Chapter 4 — The Boy in the Photograph
The voice came again.
“Daddy?”
Marcus stood frozen in the darkness.
His hand was still wrapped around his phone.
The photograph of the little boy glowed faintly on the screen.
Brown eyes.
Dark hair.
The same slight crease between the eyebrows Marcus saw every morning when he looked in the mirror.
It was impossible.
It had to be.
Yet the voice had sounded real.
Close.
Far too close.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
Marcus reached for the emergency light switch.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Then he heard footsteps.
Small footsteps.
Three quick steps.
Then silence.
Marcus moved toward the sound.
“Hey.”
His voice softened.
“You don't have to be afraid.”
A tiny shape appeared at the end of the corridor.
Marcus raised his phone.
The light illuminated a little boy.
Perhaps five years old.
He wore a gray sweater and dark trousers.
The silver pendant hung against his chest.
Marcus stared at it.
“What's your name?”
The boy didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at Marcus.
Really looked at him.
Then whispered:
“Are you really my daddy?”
Marcus's throat tightened.
He couldn't speak.
The boy took one step forward.
Then another.
Marcus slowly crouched.
“Who told you that?”
The boy glanced behind him.
“Her.”
“Who?”
The boy's eyes widened.
“The lady.”
“What lady?”
“The one who says you're dangerous.”
Marcus's blood turned cold.
“Victoria?”
The boy didn't answer.
Then a door opened somewhere behind them.
The child immediately ran.
“Wait!”
Marcus chased him.
The corridor twisted.
A door slammed.
Marcus reached it.
Locked.
He hit the handle.
“Open the door!”
Nothing.
Then a woman's voice came through the darkness.
“Stop looking for what isn't yours.”
Marcus froze.
Victoria.
“You.”
Her voice was calm.
Almost amused.
“You've been very busy tonight.”
“Where is the boy?”
“What boy?”
“Don't play games with me.”
Victoria laughed softly.
“You're finally asking the right questions.”
Marcus slammed his fist against the door.
“Where is he?”
“You don't want to know.”
“I already know enough.”
“No.”
Victoria's voice became colder.
“You know what someone wanted you to know.”
Marcus stepped back.
“Why did you hide him?”
“Because I was protecting him.”
“From me?”
“From this family.”
Marcus stared at the door.
“What did you do to Elena?”
Silence.
Then:
“Nothing she didn't survive.”
His blood ran cold.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Victoria didn't answer.
The emergency lights suddenly flickered on.
The corridor was empty.
Victoria was gone.
So was the boy.
Marcus returned upstairs at dawn.
Elena was standing beside the window.
She hadn't slept.
The moment she saw his face, she knew.
“What happened?”
Marcus closed the door.
“I found something.”
“What?”
He showed her the photograph.
Elena stared.
Her breathing stopped.
She touched the screen.
“Where did you get this?”
“In the laboratory.”
Her fingers trembled.
“I know him.”
Marcus's heart dropped.
“You've seen him?”
“No.”
She closed her eyes.
“Not like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“I've drawn him.”
Marcus stared at her.
“What?”
“In my dreams.”
She walked to the desk and opened a drawer.
Inside was a sketchbook.
Elena flipped through several pages.
Flowers.
The estate.
A crib.
Then a child.
Again.
And again.
The same child.
Marcus looked at the drawings.
“When did you draw these?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't remember?”
“I would wake up and find them.”
Marcus turned the page.
The boy was standing beside a woman.
The woman's face had been scratched out.
But her dress was unmistakable.
Crimson velvet.
Marcus looked at Elena.
“You drew Victoria.”
Elena shook her head.
“I didn't know who she was.”
Marcus felt a chill.
“What?”
“These drawings started before I ever saw that dress.”
He stared at the pages.
“How long?”
“Three months.”
The exact timeline.
Marcus sat down.
“Elena…”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“I found a recording.”
“From the laboratory?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Your first pregnancy was viable.”
Elena's face went blank.
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
“The doctor said the baby survived.”
Elena stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because I heard the recording.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“She told me my baby died.”
“Who?”
“Victoria.”
Marcus stood.
“Then she lied.”
Elena covered her mouth.
“And the boy?”
Marcus showed her the photograph again.
“I think he might be yours.”
Elena looked at him.
“And yours.”
She froze.
Marcus's voice broke.
“I saw him downstairs.”
Her face went white.
“You saw him?”
“He called me Daddy.”
Elena stepped backward.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Marcus.”
“I couldn't reach him.”
She grabbed his arm.
“You have to find him.”
“I will.”
“You don't understand.”
Her voice became frantic.
“If that child is ours…”
She looked toward the door.
“…then Victoria didn't just lie about a pregnancy.”
Marcus finished the thought.
“She stole our child.”
At nine that morning, Marcus called the police.
Not local authorities.
A private investigator first.
Someone outside the Moretti family's influence.
His name was Daniel Cross.
Former federal investigator.
He arrived at the estate before noon.
Marcus met him in the library.
Daniel studied the photograph.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone sent it to me.”
“Who?”
“Unknown.”
“Does the child have a name?”
“No.”
Daniel zoomed into the image.
“School logo.”
Marcus leaned forward.
Daniel enlarged it.
“Saint Andrew's Academy.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
Marcus stared.
Chicago.
The same city where Elena had lived before marrying him.
Daniel looked at him.
“You know this school?”
“No.”
Daniel tapped the screen.
“Look at the date.”
Marcus did.
The photograph had been taken yesterday.
The boy had been enrolled at the school for almost four years.
Four years.
Marcus felt sick.
Four years meant the child had been alive long before Marcus discovered the truth.
Daniel looked at Elena's medical file.
“You said the first pregnancy was approximately five years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Then the timeline is plausible.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Find him.”
Daniel nodded.
“I'll need everything.”
“You'll have it.”
Daniel closed the file.
“There's one problem.”
“What?”
“If Victoria knows we're looking…”
Marcus interrupted.
“She already knows.”
Daniel studied him.
“Then move fast.”
That afternoon, Elena received a package.
No return address.
She opened it alone.
Inside was a small wooden music box.
Her hands froze.
She knew it.
She had seen it before.
In a dream.
She turned the key.
A slow melody played.
Elena's eyes widened.
Images flashed through her mind.
A hospital room.
A newborn crying.
A nurse carrying a baby.
Victoria standing beside a crib.
Then Elena herself, screaming:
“Give him back!”
She dropped the music box.
Her knees buckled.
Marcus rushed into the room.
“Elena!”
She grabbed his shirt.
“I remember.”
“What?”
“The baby.”
Marcus knelt beside her.
“What do you remember?”
“He was alive.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I remember holding him.”
Her tears fell freely.
“He was tiny.”
Marcus's eyes filled.
“What else?”
“He had your eyes.”
He closed his eyes.
Elena continued.
“Victoria took him.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened next?”
Elena's face twisted.
“She told me you had died.”
Marcus stared.
“What?”
“She said you had been killed in a car accident.”
Marcus went still.
“She told me the family would blame me.”
Elena's breathing became shallow.
“She gave me something.”
“What?”
“A pill.”
Marcus's blood ran cold.
“Did you take it?”
“I don't know.”
She pressed her palms against her temples.
“After that, everything disappeared.”
Marcus looked at the music box.
The same strategy.
Drug.
Fear.
Memory loss.
Then manipulation.
Victoria hadn't simply lied.
She had systematically erased pieces of Elena's life.
Daniel returned that evening.
He looked grim.
“We found the school.”
Marcus stood.
“And the boy?”
“Enrolled under another surname.”
“What surname?”
Daniel handed him a document.
Marcus read it.
His face changed.
Alexander Vale.
Elena stared.
“Vale?”
Marcus looked at her.
“That's not a Moretti name.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Who signed the enrollment documents?”
Daniel slid another page across the desk.
Marcus looked.
The signature belonged to:
Victoria Moretti.
Silence.
Elena covered her mouth.
Daniel continued.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“The child's birth certificate lists the mother as deceased.”
Marcus's heart stopped.
“Who?”
Daniel turned the document around.
The name was:
Elena Moretti.
Elena stared at it.
“I was declared dead?”
Daniel nodded.
“Legally, according to this document, Elena Moretti died five years ago.”
Marcus looked at his wife.
“That means…”
Daniel finished:
“Someone created a false identity for your child.”
Elena's voice barely existed.
“Why?”
Daniel looked at Marcus.
“Because whoever did this didn't want anyone to know the boy existed.”
That night, Marcus returned to the basement.
This time Elena went with him.
The laboratory was dark.
They walked between the tables.
Elena stopped.
She recognized something.
“This.”
She pointed toward a metal cabinet.
Marcus opened it.
Inside were dozens of files.
Elena reached for one.
A photograph fell out.
She picked it up.
Her face went white.
It showed her.
Pregnant.
Standing beside Victoria.
But Elena had never seen the photograph before.
On the back was a date.
Five years earlier.
And a note:
Subject remains unaware of transfer plan.
Marcus took the photograph.
“Transfer plan?”
Elena looked at another file.
Then another.
All contained references to:
PROJECT V.
Marcus opened the largest folder.
Inside were medical records.
Psychological assessments.
Drug schedules.
Behavioral observations.
Elena's name appeared on nearly every page.
One document stopped Marcus cold.
OBJECTIVE: Establish psychological instability prior to estate succession.
He looked at Elena.
“This was planned.”
She stared at the page.
“Before I married you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Marcus kept reading.
Then he found the answer.
Inheritance transfer contingent upon Elena being declared mentally incompetent.
Marcus's face hardened.
“Victoria wasn't trying to drive you out.”
Elena looked at him.
“She was trying to make you legally incapable of owning anything.”
He turned another page.
A list of assets appeared.
Property.
Companies.
Trusts.
Offshore accounts.
Then one name appeared repeatedly:
Elena Moretti — primary beneficiary.
Marcus looked at her.
“She needed you discredited.”
Elena's eyes filled with tears.
“But why?”
Marcus looked at the final document.
The answer was there.
Upon Elena's incapacitation, control transfers to Victoria Moretti.
Elena whispered:
“She wanted the estate.”
Marcus nodded.
“But that still doesn't explain the child.”
A sound came from behind them.
A soft click.
They turned.
The laboratory door was closing.
Marcus rushed toward it.
Too late.
Locked.
Elena stared at the computer.
The screen suddenly came alive.
A video began playing.
Victoria appeared.
She was sitting in the same laboratory.
Five years younger.
Beside her stood a newborn baby.
Elena gasped.
“That’s him.”
Marcus stared.
Victoria looked into the camera.
“If you're watching this, then you've found the laboratory.”
She smiled.
“I always wondered how long it would take.”
Elena stepped closer.
Victoria continued:
“You think I stole your child.”
A pause.
“You're wrong.”
Marcus clenched his fists.
Victoria looked directly into the camera.
“I saved him from you.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
Victoria's voice remained calm.
“Because five years ago, Elena, you weren't the woman you are now.”
The video cut to black.
Then another image appeared.
A medical report.
The date:
Five years earlier.
And beneath it:
PATIENT: ELENA MORETTI
DIAGNOSIS: SEVERE PSYCHOTIC EPISODE.
Elena stared at the screen.
Her knees weakened.
Marcus caught her.
“No.”
But the screen changed again.
Another report.
PATIENT CLAIMS CHILD WAS TAKEN.
Then:
NO CHILD FOUND.
Then:
PATIENT INSISTS VICTORIA IS RESPONSIBLE.
Marcus stared.
The final line appeared:
RECOMMEND LONG-TERM PSYCHIATRIC OBSERVATION.
Elena looked at Marcus.
“They made me look insane.”
“Yes.”
“But…”
She pointed at the screen.
“What if that report is real?”
Marcus didn't answer.
For the first time, doubt entered his mind.
Not about Victoria.
About the past.
What if Elena really had suffered a psychotic episode?
What if the child had never existed?
What if the photograph was part of another manipulation?
Then the laboratory computer made a sound.
A new file appeared.
VIDEO — ELENA'S FIRST DELIVERY
Marcus clicked it.
The screen showed a hospital room.
Elena was lying on a bed.
Crying.
A newborn baby was placed against her chest.
Marcus's breath stopped.
The baby was alive.
Real.
Elena was laughing through tears.
Then she whispered:
“My son.”
Marcus looked at the timestamp.
Five years ago.
The video was genuine.
His eyes filled.
He turned toward Elena.
She was staring at the screen in disbelief.
Then the video continued.
Victoria entered the room.
She approached the bed.
And said:
“Give him to me.”
Elena screamed.
“No.”
Victoria reached for the child.
A nurse looked away.
The screen went black.
A final message appeared:
THE BOY IS ALIVE.
Then:
BUT HE IS NOT IN CHICAGO ANYMORE.
Marcus stared.
A location appeared.
A small town in Wisconsin.
And beneath it:
COME ALONE.
The laboratory door suddenly unlocked.
Marcus grabbed Elena's hand.
“We're leaving.”
But before they reached the stairs, Elena stopped.
“What?”
She looked behind them.
On the laboratory wall was a photograph they hadn't noticed.
A picture of the little boy.
Standing beside a woman.
The woman's face was visible this time.
It wasn't Victoria.
It was someone Elena recognized.
Someone who had been inside the estate for years.
Someone Marcus trusted completely.
Elena whispered the name.
“Daniel…”
Marcus turned.
“What?”
She pointed at the photograph.
The woman standing beside the child was Marcus's private physician, Dr. Eleanor Hayes.
But Dr. Hayes had supposedly died four years ago.
Marcus stared at the photograph.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice whispered:
“You finally found the boy.”
Marcus's grip tightened.
“Who are you?”
The caller laughed.
Then said:
“Ask your doctor why she faked her death.”
The line went dead.
Marcus looked at Elena.
Neither spoke.
Because suddenly the question was no longer whether Victoria had been telling the truth.
May you like
The real question was much worse:
How many people had been involved in stealing their son?
