Chapter 14 - The Woman Who Wrote the ContractSofia was alive.

Barely.

Doctors worked in the private medical room beneath the estate.

Vincent waited outside.

Luca slept against him.

Isabella stood across the corridor.

Vincent looked at her.

“You wrote the final clause.”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Sofia asked me to.”

“What did it say?”

“That no one could gain control of the trust through coercion.”

“Meaning?”

“Any signature obtained under threat would be invalid.”

Vincent stared.

“So Charles can't force me to sign.”

“No.”

“Then why did he try?”

“Because he didn't know that clause existed.”

Vincent understood.

Sofia had been playing a longer game.

A dangerous one.

Then Dominic arrived.

“Charles is running.”

Vincent stood.

“Where?”

“The ballroom.”

They returned upstairs.

The engagement papers still lay on the marble table.

Charles stood beside them.

Blood on his sleeve.

A gun in his hand.

Guards surrounded him.

He laughed.

“You think you've won.”

Vincent stepped forward.

“You lost three years ago.”

Charles shook his head.

“No.”

He placed the gun against his own chest.

“If I die, the files release automatically.”

Vincent stopped.

“Which files?”

“Everything.”

Charles smiled.

“Your father's crimes.”

“Sofia's actions.”

“Your organization.”

“And the names of every person in this room.”

Vincent looked around.

Several guests went pale.

Charles continued:

“You think I'm afraid of prison?”

“No.”

Vincent's voice was cold.

“You're afraid of being forgotten.”

Charles's smile disappeared.

“You don't know anything about me.”

“I know you spent three years blaming everyone except yourself.”

Charles raised the gun.

“Sign.”

Vincent slowly approached the table.

He picked up the pen.

Charles smiled.

“Smart.”

Vincent looked at the signature line.

Then at the trust clause.

Then at Charles.

“You made one mistake.”

“What?”

“You assumed I would choose the money.”

Vincent tore the pages in half.

Charles stared.

“What did you do?”

“I chose my family.”

Charles fired.

Dominic shot first.

Charles's weapon flew across the room.

Guards tackled him.

Vincent didn't move.

Then the ballroom doors opened.

Sofia stood there.

Weak.

Pale.

But alive.

Vincent stared.

She had one hand pressed against the bandage at her side.

Luca ran to her.

“Mommy!”

Sofia dropped to her knees.

She hugged him.

Vincent closed his eyes.

For the first time in three years, the Moretti family stood together.

But Charles suddenly laughed from the floor.

“You still don't know the truth.”

Vincent looked at him.

Charles smiled through blood.

“Ask Sofia who really arranged her disappearance.”

Vincent turned.

Sofia went still.

Charles laughed again.

“She will never tell you.”

Vincent looked at his wife.

“Sofia?”

She said nothing.

“Was it you?”

Silence.

“Did you arrange your own disappearance?”

“Yes.”

Vincent felt the room spin.

“Why?”

Sofia looked at Luca.

Then at Vincent.

“Because someone wanted to kill you.”

“Who?”

Sofia's eyes filled with tears.

“Your father.”

Vincent stared.

“My father died three years ago.”

“I know.”

“Then how could he?”

Sofia whispered:

“He isn't dead.”

Silence.

Then the ballroom doors at the far end opened.

Everyone turned.

An old man walked inside.

White hair.

Dark coat.

A scar across his right hand.

Vincent couldn't breathe.

His father.

Alive.

Standing beneath the chandelier.

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He looked at Vincent.

And smiled.