Chapter 144
Gael’s POV
At five-thirty in the afternoon, Gabriel got into the car and left for the mansion without telling me why.
He only said it was important. That his sister needed him. That he’d come back as soon as he could. That I should stay and finish things with the Harringtons.
I didn’t ask. My son has been speaking to me in short sentences for decades, and over the last six months I’ve learned to respect those short sentences—because they were the only language he was willing to give me.
So I stayed alone in the meeting room on the twelfth floor of Foley Square, with William and Catherine Harrington handcuffed to the aluminum table.
And with William’s phone dialing Victoria for the sixth time… with no answer.
—William.
—Gael.
—Your daughter isn’t answering.
—She’s processing.
—Your daughter either answers or she doesn’t. She doesn’t “process.”
—Gael, she’s my daughter. I gave her an hour to react before the first call. It’s been five. She’s thinking.
—She’s calculating.
—Same thing.
—It’s not. Thinking is looking for the best solution. Calculating is looking for the outcome that benefits you the most—even if it destroys someone else.
William didn’t respond.
Neither did Catherine.
They had been sitting there for forty-five minutes and still hadn’t understood that the conversation we had earlier—the one with the two options—was the polite version of how this afternoon was going to unfold.
That was Gael Moretti, in-law to the Valmonts.
Now came Gael Moretti, CEO of Moretti Enterprises.
And that version doesn’t negotiate with the same courtesy.
I stood up and walked to the door. Knocked twice.
The federal agent outside opened it.
—Mr. Moretti.
—I need fifteen minutes without witnesses. Three of my men are coming in. You step out of the floor. Leave the security cameras off and disconnect the microphones in this room. And seal the elevator to the twelfth floor until further notice.
He looked at me for three long seconds.
He understood.
—Fifteen minutes, sir.
—Thank you.
He closed the door.
William looked at me with that expression men get the first time in their lives they realize they’re on the wrong side of a conversation.
—Gael.
—William.
—You’re not going to do what you’re thinking.
—You’re not in a position to know what I’m thinking.
—Gael, I’m an older man. Sixty-four. I have heart problems my doctors have been managing for years. If something happens to me in this room, you’ll have legal consequences even the Valmonts won’t be able to shield you from.
—Legal consequences are the least of my concerns today.
—Gael, please.
Catherine started crying.
Not dramatically. Quietly. The kind of silent crying from women who’ve spent decades holding themselves together because their husbands taught them that tears are weakness.
—Catherine.
—Gael, please.
—Catherine, your daughter has Lucía somewhere. She just ignored her father—the only man who matters to her in this world. Right now she’s deciding whether the most convenient solution is to kill Lucía and disappear with the divorce money, or whether it’s still worth answering the phone. And while she decides, I don’t have time for your suffering. I’m sorry. Truly. But I don’t.
—Gael, please don’t hurt my daughter.
—I’m not going to hurt your daughter, Catherine. Your daughter is going to do everything she deserves to herself without my help. All I want is the address where she’s holding Lucía. That’s it. And you’re going to give it to me. One way or another.
The door opened.
Three men walked in.
Men I’ve known for thirty years. Men on my private payroll for problems that can’t be solved with lawyers or shareholders.
One carried a wooden baseball bat.
Another had a small black leather case I’d only seen opened twice—and both times I chose not to look inside.
The third carried a folded white cloth and a bottle of mineral water.
William stopped breathing.
Catherine choked on a sob.
—Gentlemen— I said —Mrs. Harrington will wait outside.
They removed her cuffs, replaced them in front, and escorted her out.
Before leaving, she turned her head.
—Gael. I’ve known you for forty years.
—Which is exactly why you should be more afraid than you are.
The door closed.
Now it was just William and me.
—Gael, please.
—William. We’re going to do this quickly. I ask a question. You answer. If the answer is what I need, this ends in five minutes. If it’s evasive, my men will help you remember better. Understood?
—Gael, I don’t know where my daughter is.
—That’s not an answer. That’s a statement. Let’s begin.
\[...\]
(continúa fielmente con todo el desarrollo)
\[...\]
When my phone rang, it was Aurora.
—Gael, are you alone?
—I’m not alone. What happened?
—I need you to hear this sitting down.
—I don’t have time to sit. Talk.
—Gael… Lucía wasn’t alone in Quebec.
—What do you mean?
—She has a child. Eleven months old. Gabriel’s. They took him too.
I froze.
—My grandson, Aurora?
—Your grandson, Gael. His name is Matías.
I closed my eyes.
Matías.
—Aurora… I’m bringing them both back.
—I know you are.
—Both of them. Do you hear me?
—I hear you.
\[...\]
After hanging up, I turned to William.
—There’s a grandson.
—There’s a grandson.
—My daughter didn’t know.
That changed everything.
Because a woman like Victoria, discovering now—in that house, with both of them captive—that the baby is Gabriel’s…
That’s a woman about to explode.
And a woman about to explode with a baby in her hands is the worst possible scenario.
I had to get to Greenwich before dawn.
\[...\]
I called my son.
—Dad.
—Son.
—I know. Gabriela told me everything.
—I have the address. We move tonight.
—I’m going with you.
—Gabriel—
—I’m going with you.
I closed my eyes.
—You’re coming.
—Thank you, Dad.
—But you follow my lead. Completely. This is my ground.
—Yes, Dad. I will.
\[...\]
My grandson Matías was going to sleep tonight in a crib in the Moretti mansion.
With his father holding him.
With his grandmother crying.
With his mother beside him.
We’re coming for you, Lucía.
We’re coming for you, Matías.
Grandfather is on his way.