Chapter 3 - The Price of a Name
Vincent recoiled as if I had struck him with an iron bar.
"Clara, stop this," he commanded, though the authority in his voice was hollow, cracked by the weight of eighteen years of lost time. "You can't lie to him! Look at him! He's my son!"
"Your son is standing right behind you," I replied, pointing a calm finger toward Ethan, who had just stepped out onto the plaza, looking bored and staring at his phone. "That boy has your name, your money, and your legacy. This boy has my work ethic, his own mind, and my name. Do not confuse the two."
Sophia stepped forward, her expensive perfume suffocating in the crisp afternoon air. Her eyes were narrowed into sharp slits as she looked at me.
"Clara Bennett," Sophia sneered, dropping her voice so passing students wouldn't hear. "You always were dramatic. You took off eighteen years ago because you couldn't handle the reality of high society. You signed the final decree. You walked away. You have no legal claim to anything in the Moretti estate."
"I don't want a single cent of your estate, Sophia," I said smoothly. "I never did. That’s why I left."
"Then why bring him here?" Sophia hissed, gesturing toward Noah. "Why bring him to Harvard? You knew we were coming! You knew Ethan was enrolling this semester! You set this up to humiliate us!"
Noah let out a short, dry laugh. It was a sound so reminiscent of a younger, arrogant Vincent that even Sophia flinched.
"Ma'am," Noah said, stepping forward, his tall frame dwarfing the older woman. "With all due respect, I didn't apply to Harvard to cross paths with your family. I was invited here on a full presidential academic fellowship. My research in fluid dynamics was published in the Annals of Mathematics six months ago. I earned my seat in Sanders Theatre. Did your son?"
Ethan looked up from his phone, his face flushing dark red. "Hey! What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Noah replied smoothly, adjusting his lapels, "that my mother didn't need to bribe a building committee to get me through these doors. Now, if you'll excuse us, the department chair is waiting."
Noah turned, offering me his arm. I slid my hand through his elbow, feeling the solid, unyielding strength of the young man I had raised in drafty apartments and late-night study sessions.
We walked away toward the faculty club, leaving the Moretti family standing like statues on the red-brick plaza.
Behind us, I heard Vincent's voice burst out in a fierce roar.
"Vincent, let go of me!" Sophia yelled.
"Did you know?" Vincent’s voice echoed across the courtyard, terrifying in its fury. "Did you know she was pregnant when your father’s lawyers drew up the final disclosure papers?!"
"Vincent, don't do this here!"
"DID YOU KNOW?!"
I didn't turn back to look. I kept walking alongside my son, the autumn leaves crunching beneath our shoes.
"Mom?" Noah asked softly as we reached the arched stone entryway of the faculty building.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"That was him, wasn't it? The real estate developer from Chicago you told me about."
I paused, looking up into his intelligent gray eyes. I had never hidden the truth from Noah. I had told him that his biological father was a powerful, wealthy man who chose money and power over family. I had simply kept Vincent's specific name away from him to protect him from the tabloid circus that surrounded the Moretti family.
"Yes, Noah. That was Vincent Moretti."
Noah looked back toward the plaza for a brief second, his expression unreadable. "He looked small."
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"Power makes men seem big, Noah," I said, kissing his cheek. "Character makes them real. You have character."
"I have you," Noah corrected with a warm smile. "Come on. Let's go get that free catering."
