Chapter 2 - NINE O'CLOCK
The first thing Luca did was ask Sophie what she wanted before anyone discussed the photographs again.
"I want to sleep in my own room," she told him, "and I want Rachel to read me the funny book about the dog."
"Then we'll make sure you can do that," he said.
The second thing he did was tell Daniel that no one was to ask his daughter for testimony that night. I was relieved. Too many adults had already treated Sophie like the center of a performance they controlled.
Mrs. Carter and I took Sophie upstairs. She put on soft blue pajamas, selected her pink scarf instead of the wig, and chose the dog book. I read the first three chapters in silly voices. By the time the dog escaped through a bakery window, her eyes had begun to close. Still, she kept looking toward the doorway.
"If I fall asleep, will Daddy be here tomorrow?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
"Promise?"
"He's downstairs, and he's coming up when his meeting's over."
She thought for a moment. "Can you leave the yellow light on?"
"Of course."
I waited until her breathing deepened before I slipped into the corridor. Daniel was outside, speaking quietly to a woman in a navy coat. He introduced her as Ellen Marsh, Luca's attorney. She shook my hand without studying my uniform, which I appreciated more than I expected.
"We may need your account of what you heard," she said. "You can write it in your own words. Please don't delete anything from your phone, even duplicates."
"Will someone make Sophie give a statement?"
"Not tonight. If it becomes necessary later, we can arrange an age-appropriate interview with someone trained to speak with children."
I let out a breath. "Thank you."
Downstairs, the magnificent ballroom looked like a party had been abandoned during an evacuation. Half-eaten desserts sat beside extinguished candles. A florist gathered fallen petals into a cardboard box. In the center of the long table sat Sophie's brown wig, untouched, as if no one had wanted to decide what to do with it.
Evan Price was waiting by the fireplace with his laptop. He looked about thirty, with nervous eyes and the exhausted posture of a man who had realized that doing his job according to instructions didn't make the result harmless.
"I shouldn't have taken those photographs," he said when he saw me.
"No," I answered. "You shouldn't have."
He flinched but didn't argue. "I didn't know she was going to provoke the child. I did know Sophie didn't want the camera. That should have been enough."
Ellen asked him to show us the upload history. He opened a dashboard displaying thumbnails, timestamps, and file destinations. Luca stood behind us, hands folded, refusing to look away.
At 6:42 p.m., Vanessa's sponsor received four preview images. At 7:03, an event assistant marked the campaign copy approved. The nine o'clock distribution contained ten photographs, a statement attributed to Luca, and the fabricated quote from Sophie.
"Who can cancel it?" Luca asked.
"The agency administrator," Evan said. "I've asked her. She says the sponsor owns a separate copy."
"Then call her again with Ellen on the line."
The administrator, a woman named Celia Ward, answered on the third ring. Her tone began with extravagant politeness and ended somewhere between irritation and alarm.
"Mr. Moretti," she said through the speaker, "this is a major awareness opportunity. The campaign has already been promised to partner organizations."
"My daughter did not consent," Luca replied.
"We have your authorization."
"You have a forged document. Suspend the release, preserve the complete audit trail, and do not share a single additional image."
"If we stop at this stage, there may be contractual penalties."
"Send them to my attorney."
Ellen intervened. She requested written confirmation, a list of every recipient, preservation of system logs, and steps to withdraw files already transmitted. Celia tried twice to steer the conversation toward an informal settlement. Ellen steered it back toward records.
When the call ended, a confirmation email appeared at 8:38. The scheduled distribution had been paused.
I should have felt relieved. Instead I thought about the preview at Bellini Media Holdings, where Vanessa's relatives could forward an image in seconds.
"You still need that copy back," I said.
"Yes," Ellen answered. "And we have to be honest that a copy may survive. Stopping the next release matters even if it cannot undo the first."
Luca's phone rang. He read the caller's name and went into the hall. He returned less than a minute later, grim-faced.
"Vanessa says she was only trying to help the foundation," he said. "She's demanding that we pay the media agency to stay quiet."
Evan frowned. "That's not what my agreement says. They can't require payment to honor a subject's withdrawal of consent when consent was never established."
"Please give Ellen the contract," Luca said.
I watched Evan forward another document and wondered what other pieces of paper had moved through this mansion while everyone, including me, carried on as normal.
At 8:52, Mrs. Carter brought coffee for the adults and a wrapped sandwich for me. "You missed dinner," she said.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway. You won't help that little girl by fainting."
She sat beside me while I forced down half the sandwich. Mrs. Carter had worked here since Sophie was born. Her hands were worn, and her voice carried the kind of authority that never required shouting.
"Vanessa wanted all of Sophie's medical appointments on the shared calendar," she murmured. "I refused. After Caroline died, Mr. Moretti told me those details were private."
"Did she get them another way?"
"I don't know. But last week she had an assistant in the family office printing files. When I asked, she said they were donor background notes."
A cold feeling spread through me. "Files about Sophie?"
"I couldn't see the titles."
I told Ellen, who made a note and asked Daniel to protect the office computers from changes. She was careful not to assume what the files contained. I was grateful for that, too. Rumor had already hurt this family enough.
At precisely nine, nobody in the ballroom spoke. Evan refreshed his screen. The job status showed suspended. We waited another minute and refreshed again. Still suspended.
Then Luca lowered his shoulders for the first time all evening.
"Thank you," he told Evan.
The photographer shook his head. "I have a lot to make right."
"So do I," Luca said.
I went upstairs to check on Sophie. Her door was open a few inches. I could hear Luca arrive behind me, then pause in the hallway as I quietly stepped aside. He looked at his daughter sleeping under the yellow night-light, the pink scarf folded on the pillow next to her, and grief crossed his face with such force that I had to look away.
"Caroline always knew when Sophie was uncomfortable," he said softly. "I thought Vanessa would learn. I mistook planning for caring."
"You can learn to ask Sophie," I told him.
He nodded. "You're right."
The next morning began with rain tapping against the kitchen windows and a phone call from my mother. She had seen an alert from her medical billing office. An installment arrangement we'd negotiated months earlier had been marked canceled. Unless I paid the outstanding balance immediately, the balance would be sent to collections.
"It might just be a computer problem," Mom said, trying to sound calm. "Don't worry at work."
But I remembered Vanessa's threat that I would be unemployed before breakfast. I also remembered her habit of making cruel promises sound casual. I saved the message and called the billing office directly. The clerk confirmed someone had requested a change to the payment plan using personal details that were not public.
"Who requested it?" I asked.
"I'm not able to identify the caller until we complete a review. We can open a fraud dispute and restore a temporary hold."
"Please do."
My hands shook after I ended the call. My mother had worked hard her entire life. Her illness was not a lever for strangers to pull.
I took the alert to Daniel rather than trying to confront Vanessa. He agreed to preserve it and suggested I contact the billing office's privacy team. He also reminded me that accepting help from Luca wasn't a condition of telling the truth.
"I'm not asking him for money," I said.
"Then don't," Daniel answered. "We're looking into whether someone obtained your information improperly. Those are different questions."
In the breakfast room, Luca had set two plates at the small round table. Sophie arrived in her pink scarf and slippers. He pushed one plate toward her, and she grinned at the strawberry cut into a star.
For a moment I saw what this house might have been before the party became a scandal: a father and daughter arguing gently about how much syrup belonged on pancakes.
Then Luca's phone vibrated. He read the message, and the warmth left his face.
"The nine o'clock distribution was stopped," he said. "But Bellini Media sent a preview to one outside recipient before the suspension."
"Who?" I asked.
"A donor relations consultant named Graham Vale."
Sophie looked up from her pancake. "Is that bad?"
Luca turned his phone face down. "It's an adult problem. I'm going to work on it, and I won't ask you to fix it."
She considered that, then returned to her breakfast.
Later, Ellen showed us the message forwarded by Graham Vale. It wasn't a request to delete the pictures. It was a demand for a private meeting before the foundation's board vote on Friday. Attached was a spreadsheet titled CHILDREN'S HOPE — CAMPAIGN RECOVERY.
I scanned the first lines. The numbers weren't donations. They were expected returns, percentages, and projected sales of media rights.
Beside one entry, someone had written a name I recognized far too well.
SOPHIE MORETTI — LEAD ASSET.
"She's nine," I whispered.
May you like
Luca stared at the words. His face went white with anger, but when he finally spoke, his voice was steady.
"Then Friday's board meeting starts with one question," he said. "Who decided my child was an asset?"
