Chapter 3
The paramedics wanted everyone separated.
Anthony demanded a lawyer.
Dr. Harris demanded protection.
My mother demanded to know what secret Anthony meant.
He refused to answer.
As two officers escorted him toward the door, he looked back at me.
“You think you saved him, little girl?”
I held my mother’s hand.
Anthony smiled.
“You just opened a grave.”
Vincent was taken to St. Michael’s Medical Center under police protection.
Dr. Levin rode with him.
My mother and I followed in a patrol car because the police considered her both a witness and a suspect.
They did not put her in handcuffs.
That was the only kindness they gave us.
At the hospital, detectives questioned us in separate rooms.
I told them everything.
The pill beneath the kitchen table.
Anthony filling the organizer.
The missing label.
His demand that my mother’s locker and purse be searched.
The detective listening to me was a woman named Rachel Cole.
She wore no uniform, only a dark blue jacket and tired eyes.
“Did your mother ever talk about Mr. Rinaldi’s medicine?”
“No.”
“Did she ever bring home money from the mansion?”
“No.”
“Did she ever ask you to keep a secret about that family?”
I thought of the fear on my mother’s face.
“No.”
Detective Cole leaned forward.
“Sofia, you are not in trouble. But sometimes children protect their parents because they love them.”
“I’m not protecting her.”
“You’re sure?”
“My mother didn’t do it.”
She watched me for several seconds.
“I believe that you believe her.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”
When I was finally allowed to leave the interview room, my mother was sitting in the hallway.
She stood and wrapped her arms around me.
“I am so sorry.”
“For what?”
“For bringing you into that house.”
“You didn’t put the pills there.”
She pulled back.
Her cheeks were wet.
“How can you know that?”
“Because I know you.”
A police officer waited behind her.
My mother saw me looking at him.
“They are not arresting me yet.”
“Yet?”
“They need to test the bottle and the money.”
She lowered her voice.
“Anthony’s fingerprints may be on them.”
“What secret was he talking about?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Not here.”
“Is it about my father?”
Her eyes opened.
That was enough.
I had asked about my father hundreds of times.
My mother always gave me the same answer.
His name was Gabriel Morales.
He had been kind.
He had died before I was born.
She had no pictures because a fire destroyed them.
At eleven, I had started wondering whether any of that was true.
“Was my father a Rinaldi?” I asked.
“No.”
She answered too quickly.
The officer stepped closer.
“Ms. Morales, the detectives need you again.”
My mother squeezed my hand.
“Stay with Dr. Levin.”
Then she was gone.
I found Dr. Levin outside Vincent’s room.
Vincent was conscious, but several machines surrounded his bed.
A nurse was drawing blood.
“Is he going to die?” I asked.
Dr. Levin crouched beside me.
“Not if we can help it.”
“Will he walk?”
“It is too early to promise.”
“But his toes moved.”
“Yes.”
“You saw them?”
“I saw a video.”
I frowned.
“Who recorded it?”
“Vincent’s physical therapist. Three months ago.”
Dr. Levin glanced toward the closed door.
“She sent it to Dr. Harris. Harris told her the movement was an involuntary reflex and dismissed her from the case.”
“Why didn’t she tell Vincent?”
“She tried. Anthony controlled his appointments, calls, and visitors.”
Everything fit together.
The empty hallways.
The closed curtains.
The way Anthony always stood beside Vincent when doctors visited.
“He made him a prisoner,” I said.
Dr. Levin’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
The door opened.
A nurse told us Vincent wanted to see me.
His face looked smaller against the white pillow.
But his eyes were alert.
“Come here, Sofia.”
I walked to the bed.
He reached for my hand.
His fingers were cold.
“They tell me you gave the police quite a statement.”
“I told the truth.”
“That can be expensive in my family.”
“My mother says the truth is free.”
“Your mother has not met enough lawyers.”
I smiled despite myself.
Vincent didn’t.
“Anthony knew something about her.”
“She won’t tell me what.”
“He knew something about me too.”
“What?”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“Years ago, before you were born, your mother came to this house looking for work. Anthony wanted me to send her away.”
“Why?”
“He said she had stolen from another family.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know. I checked.”
“Then why did you hire her?”
Vincent looked back at me.
“Because I recognized her.”
“From where?”
“Not her face. Her necklace.”
My mother wore a small silver medal beneath her uniform every day. It showed an angel holding a child.
“My grandmother gave it to her.”
Vincent’s hand tightened around mine.
“I gave that medal to a woman named Elena thirty-five years ago.”
My heart began pounding.
“Who was Elena?”
Before he could answer, shouting erupted in the hallway.
My mother’s voice.
“I did not consent to that!”
The door opened.
Detective Cole entered with another officer.
My mother followed them.
She looked furious and terrified.
“What happened?” Vincent asked.
Detective Cole held up an evidence bag.
Inside was a folded paper.
“We found this beneath the lining of the cash envelope.”
She opened the bag and unfolded the paper with gloved hands.
It was a birth certificate.
My mother’s name appeared at the top.
Maria Elena Morales.
Beneath it were the names of her parents.
Mother: Elena Morales.
Father: Vincent Rinaldi.
I looked at Vincent.
He stared at the page as if the room had disappeared.
My mother shook her head.
“It is fake.”
Detective Cole watched her.
“You’re certain?”
“My father was Gabriel Morales.”
“That is the name you gave Sofia for her father,” Vincent said quietly.
My mother looked at him.
I stepped away from her.
“You named my father after the man you thought was yours?”
“Sofia, please.”
“Was my father real?”
“Yes.”
“What was his last name?”
My mother could not answer.
Vincent’s monitor began beeping faster.
Dr. Levin moved toward him.
“Everyone needs to leave.”
Vincent raised one hand.
“No.”
His gaze never left my mother.
“Did Elena tell you I was your father?”
My mother began to cry.
“She told me when she was dying.”
The room went still.
“You knew?” I whispered.
“For five years.”
“And you worked in his house?”
“I needed to see him.”
Vincent’s voice broke.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because my mother made me promise.”
“Why?”
My mother looked toward the door as if Anthony might still be listening.
“She said someone in the Rinaldi family tried to kill us when I was a baby.”
Detective Cole stepped closer.
“Who?”
“My mother never gave me a name.”
“But you suspected Anthony,” Vincent said.
My mother nodded.
“That was why I stayed quiet.”
I could barely understand what I was hearing.
Vincent Rinaldi was my grandfather.
The man whose feet I had been washing was my family.
Anthony had known.
He had planted the evidence on my mother because she was not only a convenient servant.
She was the heir Vincent never knew he had.
Detective Cole’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, and looked at my mother.
“The laboratory found your fingerprints on the bottle.”
My mother stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not just on the outside. On the inside of the cap.”
“I never touched it.”
Detective Cole lowered the phone.
“There’s more. Dr. Harris has changed his statement.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“What is he saying now?”
“He says Maria approached him six months ago and paid him to weaken you.”
“That is a lie!” I shouted.
Detective Cole looked troubled.
“He also produced messages that appear to come from your mother’s phone.”
My mother took a step back.
“No.”
The second officer moved beside her.
“Maria Morales, we need you to come with us.”
I grabbed her arm.
“You can’t take her!”
My mother crouched and held my face between her hands.
“Sofia, listen to me. Stay with Dr. Levin.”
“No.”
“Do not go back to our apartment.”
“Why?”
Her eyes shifted toward Vincent.
“Because if Anthony knows who you are, he will not stop with me.”
The officer placed handcuffs around her wrists.
As they led her away, Vincent tried to rise from the bed.
His shoulders lifted.
His arms shook.
Then his right leg moved beneath the blanket.
Only an inch.
But it moved.
Vincent looked at me.
“Your mother will not spend one night alone in jail.”
Dr. Levin tried to push him back.
“You cannot leave this bed.”
Vincent’s eyes followed my mother through the doorway.
“Then bring me a phone.”
His voice was stronger than I had ever heard it.
“My brother wanted Vincent Rinaldi awake.”
May you like
He gripped the rail and pulled himself upright.
“Now he has him.”
