Chapter 4 – THE SIGNATURE

The paramedics patched my shoulder in the mansion’s vast kitchen. Luca stood by the marble island, his arms crossed, watching them work.

In the next room, the police were dragging Vanessa out. She hadn’t stopped laughing.

“Mr. Moretti,” Giovanni said gently, walking into the kitchen. “The police have secured the premises. But Vanessa is correct about the legalities.”

Luca rubbed his face, looking suddenly exhausted. “Explain it to me.”

“Your father’s will was ironclad,” the Italian lawyer sighed. “He wanted to protect Isabella. The clause states that the shares can only pass to Sophie if both Thomas Bennett and Isabella Bennett sign the release forms. If they are both deceased before the transfer… the primary trustee takes control.”

“And Vanessa made herself the trustee,” Luca said bitterly.

“Yes. Which means, by tomorrow morning, the Bellini family will legally own fifty-one percent of the Moretti empire.”

Grace sat at the kitchen table, holding Sophie in her lap. The little girl had finally fallen asleep, exhausted by the trauma.

“I’m so sorry,” Grace cried softly. “My father tried to find Isabella before she died, but she was in hospice. She couldn’t sign anything.”

I adjusted the bandage on my shoulder and stood up.

“Wait,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“Grace,” I said, walking over to the table. “You said Isabella was in hospice. But earlier you said Marco paid for her treatments in Vermont.”

“He did,” Grace wiped her nose. “Until he died. Then the money stopped. We had to move her to a charity clinic.”

I looked at Luca. “Mr. Moretti, remember what I told you before dinner? About the conversation I overheard between Vanessa and Giovanni?”

Luca frowned. “You said she was trying to get Sophie out of the country.”

“Yes,” I said. “But there was something else. Vanessa said she specifically sought out Grace’s family for the scholarship.”

Giovanni nodded. “She told me it was a random lottery.”

“It wasn’t,” I said. I looked at Grace. “Grace, what was the name of the charity clinic Isabella was in?”

Grace thought for a moment. “St. Jude’s Hope. On the south side.”

Luca’s head snapped up.

“St. Jude’s Hope?” Luca repeated. “Emily, that clinic is fully funded by the Moretti Foundation. Vanessa sits on the board of directors.”

The pieces clicked into place.

“She knew,” I breathed. “Vanessa knew exactly where Isabella was. She tracked her down after Marco died.”

Grace looked horrified. “She visited the clinic? But my sister was in a coma for the last three days of her life.”

Luca turned to Giovanni. “Giovanni, to transfer the trustee powers, Vanessa would need proof that Isabella didn’t sign the inheritance over to Sophie.”

Giovanni adjusted his glasses. “Yes. A notarized statement of incapacity, or a signature relinquishing her rights.”

“And if Isabella was in a coma…” Luca’s eyes darkened, “…Vanessa couldn’t get a signature.”

I looked at the violin case sitting next to Grace on the floor.

“Grace,” I asked quickly. “When did your father give you the violin?”

“The day Isabella died,” Grace said. “He told me to guard it with my life. He said it was the only thing Isabella left for Sophie.”

I walked over and knelt beside the worn, leather case.

“Mr. Moretti, may I?” I asked.

Luca nodded.

I unlatched the case. The beautiful wooden instrument rested inside.

“Vanessa tried to throw this away tonight,” I said. “She called it junk. But if she knew who Sophie was, she wouldn’t just throw it away. She’d want to destroy it.”

I ran my fingers along the velvet lining of the case. I felt a small, hard lump near the neck of the violin.

I carefully pulled back the velvet.

Tucked neatly inside a hidden slit was a folded, heavy piece of parchment.

It had a red wax seal on the back.

Giovanni gasped. “That is the seal of the Florentine Notary.”

I pulled the parchment out and handed it to Luca.

He broke the seal and unfolded it.

His eyes scanned the beautiful, sweeping Italian calligraphy.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face.

“Vanessa didn’t visit the clinic to gloat,” Luca said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. “She went there to steal Isabella’s signature. But my father beat her to it.”

Grace stood up. “What does it say?”

Luca looked at his niece, sleeping peacefully in her aunt’s arms.

“It’s an emancipation document,” Luca said. “Signed by my father, and signed by Isabella… three days before she went into the coma.”

Giovanni clapped his hands together. “Magnificent! What does it stipulate?”

Luca looked at me, a deep respect in his eyes.

“It states that upon Isabella’s death, the sole executor of Sophie’s estate is not the Foundation trustee.”

He handed the paper to Grace.

“It’s you, Grace. You are the legal owner of the Moretti empire until Sophie turns eighteen.”

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