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.
Beside him stood a man wearing a dark suit.
The man turned.
And my heart stopped.
He had Michael's face.
Not almost.
Not vaguely.
Exactly.
The same eyes. The same jaw. The same small scar above the left eyebrow.
But this man was older, perhaps in his late forties, with silver at his temples.
“Anna,” Adrian said quietly.
“I'm sorry.””
I stared at the stranger.
“Who is he?””
The man stepped forward.
“My name is Victor Moretti.””
I backed away.
“No.””
“Not the man you met tonight.””
“That's impossible.””
He looked at Adrian.
“Tell her.””
Adrian lowered his head.
“The original Victor died in 1998. His younger brother, Adrian, took his name. The man in the warehouse was his son.””
I struggled to understand.
“Then who are you?””
The stranger's expression softened.
“I'm Michael's biological uncle.””
He paused.
“And the man who ordered the Saint Agnes fire was not the man you think.””
Agent Ellis stepped from behind a pillar, weapon raised.
“Put your hands where I can see them!””
The stranger didn't move.
Instead, he looked directly at me.
“The man you saw tonight was my nephew, Adrian Moretti. He inherited his father's identity and his crimes.””
He swallowed.
“But I came back because I was the only person who could prove it.””
Agent Ellis tightened her grip on her weapon.
“Why should we believe you?””
The stranger removed a photograph from his jacket.
It showed four children standing outside a hospital.
Anna.
Luca.
Lily.
Gabriel.
But there was a fifth figure in the background.
A little boy holding a woman's hand.
Michael.
And standing beside him was the man in front of me.
The stranger turned the photograph over.
Written on the back were the words:
*THE CHILD WHO INHERITED THE NAME WILL INHERIT THE CRIME.*
Then he looked at me.
“Your brother Michael is not the only person Victor stole.””
He reached into his pocket and removed a folded document.
“Your mother gave birth to five children, Anna.””
My blood turned cold.
“Who was the fifth?””
He unfolded the paper.
The name at the top was unmistakable.
*MICHAEL MORETTI.*
Then the chapel doors slammed shut.
Agent Ellis shouted.
May you like
A gunshot shattered the silence.
And the man who claimed to be Michael's uncle fell into my arms.
