Chapter 6 - Eighteen Months Earlier
Delia did not call Anton immediately.
She wanted to.
She also wanted to throw every dish in her apartment against the wall.
Instead she sat at her kitchen table staring at Caleb's business card.
MARCHE GROUP LOGISTICS.
Below the logo:
Raymond Vale — Regional Operations.
She had never heard the name.
Eighteen months ago, Delia had been working administrative shifts at a boutique hotel.
Caleb had been charming.
Unreliable.
Funny.
Afraid of responsibility long before pregnancy entered the picture.
When Delia showed him the test, he stared at it for nearly a minute.
Then he left.
Three days later he told her he needed “time.”
One week later he disappeared.
She had spent months believing simple cowardice explained it.
Now cowardice apparently had a price tag.
Her phone buzzed.
Anton.
She ignored it.
It rang again.
Then a text.
Lucia said Dee six times today. Matteo said it twice. Nico appears personally offended by language.
Despite everything, Delia smiled.
Then another message appeared.
Are you all right?
The smile vanished.
She typed:
No.
Anton called immediately.
This time she answered.
“What happened?”
“Caleb came to the diner.”
“The father?”
She hated that Anton remembered.
“The biological father of the pregnancy, yes.”
“What did he want?”
Delia told him.
Everything.
The envelope.
The warning.
Raymond Vale.
The money.
Anton did not interrupt once.
When she finished, he said, “I'm coming over.”
“No.”
“Delia.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm wearing pajama pants with ducks.”
Silence.
Then, “That is not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
“I'll wait in the hallway.”
She almost laughed.
Then anger returned.
“Anton, why would your family know me before your children were born?”
“I don't know.”
“That isn't comforting.”
“I know.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
“And don't hide anything because you think you're protecting me.”
“I won't.”
“Promise.”
A pause.
“I promise.”
Two hours later Donovan called.
“Raymond Vale worked under Vittorio.”
Delia's grip tightened around her phone.
“Doing what?”
“Operational investigations.”
“That sounds intentionally vague.”
“It was.”
“Was he a private investigator?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why investigate me?”
“We're still finding out.”
Delia closed her eyes.
“Was Caleb telling the truth about money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Delia laughed.
The sound was ugly.
“Apparently I was worth exactly twenty-five grand to abandon.”
“Delia—”
“Don't.”
Donovan went quiet.
She took a breath.
“Sorry.”
“No apology necessary.”
“What was the payment for?”
“The memo line says relocation consulting.”
“That's ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“Where did Caleb relocate?”
“Houston.”
“And then?”
“Denver. Then Atlanta.”
Delia rubbed her forehead.
“Did Vale pay anyone else?”
“We found several payments, but nothing connected to you yet.”
“Why was I investigated?”
“I don't know.”
“Donovan.”
“I genuinely don't.”
She believed him.
That frightened her more.
The next morning Anton met Delia at a quiet café.
No security visible.
She suspected Donovan was somewhere nearby anyway.
Anton placed a folder on the table.
“I found Raymond.”
“Alive?”
Anton blinked.
“Why wouldn't he be?”
“Your family has a reputation.”
“Rumors exaggerate.”
“How much?”
He didn't answer.
Delia sighed.
“Forget I asked.”
“Raymond lives in Florida.”
“Did he talk?”
“Eventually.”
“Anton.”
“I did not threaten him.”
“You added eventually in a very threatening way.”
“I asked repeatedly.”
“That is somehow worse.”
Anton opened the folder.
“Eighteen months ago, Vittorio asked Raymond to investigate several hospital volunteers and community workers.”
Delia frowned.
“Hospital volunteers?”
“Yes.”
“But I wasn't volunteering yet.”
“No.”
She stared.
“Then why me?”
Anton looked grim.
“You had applied.”
Delia remembered.
The application had been part of her grief counseling plan even before the pregnancy loss.
She had started paperwork early.
Then paused.
“You're saying your uncle investigated people who applied to volunteer at Ochsner?”
“Not all volunteers.”
“Then which ones?”
“Those connected to a charitable program Isabella funded.”
Delia's breath caught.
“Isabella?”
Anton nodded.
“My wife quietly donated to neonatal support services.”
Delia leaned back.
“She funded the volunteer program?”
“Part of it.”
“Did she know my name?”
“Possibly from applicant lists.”
“Why would Vittorio care?”
Anton looked away.
“Because Isabella and Vittorio were fighting.”
“About babies?”
“About family control.”
Delia waited.
Anton spoke carefully.
“Isabella believed the Marchetti family treated charity like public relations.”
“That doesn't sound wrong.”
“It wasn't.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“She wanted some donations made anonymously. No press. No family foundation branding.”
“Vittorio hated that?”
“He hated anything he couldn't control.”
Delia looked down.
“So he investigated applicants?”
“Apparently he wanted to know who had access to programs Isabella funded.”
“That still doesn't explain Caleb.”
“No.”
“What did Raymond say?”
Anton hesitated.
“Vittorio asked whether any applicant had financial vulnerabilities.”
Delia's face hardened.
“Meaning poor.”
“Meaning exploitable.”
“Same difference.”
Anton didn't argue.
“And me?”
“Your application listed Caleb as an emergency contact.”
Delia felt sick.
“So Raymond investigated him.”
“Yes.”
“And found someone willing to sell me for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Anton lowered his eyes.
Delia stared out the window.
“What did Vittorio want from Caleb?”
“Raymond claims he doesn't know.”
“I don't believe him.”
“Neither do I.”
Delia looked back.
“Did the money cause Caleb to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“According to Caleb, Raymond told him Delia Marsh would soon become involved with wealthy families through hospital volunteer work.”
“That hadn't happened yet.”
“No.”
“He wanted Caleb gone before it did.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Anton shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Delia stood.
“I need air.”
They walked outside.
The streets were bright with morning sun.
People passed carrying coffee and shopping bags.
Normal lives.
Delia envied them.
Anton stopped beside her.
“I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“My family reached into your life before I even knew you.”
“You didn't do it.”
“It still happened because of people attached to my name.”
Delia crossed her arms.
“You think your name is a disease?”
“Sometimes.”
She looked at him.
“You aren't responsible for everyone who shares it.”
“I was raised to believe the opposite.”
“Maybe your family taught you something stupid.”
A reluctant smile appeared.
“Possibly.”
“Definitely.”
His phone rang.
Donovan.
Anton answered.
He listened silently.
Then his expression changed.
“When did you find it?”
Delia watched.
Anton looked at her.
“Yes. Bring it.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
“Raymond kept archived instructions.”
“For blackmail?”
“Probably.”
“How comforting.”
Anton looked toward the approaching SUV.
Donovan stepped out carrying a sealed document pouch.
Inside was a photocopy of the original request Vittorio sent Raymond.
Anton read the first paragraph.
Then stopped.
Delia took it.
The document was dated eighteen months earlier.
Before her miscarriage.
Before she began volunteering.
Before the Marchetti triplets existed.
Her name appeared halfway down the page.
DELIA MARSH.
Under it were instructions:
Confirm relationship status.
Confirm financial vulnerability.
Determine whether applicant can be discouraged from entering Isabella Marchetti-sponsored neonatal program.
Delia read the final line three times.
Priority designation requested by C.M.
She looked at Anton.
“C.M.”
His face had gone pale.
Celeste Marchetti.
His mother.
And suddenly Vittorio's betrayal no longer looked like one man's plan.
May you like
It looked like something the family had started long before the triplets were born.
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