Chapter 3 - The Web of Lies
That evening, the atmosphere inside our penthouse in Lincoln Park was suffocatingly tense.
Evelyn sat at the marble kitchen island, pouring herself a second glass of red wine, her eyes tracking my every move as I paced across the living room rug.
"You're not eating," she stated, gesturing to the untouched dinner on the table. "You've been pacing for three hours, Luca. Are you going to talk to me or just pretend your ex-wife isn't completely consuming your mind?"
I stopped pacing and looked at Evelyn. She was beautiful, polished, and ambitious—the daughter of a prominent Chicago real estate developer. Victor had introduced us two years ago at a charity gala, insisting she was the "right match" for an executive leading Moretti Logistics.
"Evelyn," I said quietly, leaning against the back of an armchair. "The doctor told me today that I never had any fertility issues."
Evelyn paused, the wine glass halfway to her lips. She set it down slowly, her expression surprisingly composed. "Okay. Isn't that good news? It means when we try for children next year, we won't have any obstacles."
"You don't understand," I said, my voice rising with frustration. "Four years ago, when Natalie and I were trying, Victor recommended his personal specialist, Dr. Harold Vance. Dr. Vance gave me a definitive diagnosis: severe, irreversible male infertility. He told me I would never father biological children. It was that diagnosis that ruined my marriage with Natalie."
Evelyn shrugged slightly, swirling the wine in her glass. "Doctors make mistakes, Luca. Misdiagnoses happen all the time. It was four years ago. Why are you letting it ruin your night now?"
"Because Natalie had twins!" I shouted, the words bursting out of me. "Seven-month-old twins! And the boy has my exact eyes!"
Evelyn’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second. Her eyes flicked away, a sudden tightness gripping her jaw before she quickly smoothed her expression.
"She probably used an anonymous donor who matched your physical profile," Evelyn said smoothly, stepping around the island toward me. "Lots of women do that after a divorce, Luca. They look for features of their exes because it's familiar. It's sad, honestly. She’s clearly still obsessed with you."
I stared at Evelyn. Her reaction was too clean, too dismissive. There was no surprise, no shock.
"You don't seem surprised at all," I murmured, my instincts instantly going on high alert.
"I'm being rational, Luca!" Evelyn replied, her tone sharpening as she placed a hand on my chest. "You are running around chasing ghosts because of a coincidental physical resemblance. You are married to me now. We have a life. We have the company to think about. Victor said the board is approving your promotion to CEO next week!"
Victor. Always Victor.
I backed away from Evelyn's hand. "I need to look at my old medical files."
"Luca, don't do this—"
"Where are the archived files from four years ago, Evelyn?" I demanded, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "I kept all my personal medical records in the study safe. Where are they?"
"I don't know!" she snapped, turning her back on me. "Maybe you threw them out during the divorce!"
I walked straight into my private study, locked the door behind me, and opened the floor safe behind the bookshelf. I pulled out the black leather accordian folder containing my personal archives.
I flipped through the tabs until I found Medical: 2022.
The files from Dr. Harold Vance were there. I pulled out the lab work and began reading line by line. Four years ago, I had been too heartbroken to understand the complex medical jargon, blindly trusting Dr. Vance because he was my brother’s close personal friend.
Now, reading it with clear eyes, something caught my attention.
The lab results bore a secondary digital stamp at the bottom of the page from an independent lab in suburban Illinois. I pulled out my phone and dialed the lab's customer service number, using the reference ID printed on the margin.
"Verification department," a clerk answered after three rings.
"Yes, hello. I'm calling to verify an archived test result from October 2022. Reference ID: 884-Bravo-Moretti."
There was a pause, followed by the clacking of a keyboard.
"Sir, that record is locked under a restricted access flag," the clerk said, sounding confused. "It indicates a secondary release was authorized by the primary account holder, Mr. Victor Moretti."
My hand froze on the paper. "What do you mean 'secondary release'?"
"According to our system, the original test result uploaded on October 12th showed zero abnormalities. Normal count, normal motility. But a revised summary report was requested and sent directly to Dr. Harold Vance's office two days later."
The room seemed to tilt on its axis.
May you like
I sat down heavily in my leather chair, the paper fluttering to the desk. My original test had been completely normal. Someone had deliberately falsified the secondary report to make me believe I was infertile.
And the man who authorized the release was my own brother.
