Chapter 4 - THE CHILD WHO WAS NEVER LOST
At 2:17 in the morning, Vincent Moretti was standing in the hospital archives with a file in his hands.
He had been there for forty minutes.
He hadn't sat down once.
Marcus stood across from him, surrounded by boxes of records that had been sealed for decades.
“We found the delivery register.”
Vincent looked up.
“And?”
Marcus placed a yellowed ledger on the table.
“There were four births recorded between 11:00 p.m. and 3:00 a.m. on the night Elena disappeared.”
Vincent opened it.
Four names.
Four mothers.
Four babies.
He read each entry carefully.
Then he stopped.
One line had been crossed out.
Not erased.
Crossed out.
BABY GIRL — MOTHER: ELENA MORETTI.
Beside it was a handwritten note:
TRANSFERRED.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Transferred where?”
Marcus shook his head.
“There is no destination.”
“Who signed it?”
Marcus pointed.
A signature.
Dr. Samuel Reed.
Vincent stared at the name.
“Is he alive?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“One daughter.”
“Find her.”
Marcus nodded.
Vincent turned another page.
There was something written in the margin.
A single sentence.
The girl was not taken. She was exchanged.
Vincent's stomach tightened.
He read it again.
Exchanged.
Not kidnapped.
Not stolen.
Exchanged.
Someone had deliberately switched one newborn for another.
But why?
And who had ordered it?
A noise came from the hallway.
Vincent immediately reached for his gun.
Marcus did the same.
The lights flickered.
Then went out.
“Sir.”
“I know.”
A shadow moved beyond the archive door.
Marcus stepped forward.
The door slammed shut.
Vincent fired once into the lock.
The door burst open.
Nobody was there.
Only a small envelope lay on the floor.
Vincent picked it up.
Inside was a photograph.
A young nurse holding two babies.
On the back:
ASK WHO PAID DR. REED.
Marcus stared.
“Sir…”
Vincent nodded.
“Find the nurse.”
“We have no name.”
Vincent turned the photograph over again.
There was a hospital badge visible on the nurse's uniform.
He zoomed in.
The name was barely readable.
Lydia Kane.
“Find her.”
Three hours later, they found her.
Lydia Kane was eighty-one years old and living alone in a small house outside the city.
She opened the door with a cane in her hand.
When she saw Vincent, she immediately tried to close it.
He stopped the door gently.
“Mrs. Kane.”
“I don't know you.”
“You knew my family.”
Her face changed.
“I knew a lot of families.”
“You knew Elena.”
Lydia's hand began to tremble.
“Leave.”
“I can't.”
“Please.”
Vincent lowered his voice.
“I'm looking for the girl.”
Lydia stared at him.
“What girl?”
“The one who was exchanged.”
The old woman's face collapsed.
She stepped backward.
“You shouldn't be looking.”
“I've been looking for twenty-seven years without knowing it.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then help me.”
Lydia looked at him for a long moment.
Finally, she stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The house smelled of old books and lavender.
Lydia sat in a chair.
Vincent remained standing.
“Tell me what happened.”
Lydia looked at him.
“Elena gave birth to a girl.”
“Yes.”
“But the girl wasn't supposed to survive.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your father ordered the doctors to tell everyone Elena had lost the baby.”
His jaw tightened.
“My father knew?”
“He paid them.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“And the exchange?”
Lydia swallowed.
“Another woman gave birth that night.”
“Who?”
“Sarah Hayes.”
Vincent froze.
“Sarah Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“The same Hayes family?”
Lydia nodded.
“Sarah's baby was born sick.”
“What happened?”
“The doctors believed the baby would die.”
Vincent waited.
“But Elena's daughter was healthy.”
His blood ran cold.
“So they switched them.”
Lydia nodded.
“Your father wanted Elena's daughter hidden.”
“Why?”
“Because she had something.”
“What?”
“A blood condition.”
Vincent frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Lydia looked at him.
“It wasn't a medical condition.”
She paused.
“It was a genetic marker.”
Vincent stared.
“A marker for what?”
Lydia whispered:
“Control of the Moretti trust.”
Silence.
Vincent finally understood.
His father hadn't created the trust simply to pass down money.
He had created a bloodline requirement.
Only a specific descendant could legally control the assets.
And Elena's daughter carried the genetic marker.
“So my father switched the babies.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make sure the real heir could never claim the trust.”
Vincent's mind raced.
Then he remembered Emma.
The girl everyone thought was adopted.
The girl carrying a Moretti birthmark.
The girl whose records had been fabricated.
“Where is the other child?”
Lydia's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know.”
“You must.”
“I only know where she was sent.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
“Who raised her?”
Lydia looked down.
“The Hayes family.”
Vincent's heart stopped.
“Then Emma…”
Lydia shook her head.
“No.”
Vincent stared.
“Emma was not the Hayes baby.”
“Then who is she?”
Lydia whispered:
“She is Elena's daughter.”
Vincent couldn't breathe.
“But you said the babies were exchanged.”
“They were.”
“Then why does Emma have the Moretti blood?”
“Because the exchange was reversed.”
Vincent stared.
“Explain.”
“Years later, someone discovered the truth.”
“Who?”
Lydia looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“My mother knew?”
“She found the original records.”
“What did she do?”
“She took the girl back.”
Vincent whispered:
“Emma.”
Lydia nodded.
“But she couldn't return her to Elena.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena was already dead.”
“So my mother gave her to Sofia.”
“Yes.”
Vincent stepped backward.
Everything fell into place.
His mother had secretly taken Elena's daughter.
She had hidden her inside the family.
She had arranged a fake adoption.
And somehow, Sofia had become the child's mother.
But there was still one question.
“Where is the other girl?”
Lydia looked at him.
“She was raised under another name.”
“What name?”
Lydia hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Isabella Hayes.”
Vincent's heart stopped.
“Where is she now?”
Lydia looked away.
“I don't know.”
A phone rang.
Marcus.
Vincent answered.
“What?”
“We found her.”
Vincent froze.
“Where?”
“Manhattan.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
His missing niece wasn't missing anymore.
She had been living twenty-seven years without knowing who she was.
And Vincent had just learned something even more disturbing.
Marcus continued.
“Sir, there's a problem.”
“What?”
“She isn't alone.”
“Who is with her?”
Marcus paused.
“Thomas Moretti.”
May you like
Vincent's face went cold.
His brother had found her first.
