Chapter 12 - THREE YEARS OF SILENCE
Vincent left the gala without saying goodbye to anyone.
His driver opened the rear door of the black sedan, but Vincent remained on the pavement, staring at the entrance through which Anna had vanished.
“Find her,” he ordered.
His head of security, Marco Bellini, hesitated.
“Boss, she clearly doesn't want contact.”
“I didn't ask what she wants. I asked you to find her.”
Marco held his gaze.
“Do you want us to approach her?”
Vincent looked at him sharply.
“No. I want to know where she is, whether she's safe, and who the child is. Nobody touches her. Nobody follows her closely enough to frighten her. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vincent got into the car.
Sophia was already inside.
“Take me home,” she said to the driver.
Vincent turned.
“You're not going home with me.”
Her face changed.
“Vincent, please. We need to talk.”
“We will. But not tonight.”
He told the driver to take Sophia to her apartment. Then he sat in silence for the rest of the journey, seeing the boy's face every time he blinked.
Three years.
If the child was Anna's, he would have been born after the crash. Vincent did the calculation without meaning to. Anna had been pregnant during the emergency landing. She had been far enough along that the baby might have survived even if she had not.
He pressed his fingers against his eyes.
He had buried two people.
He had never seen either body.
At the time, the investigators had told him the explosion had destroyed most of the cabin. A fragment of Anna's necklace had been recovered near the wreckage. There had been no remains that could be identified with certainty.
Vincent had accepted the conclusion because he had been too devastated to challenge it.
Now he wondered whether he had accepted it because it was easier than living with the question.
At 1:40 a.m., Marco called.
“We found the event registration.”
“Where is she?”
“Her name was listed as Anna Bennett. No Moretti. She attended as a guest of the Bellwether Children's Foundation.”
“Address?”
“Her current residence is in Evanston. We have a street, but I haven't sent anyone there.”
“Good. Don't.”
Marco paused.
“There's more. The child is listed as Noah Bennett. Three years and two months old.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
The dates fit.
“Get me the crash file. Everything. Original flight plan, maintenance logs, emergency communications, passenger statements, rescue reports. I want the full investigation, not the summary I was given.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And Marco?”
“Sir?”
“Find out who signed the final report.”
“Understood.”
The call ended.
Vincent sat alone in his study until sunrise.
At eight, Sophia arrived without an appointment. She walked in wearing sunglasses and carrying a handbag. Her confidence was back, but her fingers were moving restlessly along the strap.
“You can't shut me out,” she said.
Vincent didn't offer her a seat.
“Tell me why Anna was at the gala.”
“I don't know.”
“Tell me how she survived.”
“I don't know.”
“Tell me why you went white when you saw her.”
Sophia removed her sunglasses.
“Because I thought she was dead.”
“That's not an answer.”
She lowered her voice.
“Vincent, you were traumatized after the crash. You barely slept. You blamed yourself. I was there for you.”
“You were the person I carried off that plane.”
“You chose to help me.”
“I know.”
“And I was injured. I was bleeding. I couldn't walk.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Anna was pregnant.”
Sophia looked away.
“I know.”
“You knew she was still inside.”
“I thought the crew had reached her.”
“Did you see anyone reach her?”
Sophia said nothing.
Vincent stared at her.
“Get out.”
“Vincent—”
“Now.”
She left.
A few minutes later, Marco entered with a file.
“Boss, there's a problem with the crash investigation.”
Vincent opened it.
The final report had been signed by an aviation consultant named Peter Harlow.
But the preliminary report had identified a mechanical fault in the fuel system.
That finding had disappeared from the final version.
Vincent looked up.
“Who paid Harlow?”
May you like
Marco placed another sheet on the desk.
“A company connected to Sophia Carter.”
