Chapter 8 - The Child Serena Planned to Erase
The succession amendment was real.
Roman found it in his legal office that afternoon.
Forty-three pages.
Prepared six weeks before the party.
It stated that upon the birth of Roman’s first acknowledged biological child within marriage, a block of family voting shares would transfer into an heir trust.
The trust’s guardian during the child’s minority?
The child’s mother.
Serena.
Roman’s attorney looked physically sick.
“I drafted the preliminary version.”
Roman stared at him.
“Why?”
“Your father’s old trust required modernization.”
“You didn't find it suspicious that Serena pushed for an accelerated signature?”
“I believed she was pregnant.”
“So did I.”
He looked away.
Roman had not signed.
The announcement party was supposed to create public pressure.
A ballroom full of witnesses.
Pregnancy declared.
Wedding timetable advanced.
Trust amendment presented the following week.
Then, months later, Serena could announce a late pregnancy complication.
Stillbirth.
Tragedy.
Public sympathy.
But because the trust activated at legal acknowledgment and marriage, her control rights might survive long enough to force litigation.
It was complicated.
Risky.
Desperate.
And almost brilliant.
Except Sophie had found the fake belly.
I sat across from Roman’s attorney.
“What did Sophie have to do with it?”
He hesitated.
Roman said, “Tell her.”
“The existence of an older biological child could challenge the amendment.”
I went cold.
“So Serena needed Sophie out of the way.”
“Legally, preferably.”
The forged psychiatric records.
The custody petition.
Everything made sense.
“If I lost custody?”
“Sophie might have entered protective placement.”
“And Roman?”
Roman answered.
“She hoped I would not know Sophie was mine until after the trust changed.”
I looked at him.
“She kept her photograph.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ortiz entered carrying a folder.
“Leverage.”
Serena had known about Sophie for eighteen months.
Dr. Voss told her.
She had been blackmailing him for access to Legacy Protocol.
She discovered D-17.
Found my adoption record.
Watched me.
Photographed Sophie.
Then built the pregnancy scheme around a legal gap.
Roman looked murderous.
“She watched a child for eighteen months.”
Ortiz nodded.
“She also paid a private investigator.”
My stomach tightened.
“The photo outside my window?”
“We believe so.”
“Why?”
“Intimidation.”
Roman stood.
“Where is he?”
Ortiz gave him a look.
“You don't need that information.”
“I disagree.”
“I don't care.”
I almost smiled.
Roman sat.
Serena was arrested that evening on charges tied to witness intimidation, fraud, falsified medical documents, unlawful access to protected records, and conspiracy.
The headlines became unbearable.
MAFIA HEIR SCANDAL.
SECRET DAUGHTER.
FAKE PREGNANCY.
DELUCA MEDICAL PROGRAM.
A photograph of Sophie appeared online.
I nearly threw up.
Roman’s communications team asked permission to issue a statement denying she was “the new DeLuca heiress.”
I said no.
They asked what they should say instead.
“Nothing about my child.”
Roman backed me.
For two weeks, I kept Sophie out of preschool.
Then I realized hiding her was allowing strangers to reshape her life.
So I walked her through the front doors myself.
Roman waited across the street in a parked car.
He had asked whether he should come.
I said no.
He came anyway—but stayed out of sight.
I pretended not to notice.
That afternoon Sophie asked, “Why are people saying I’m rich?”
I almost choked.
“Who said that?”
“Eli.”
Eli was five and had recently eaten paste.
I considered the source.
“What did you tell him?”
“That my mama has fourteen dollars.”
I stared at her.
“Why fourteen?”
“You said it yesterday.”
At the grocery store.
I had joked that after buying berries I had fourteen dollars left until payday.
Apparently my daughter had released our financial status to the preschool.
“You are not rich.”
“Is Roman?”
“Yes.”
“Can he buy more berries?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe he can be useful.”
I laughed for the first time in days.
Roman’s relationship with Sophie grew slowly.
One afternoon a week.
Always with my approval.
Usually in public.
Parks.
Aquarium.
Children’s museum.
He learned not to bring gifts every time.
The first visit, he brought a dollhouse that cost more than my car.
I made him return it.
He came back with sidewalk chalk.
Sophie preferred the chalk.
He learned.
I watched.
Not as a woman watching a man.
As a mother evaluating risk.
Roman was patient.
He never demanded affection.
Never corrected Sophie when she called him Tall Roman.
Never introduced himself as her father to strangers unless she did first.
Once, a waiter asked, “Is this your little girl?”
Roman paused.
Looked at Sophie.
She said, “He’s my Roman.”
The waiter nodded as if that answered everything.
Roman smiled for the rest of lunch.
Meanwhile, Voss began cooperating.
Not because he had found morality.
Because prosecutors offered reduced charges.
He admitted Salvatore created Legacy Protocol.
He admitted he harvested eggs from women under false procedural descriptions.
He admitted Roman’s sample had been used without proper authorization.
He admitted Rebecca’s transfer to a hospital had been delayed.
Then he said something nobody expected.
Salvatore had ordered Legacy Protocol shut down shortly before his death.
Roman stared at the interview video.
“Why?”
Voss answered from the screen.
“Because D-17 disappeared.”
“So my father developed a conscience?”
“No.”
Voss almost smiled.
“He became afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Rebecca had copied files.”
My stomach tightened.
“What files?”
“Everything.”
“Where?”
“I never knew.”
Voss said Rebecca threatened to expose the entire program if Salvatore tried to recover Sophie.
Then Rebecca died.
Evelyn took Sophie.
And the files vanished.
Roman looked at me.
“If Rebecca copied everything, someone may still have it.”
I remembered her apartment had been cleared after her death.
Her belongings supposedly sent to her brother.
Her brother.
Kidney disease.
I looked at Ortiz.
“Is he alive?”
She checked.
Thirty-three.
Living in Vermont.
Name: Noah Lane.
We drove north the next morning.
Noah lived in a small house outside Burlington.
When I said Rebecca’s name, he nearly shut the door.
Then he saw Sophie.
His face collapsed.
“Oh my God.”
He stared at her.
“You look like her.”
I froze.
“Like Rebecca?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“Like the woman in the photographs Rebecca kept.”
“What woman?”
Noah disappeared inside.
He returned carrying a sealed metal document box.
“My sister told me never to open this unless someone came with a little girl who had a heart behind her ear.”
My hands started shaking.
Noah set the box on the table.
There was no lock.
Inside were copies of Legacy Protocol.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
And a letter addressed to me.
But the most important thing was a list.
Nine female names.
Mine was number four.
Rebecca had written beside each:
Find them. Tell them.
Roman stared at the page.
I understood immediately.
May you like
This story was no longer about me.
It was about every woman whose name Salvatore had reduced to a code.
