Chapter 3 - SEVENTEEN LETTERS THAT NEVER REACHED HOME
The following morning, Dominic Moretti ordered the third floor of his mansion opened for the first time in twenty years.
The housekeeper looked terrified.
“Sir, Mrs. Patricia specifically instructed us never to enter those rooms.”
Dominic stood at the bottom of the staircase.
“Those instructions no longer apply.”
“But—”
“If Patricia objects, send her to me.”
The housekeeper nodded quickly.
Dominic climbed the stairs.
His footsteps echoed against polished marble.
He hadn't visited the old nursery wing since he was twenty.
After Evelyn disappeared, Anthony ordered it locked.
He claimed the rooms contained painful memories and belonged to a chapter the family needed to forget.
Dominic had accepted that explanation.
Now he wondered how many other explanations he'd accepted because questioning his father required more courage than obedience.
The hallway smelled of cedar and dust.
Nathan met him outside the final door.
“Dom?”
Dominic stopped.
“What?”
“Patricia's furious.”
“I'm sure.”
“She says you're letting a stranger turn you against the family.”
Dominic looked at his younger brother.
“Do you believe Evelyn is a stranger?”
Nathan hesitated.
“She was good to me when I was little.”
“Then you remember her.”
“Yes.”
“She made your birthday cakes.”
Nathan looked down.
“I know.”
“She stayed awake when you had pneumonia.”
“Dominic—”
“And she never treated you differently because Patricia was your mother.”
Nathan's eyes filled.
“I remember.”
Dominic took out the key.
“Then maybe you should come inside.”
The door opened with a dry click.
Dust drifted through the pale winter sunlight.
Old furniture sat beneath white sheets.
Boxes lined the walls.
A wooden rocking chair stood beside the window.
And against the far wall was a piano.
Their mother's piano.
Dominic stopped breathing.
He remembered Evelyn playing Christmas songs while he sat beside her.
She wasn't particularly good.
She missed notes.
Sometimes she laughed so hard she couldn't finish a song.
But Dominic had loved those evenings.
Now the piano sat untouched beneath twenty years of dust.
Nathan stepped closer.
“I thought Dad sold it.”
“So did I.”
Dominic lifted the cover.
The keys had yellowed.
He pressed one.
A thin, discordant note filled the room.
His throat tightened.
They searched for almost an hour.
Most boxes contained ordinary belongings.
Photographs.
School certificates.
Old Christmas decorations.
Books Evelyn had read to them.
Then Nathan found a narrow cabinet behind the piano.
It was locked.
Dominic called Samuel Price, the family's attorney.
Samuel arrived with a locksmith and documented the opening.
Inside were three shelves of folders.
On the middle shelf sat a blue ribbon tied around a stack of envelopes.
Dominic immediately recognized the handwriting.
Evelyn's.
His mother's.
His hands began shaking.
There were seventeen letters.
Every one addressed to him.
Every one unopened.
Some had arrived while he was at college.
Others had been mailed years later.
One envelope was dated Christmas Eve 2013.
Another on his thirtieth birthday.
Dominic sat on the piano bench.
For twenty years, he'd believed his mother stopped trying.
Now he was holding proof that she had never stopped.
He opened the first letter carefully.
My darling Dominic,
I don't know whether you'll ever read this. They tell me you don't want to see me, but I remember the boy who used to wait by the kitchen window whenever I went to the store.
I cannot believe that boy would refuse to hear my voice without knowing why I left.
Please understand that I did not abandon you.
Dominic stopped.
The words blurred.
He forced himself to continue.
I know your father has told you terrible things about me. Some days I am frightened that you'll spend your entire life believing them.
But nothing he says can change what is true.
I love you.
I have loved you every day.
And if you ever decide to look for me, I will be waiting.
He lowered the paper.
Nathan sat beside him.
“Dominic?”
Dominic couldn't answer.
He opened another letter.
Then another.
His mother had written about the weather.
His birthdays.
The pies she baked in borrowed kitchens.
She asked whether he'd finished college.
Whether he'd found someone he loved.
Whether he was sleeping enough.
Even when she had nothing, she'd worried about him.
In one letter, she wrote that she'd found a temporary job washing dishes and had saved enough money to buy a Christmas card.
In another, she apologized for sending a birthday present she couldn't afford.
The present was a small knitted scarf.
Dominic remembered it.
Patricia had thrown it away, claiming the sender was trying to manipulate him.
He had stood there and let her.
Nathan opened a separate folder.
Inside were photocopies of returned envelopes and instructions signed by Anthony Moretti.
One document stated:
All correspondence from Evelyn Moretti is to be redirected to family administration. Dominic is not to be contacted without my approval.
Nathan stared.
“Dad signed this.”
Dominic looked over.
Then took the document.
His father's signature was unmistakable.
Another sheet listed approved recipients of Evelyn's letters.
Patricia's name appeared repeatedly.
Dominic slowly stood.
“She had them.”
Nathan frowned.
“Who?”
“Patricia.”
“She managed the household.”
“And she kept my mother's letters locked away.”
Nathan looked at the stack.
“Maybe Dad ordered it.”
“He did.”
Dominic turned.
“But she helped him.”
At noon, Patricia walked into the nursery.
She stopped when she saw the open cabinet.
Her eyes widened.
“What have you done?”
Dominic stood beside the piano.
“Found the truth.”
Patricia looked at the letters.
Then at Nathan.
“You had no right to enter this room.”
Dominic stared.
“It's my house.”
“Your father wanted his private belongings respected!”
“My father wanted his lies protected.”
Patricia's face hardened.
“Be very careful.”
Dominic held up a letter.
“Did you read these?”
She looked away.
“Your father handled Evelyn's correspondence.”
“Did you?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
Patricia crossed her arms.
“I did what was necessary to protect you.”
Dominic almost laughed.
“Protect me?”
“Your mother was unstable.”
“She wrote me seventeen letters.”
“Exactly. She was obsessed.”
Dominic stared.
“She was my mother.”
“And she was dangerous.”
“To whom?”
Patricia stepped closer.
“To this family.”
Dominic's voice dropped.
“No. She was dangerous to your secrets.”
Nathan stood.
“Mom, please tell us the truth.”
Patricia turned toward him.
“Stay out of this.”
Nathan shook his head.
“I can't.”
She stared.
“Excuse me?”
He swallowed.
“I remember seeing one of Evelyn's letters when I was sixteen.”
Dominic turned.
Nathan's eyes filled.
“I found it on your desk.”
Patricia went pale.
Nathan continued.
“You told me she was trying to trick Dominic.”
“Because she was!”
“Then why did she write about wanting to see him?”
Patricia's hands trembled.
“Children don't understand adult matters.”
Nathan gave a bitter laugh.
“I'm thirty-two.”
“Then act like it!”
The words echoed across the room.
For a moment, Patricia seemed almost surprised by her own anger.
Dominic approached the doorway.
“Get out.”
Patricia stared.
“You cannot throw me out of my own family.”
“I'm telling you to leave this room.”
She looked at him with open hatred.
“You think finding a few sentimental letters changes everything?”
Dominic held her gaze.
“No.”
He lifted the document bearing Anthony's signature.
“This changes everything.”
After Patricia left, Samuel examined the papers.
He made careful copies and began arranging independent authentication.
Then he noticed a small handwritten mark on one of the letters.
It was a five-pointed star.
Beside it stood a single word.
Mercy.
Dominic frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Samuel examined the envelope.
“Possibly a location.”
Nathan leaned closer.
“Maybe it's a person.”
Dominic thought of the pie.
The star his mother had always placed on the crust.
The promise that it would help him find his way home.
He turned the envelope over.
On the back, barely visible, was another line.
Ask Silas what happened to the workers.
Dominic went still.
“Silas Webb?”
Samuel looked up.
“The old accountant?”
Dominic nodded.
Silas had handled the Moretti family's finances for more than thirty years before disappearing from public life.
Anthony once told Dominic he'd retired overseas.
But nobody seemed to know where.
Samuel studied the writing.
“Why would Evelyn mention him?”
Dominic looked toward the locked cabinet.
“Because he knew something Dad didn't want me to find.”
That evening, Dominic delivered copies of the letters to Evelyn.
They sat in her modest temporary apartment.
She opened the first envelope.
Her hand began trembling.
“You found them.”
“Yes.”
She touched the handwriting.
“I thought they'd been destroyed.”
“Some were.”
Evelyn looked up.
Dominic swallowed.
“I burned the letters that reached me.”
For a moment, her face tightened with grief.
Then she placed the envelope down.
“Thank you for telling me.”
He shook his head.
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
She took his hand.
There was no instant forgiveness in her expression.
Only love.
And twenty years of pain they could no longer pretend hadn't happened.
Before Dominic left, Evelyn looked toward the window.
“Did you find Silas?”
“Not yet.”
She nodded slowly.
“He was the only person who tried to help me.”
Dominic sat forward.
“What did he know?”
Evelyn's voice dropped.
“The two million dollars your father accused me of stealing was only the beginning.”
He stared.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at him with frightened eyes.
“Your father didn't just steal money, Dominic.”
A long silence passed.
May you like
Then she whispered the words that would haunt him for weeks.
“He built your fortune on the graves of seven men whose families never received a dollar.”
