Chapter 17 - The Second Screen
By sunrise, Marco had replaced half the cathedral security staff.
He did it quietly.
Anyone with access to audiovisual systems was re-verified.
One contractor failed.
Nathan Cole.
He had joined the wedding production team three weeks earlier using excellent references.
All forged.
Police detained him before noon.
On his laptop they found a scheduled video package.
Vivian’s contingency.
Massimo watched it once.
Then again.
It contained edited surveillance footage from inside the Moretti estate.
Massimo apparently telling security not to intervene while Vivian threatened Lucia.
The edit removed context.
It emphasized Massimo saying:
“Wait.”
Then showed Lucia being slapped.
Then showed Sophie injured.
Then cut to Massimo sitting calmly before the monitors.
The implication was devastating.
Massimo Moretti had watched his mother be abused and done nothing.
The implication was also partly true.
Sophie stood beside him while the video played.
When it ended, neither spoke.
Finally Marco said, “We can stop this from airing.”
Massimo stared at the blank screen.
“Yes.”
Sophie looked at him.
“What?”
He understood her expression.
“You think I should let it play.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking Vivian found the one truth you can’t completely explain away.”
Massimo nodded.
“I did wait.”
“You also had security ready.”
“I waited.”
“You were building a case.”
“I waited.”
Sophie sighed.
“You’re determined to prosecute yourself.”
“No.”
Massimo looked toward the screen.
“I’m determined not to become my father by hiding the ugly part.”
Marco folded his arms.
“You want three hundred guests seeing that footage?”
“No.”
Massimo’s expression changed.
“I want them seeing all of it.”
He ordered the original unedited recording prepared.
Every minute.
Including Vivian withholding medication.
Sophie intervening.
Massimo ordering protection.
Massimo refusing immediate intervention.
All of it.
Sophie stared.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“It will still make you look terrible.”
“Good.”
Marco looked almost amused.
“Your public-relations team is going to need medication.”
“Not Vivian’s.”
Even Sophie laughed.
Then Massimo grew serious.
“Truth only works if we stop editing ourselves out of it.”
That afternoon police and prosecutors finalized the plan.
No arrests before the ceremony unless someone faced immediate danger.
The tampered champagne would be replaced.
The original bottle remained in evidence.
A marked duplicate would allow investigators to document Vivian’s actions without risking Massimo.
Dr. Lowell would be monitored.
Arthur Vale’s communications were under warrant.
Elena would cooperate.
Damian remained uncertain.
Massimo hated the uncertainty.
But he could not force another man to choose correctly.
Before leaving for the rehearsal dinner, Sophie received a sealed envelope.
No return address.
Inside was a childhood photograph.
Rebecca and Vivian.
Sisters.
Rebecca stood behind twelve-year-old Vivian with both arms around her shoulders.
On the back Vivian had written:
She left. You don’t have to.
Sophie stared.
Massimo found her holding it.
“What does it mean?”
“She wants me on her side.”
“Why now?”
“Because Damian is slipping.”
Massimo understood.
Vivian needed someone who shared Thomas Bell’s blood.
Someone who could validate the story she told herself.
“You won’t go.”
“That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“Concern.”
“Work on your delivery.”
Sophie slipped the photograph into her coat.
“I’m going.”
Massimo frowned.
“To see Vivian.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know where.”
“There’s an address.”
Only then did he notice the second card.
A church in Queens.
Sophie continued.
“Thomas Bell’s old parish.”
“I’m sending security.”
“Fine.”
“You’re surprisingly agreeable.”
“I’m not suicidal.”
They arrived after dark.
Vivian waited alone inside the empty church.
She sat in the first pew.
Sophie approached.
Massimo’s team remained outside.
A microphone hidden on Sophie transmitted every word.
“You came,” Vivian said.
“You knew I would.”
“I hoped.”
Sophie sat several feet away.
Vivian looked toward the altar.
“Your mother used to sit here.”
Sophie’s throat tightened.
“Rebecca?”
“Every Sunday until she left.”
“Why did you call me?”
Vivian looked at her.
“Because tomorrow everything ends.”
“That depends what you mean by ends.”
Vivian smiled.
“You sound like Massimo.”
“I’ll survive the insult.”
“Do you know he plans to expose Harbor Point?”
“Yes.”
Vivian’s smile disappeared.
“He told you.”
“He’s restoring what Enzo stole.”
For the first time, Vivian looked genuinely shaken.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He’s lying.”
“I saw the forensic audit authorization.”
“He’s trying to save himself.”
“Maybe partly.”
Sophie leaned closer.
“But he is still doing what Thomas wanted.”
Vivian stood.
“No.”
“Why does that upset you?”
“Because it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“For my father.”
Sophie understood.
Justice could no longer satisfy Vivian because the man she wanted to vindicate was dead.
Only punishment remained.
“Then this was never about getting anything back,” Sophie said.
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“It was about making them feel it.”
“Yes.”
“The helplessness.”
“Yes.”
“The humiliation.”
“Yes.”
Sophie stood too.
“Then tomorrow won’t heal you.”
Vivian laughed through tears.
“I don’t need healing.”
“That is exactly what Thomas taught you.”
Vivian slapped Sophie.
The sound echoed through the church.
Security outside moved.
Massimo raised a hand.
Wait.
Then he froze at his own gesture.
The same one.
Again.
Before he could correct it, Sophie turned back toward Vivian.
She did not retaliate.
She simply said:
“There. That’s your whole life.”
Vivian stared.
Sophie touched her reddening cheek.
“Someone hurts you, so you hurt the next person. And then you call it inheritance.”
Vivian’s face broke.
For one second she seemed almost ready to collapse.
Then she whispered:
“Tomorrow, stay away from Massimo.”
“Why?”
Vivian looked at her niece.
“Because the champagne isn’t the only thing that can put a man in a hospital.”
Massimo immediately signaled security.
But Vivian walked away before they reached the door.
Sophie stared after her.
The warning meant one thing.
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There was still another plan.
And the wedding was less than sixteen hours away.
