Chapter 8 - THE DIVORCE PAPERS
Z
The divorce papers arrived the same morning the FBI requested a formal interview.
I stared at the envelope for almost five minutes.
Rachel had drafted everything.
Adrian’s attorneys had made surprisingly few objections.
I expected clauses.
Negotiations.
Maybe some legal maneuver designed to slow me down.
Instead, his signature appeared exactly where it needed to.
Adrian Moretti.
Black ink.
Clean handwriting.
No message.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I felt hollow.
Eleanor found me sitting in the workshop.
“You asked for this.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean it feels good.”
“I know.”
“You still love him?”
I hated the question.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Unfortunately, love has never been the same thing as wisdom.”
I laughed softly.
“No.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“No.”
That answer came easier.
Loving Adrian and returning to him were two different decisions.
I was finally learning that.
Three days later, I met federal investigators.
The evidence in Box 417 was substantial.
Banking records.
Photographs.
Shipping manifests.
Insurance correspondence.
My grandmother had organized everything obsessively.
One investigator, Agent Melissa Crane, looked stunned.
“This could reopen cases that have been dead for twenty years.”
“Then reopen them.”
She studied me.
“You understand Mr. Vale may consider you responsible.”
“He already does.”
“We can place you in protective custody.”
“No.”
“Mrs. Moretti—”
“Bennett.”
She paused.
“Ms. Bennett.”
Hearing it made something in me settle.
“I already have private protection.”
“Provided by your husband.”
“Paid for by him. Controlled by me.”
Agent Crane almost smiled.
“Important distinction?”
“Very.”
By the end of the meeting, authorities had enough to seek warrants against several Vale-controlled storage facilities.
The story leaked forty-eight hours later.
“Historic Art Trafficking Investigation Linked to Detroit Businessman.”
No mention of me.
Yet.
Then Sofia asked to speak with me.
I refused twice.
On the third request, she sent a handwritten letter through Rachel.
Claire,
I know I have no right to ask.
But there are things I did that you don’t know about, and things I’m ashamed of.
If you never forgive me, I understand.
But you deserve the entire truth.
I agreed to one meeting.
Public place.
Security nearby.
Sofia looked different.
No perfect makeup.
No designer coat.
No performance.
She sat across from me in a private room at Rachel’s office.
“I’m sorry.”
I waited.
She swallowed.
“I hated you before I met you.”
“That’s impressive.”
“My father talked about Adrian constantly. The Morettis paid for my school after Dad died. Adrian sent money every Christmas. I built him into something in my head.”
“A man who belonged to you?”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“He was married.”
“I know.”
“You worked for him anyway.”
“Yes.”
“You touched him constantly.”
“Yes.”
“You created problems so he would defend you.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“The vase?”
“I knew what it meant to you.”
That hurt despite already knowing she broke it intentionally.
“Why?”
“Because you told a guest your grandmother gave it to you. Adrian looked at you when you said it.”
I stared.
“That’s why?”
“He looked at you like nobody else existed.”
“So you destroyed it.”
“I wanted him to choose me afterward.”
“And he did.”
Sofia began crying.
“For twenty minutes.”
I almost stood.
She wiped her face.
“Then he came back to the ballroom.”
I froze.
“What?”
“After taking me home.”
I had never heard this.
“He left me downstairs and returned to the hotel. He thought you’d still be there.”
My pulse changed.
“Why didn’t he call?”
“He did.”
I remembered.
I had turned my phone off that night after reaching home.
“He searched the ballroom,” she said. “That’s when he found the pieces.”
I said nothing.
Sofia continued.
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
“I kissed him once.”
The room tilted slightly.
“When?”
“Two months before the ballroom.”
I forced myself to stay still.
“Did he kiss you back?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
“He pushed me away.”
My hands became cold.
“What happened?”
“He told me never to do it again. He transferred me to another office for two weeks.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“His chief of staff said firing Carlo Russo’s daughter would create gossip. Adrian agreed.”
“And he never told me.”
“No.”
That betrayal felt different.
Not an affair.
A secret.
A choice to protect me from information I had every right to know.
“Why tell me now?”
“Because I used his silence.”
She looked straight at me.
“I knew Adrian wouldn’t tell you because he thought telling you would hurt you. So I kept pushing boundaries.”
My stomach turned.
She had weaponized Adrian’s worst habit.
Deciding what I should know.
Deciding what would protect me.
Sofia whispered, “He never slept with me.”
“That doesn’t make what happened okay.”
“I know.”
“He still chose your comfort over mine.”
“I know.”
We sat in silence.
Finally, I stood.
“I don’t forgive you.”
She nodded.
“I understand.”
“But I’m glad you’re alive.”
That made her cry harder.
I left.
Outside, Rachel handed me my coat.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Want to postpone signing?”
I looked at the divorce papers in her hand.
Maybe the revelation that Adrian had rejected Sofia should have changed something.
It didn’t.
Because my marriage had not ended over infidelity.
It ended over trust.
Respect.
Being seen.
I took the pen.
Then I signed my maiden name.
Claire Bennett.
Rachel stared at it.
“You’re legally still Moretti until the decree.”
“I know.”
May you like
I handed the papers back.
“But I’m done waiting for a court to tell me who I am.”
