Chapter 12 - THE SISTER IN THE RED COAT
Z
Gabriel told Chicago the truth forty-eight hours later.
Not all of it.
Not yet.
But enough.
He stood behind a podium outside Lucia House with Eleanor beside him and acknowledged publicly that companies once controlled by his father had funded Saint Agnes Children’s Home.
He confirmed that the home had been used in a network of illegal adoptions.
He confirmed that his mother attempted to remove children before the fire.
He announced funding for an independent investigation and asked any former residents to come forward.
Every major Chicago station carried it live.
Reporters shouted questions.
“Did your father order the fire?”
“Did Lucia Moretti participate in illegal adoptions?”
“Were you aware?”
“Are there more victims?”
Gabriel answered what he could.
“I was not aware.”
“My family benefited from systems built on silence.”
“If evidence implicates people carrying my name, it will be released.”
Eleanor watched reporters react to that sentence.
Some expected defensiveness.
Others expected threats.
Gabriel offered neither.
At the edge of the crowd stood a woman in a red coat.
Eleanor saw her immediately.
Mid-thirties.
Dark curls.
Serious face.
Silver medal at her throat.
Emma.
Eleanor knew before Gabriel did.
The resemblance was not obvious.
Emma had Salvatore’s eyes.
Not Gabriel’s.
But Eleanor had spent enough time staring at old family photographs to recognize the angle of the jaw.
The way she held her shoulders.
Still.
Controlled.
As if emotion was a luxury best purchased privately.
Eleanor touched Gabriel’s hand.
He followed her gaze.
Emma saw him see her.
Then walked away.
Gabriel abandoned the podium.
Reporters erupted.
Eleanor followed.
Marco swore loudly.
Emma moved fast through the crowd.
Not running.
That would attract attention.
Gabriel caught up near the alley.
“Emma.”
She stopped.
Slowly turned.
For several seconds, half siblings who had lived entire lives without knowing each other simply stared.
Emma spoke first.
“You look like him.”
Gabriel absorbed it.
“So do you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
That surprised her.
Gabriel stepped closer.
“Are you my sister?”
Emma laughed.
“You tell me.”
“I’m asking.”
“I have DNA.”
“Then yes.”
The answer changed something in both of them.
Emma’s eyes filled.
She blinked the tears away angrily.
“I didn’t come for a reunion.”
“I assumed.”
“I came because your father destroyed people.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Gabriel’s expression tightened.
Emma stepped forward.
“He wasn’t just cruel inside your mansion. He bought judges. He sold children. He had women beaten. He had men disappear.”
“I know what he was.”
“You knew enough to inherit.”
Eleanor saw Gabriel take the blow.
He did not defend himself.
Emma noticed.
“You’re different than I expected.”
“That disappoints people frequently.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then her face hardened again.
“Rebecca told me about you.”
“Rebecca knows you?”
“She practically raised me.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
Emma looked at her.
“The motel girl.”
Eleanor blinked.
“You know about that?”
“Lucia wrote about you.”
Gabriel stared.
“What?”
Emma looked at him.
“She kept journals.”
“Where?”
“With me.”
Silence.
Gabriel’s anger returned.
Not at Emma.
At a lifetime of locked doors.
“You’ve had my mother’s journals?”
“For twelve years.”
“Why?”
“Because she left them to me.”
“And nothing to her son?”
Emma’s eyes flashed.
“She left you an empire.”
“That wasn’t hers to leave.”
“No. It was his.”
The word his meant Salvatore.
Gabriel took a breath.
Eleanor could almost see him deciding not to become the man Emma expected.
“Why did Lucia give you the journals?”
Emma looked down.
“Because after the fire, she found me.”
“What happened?”
“I was placed with a family in Michigan.”
“Illegal adoption?”
“Yes.”
“Bad?”
Emma did not answer.
That was enough.
Rebecca eventually located her.
Then Lucia learned where Emma had gone and intervened.
“She paid to get me out,” Emma said. “Found me another home. Better one.”
“Why not bring you to us?”
Emma looked at Gabriel like he was naive.
“Your father was alive.”
“He would have hurt you.”
“He would have killed me.”
Gabriel said nothing.
Emma continued.
“Lucia visited until I was sixteen. Then she got sick.”
Gabriel looked wounded.
“My mother had another daughter in Michigan while I thought she was traveling for medical treatment.”
“She wasn’t my mother.”
“Then what was she?”
Emma hesitated.
“The first adult who apologized to me for failing.”
Eleanor felt that sentence settle over them.
Gabriel asked, “Failing at Saint Agnes?”
“Yes.”
“She tried to go back.”
“I know.”
“You know she was shot?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you angry?”
Emma looked at him.
“Because trying doesn’t resurrect seven children.”
Gabriel nodded.
“No.”
That answer disarmed her more than argument would have.
Eleanor stepped in.
“What do you want from Gabriel?”
Emma looked at her.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“I want the records public.”
“Then we agree.”
“I want every name.”
“Then we agree.”
“I want Saint Agnes rebuilt as a memorial.”
Gabriel answered.
“Done.”
Emma stared.
“And I want the Moretti name removed from Lucia House.”
That one landed differently.
Eleanor looked toward the building.
It was not named Moretti.
It was Lucia House.
But everyone knew.
Emma continued.
“My sister died while Lucia was trying to stop your father. You turned Lucia into a symbol.”
Eleanor replied quietly.
“She became one before I knew about Saint Agnes.”
“Then change it.”
Gabriel looked at Eleanor.
This was hers.
Not his.
Lucia House was Eleanor’s project.
Her work.
Her decision.
Eleanor considered.
“No.”
Emma’s eyes hardened.
Gabriel remained silent.
Eleanor continued.
“I won’t erase Lucia because she failed.”
Emma stared.
“I won’t turn her into a saint either. We’ll put Saint Agnes inside the building’s history. Every name. Every mistake. Every child.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“Maybe not.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“But survivors don’t need perfect people. They need honest ones.”
Emma looked away.
Rebecca emerged at the end of the alley.
She had been watching.
Grace’s older sister.
The woman from the bus shelter.
Gabriel finally understood.
“You came here together.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Mostly.”
Emma looked irritated.
“She insisted on watching.”
“I’ve been watching you make terrible decisions since you were sixteen.”
Emma sighed.
“You see what I deal with?”
For one strange second, they looked almost like family.
Then Rebecca faced Gabriel.
“There’s something else.”
“Of course there is.”
She ignored the sarcasm.
“Daniel Keane’s father didn’t destroy every adoption record.”
Gabriel’s attention sharpened.
“Where are the rest?”
“In an old church archive.”
“Which church?”
Rebecca looked directly at Father Anthony, who had followed the chaos outside and now stood near the alley entrance.
“St. Michael’s.”
Father Anthony’s face changed.
Gabriel saw it.
“You knew.”
The priest removed his glasses.
“I knew there was a sealed archive.”
“What’s inside?”
“I was told never to open it unless Lucia returned.”
Gabriel laughed bitterly.
“She’s been dead nine years.”
“I am aware.”
“Who told you?”
Father Anthony looked at Emma.
“My predecessor.”
Emma’s face lost color.
“What?”
Father Anthony nodded.
“Lucia brought a child to him after the fire.”
Emma whispered, “Me?”
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
Father Anthony continued.
“Another child.”
Gabriel stared.
“There were twenty-one?”
“No.”
The priest’s voice dropped.
“There were twenty.”
“Then who?”
Father Anthony looked at Eleanor.
“A baby.”
Eleanor felt the ground shift beneath her.
“Whose baby?”
Father Anthony closed his eyes.
“When Lucia arrived, she said only one sentence.”
He looked at Gabriel.
“She said, ‘If Salvatore ever finds out this child survived, he will burn the whole city to get her back.’”
Gabriel’s face became stone.
“Her?”
“A girl.”
Emma whispered, “Where is she now?”
Father Anthony hesitated.
Then looked again at Eleanor.
The silence stretched too long.
Eleanor’s heart began pounding.
“No.”
Father Anthony stepped toward her.
“Eleanor.”
“No.”
Gabriel turned sharply.
“What?”
The priest’s face was full of grief.
“Lucia asked that the baby be placed with a family far outside Moretti circles.”
Eleanor backed away.
“My parents?”
Father Anthony nodded once.
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Gabriel’s voice became barely audible.
“What are you saying?”
Father Anthony looked at both of them.
“That Thomas and Margaret Shaw did not have a biological daughter.”
The city noise disappeared.
Eleanor stared.
Gabriel went completely still.
May you like
Father Anthony finished the sentence.
“Eleanor was the baby Lucia carried out of Saint Agnes.”
