Chapter 8 - The White TableGabriel woke fully at eleven the next morning.
Sarah was beside him.
Marco had refused to leave the room.
He sat in a chair with one hand wrapped around his son’s ankle as if physical contact were the only proof the child remained real.
When Gabriel opened his eyes, Marco stood so quickly the chair fell backward.
“Hey.”
Gabriel blinked.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“Where are we?”
“Safe.”
Gabriel studied the unfamiliar bedroom.
Then Sarah.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Sarah.”
“Doctor?”
“Nurse.”
“My dad doesn’t like hospitals.”
Sarah smiled.
“Neither does your uncle.”
Gabriel frowned.
“Uncle?”
Dominic stood in the doorway.
Gabriel stared.
He looked at Marco.
Then Dominic.
Then back.
“Oh.”
Marco almost laughed.
“Exactly.”
Leo burst into the room before anyone could stop him.
“You’re awake!”
Sarah turned.
“Leo.”
“I was quiet for three hours.”
“It was forty minutes.”
“That felt like three hours.”
He approached the bed.
Gabriel looked uncertain.
Leo held out the stuffed lion he had given Marco.
“I told your dad to give you this.”
Gabriel took it.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Leo.”
“I know.”
Leo blinked.
“How?”
Gabriel looked down.
“The people who took me talked about you.”
The room went silent.
Sarah crouched beside him.
“What did they say?”
Marco immediately said, “Not now.”
Sarah looked at him.
Gabriel said, “It’s okay.”
His voice was quiet.
“They kept asking me if I hated him.”
Leo frowned.
“Me?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Why?”
“They said you stole everything.”
Leo looked confused.
“I don’t have his stuff.”
Dominic closed his eyes briefly.
The innocence of the answer hurt more than anything else could.
Gabriel continued.
“They said I should be king.”
Leo brightened.
“That sounds cool.”
“Leo,” Sarah warned.
“What?”
Gabriel actually smiled.
The tension broke.
For the next hour, the two boys played.
It was astonishing how quickly children destroyed adult politics.
By lunch, they were constructing a city from wooden blocks.
By afternoon, they had invented a game involving secret agents, dinosaurs, and a suspiciously detailed bank robbery.
Dominic stood in the doorway watching.
Marco came beside him.
“They like each other.”
Dominic nodded.
“That ruins Isabella’s plan.”
“Maybe.”
“She wanted them competing.”
“She still does.”
Marco looked toward his brother.
“You believe Sarah.”
“Yes.”
“That the White Table is selecting leadership.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked toward the children.
“Because empires survive by replacing themselves.”
That evening, Sarah gathered everyone in the library.
Sophia.
Mateo.
Dominic.
Marco.
And Carlo, who had spent the day tracing financial records.
Carlo placed a diagram on the table.
“I found them.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“The White Table?”
“Parts of it.”
The chart showed companies.
Banks.
Medical groups.
Construction conglomerates.
Political foundations.
At the center were nine names.
Sarah read them.
Senator Charles Halbrook.
Judge Miriam Cross.
Victor Lang, CEO of Centurion Medical.
Elliot Pierce, chairman of Midland Atlantic Bank.
Four others.
The final name was blank.
“Why nine?” Sarah asked.
“Traditional structure,” Marco said.
“Nine seats.”
“And Isabella?”
Carlo pointed to the blank space.
“She’s the ninth.”
Dominic looked at the diagram.
“We remove them.”
Marco shook his head.
“You can’t simply shoot nine powerful people.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Why not?”
Sarah rubbed her forehead.
“Because then every federal agency in the country moves into our guest rooms.”
Dominic considered this.
“I dislike guests.”
“We noticed,” Marco said.
Sarah tapped the chart.
“The White Table operates because nobody knows it exists.”
“Yes,” Carlo said.
“Then exposure is more dangerous than violence.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What are you suggesting?”
“We make them visible.”
Marco frowned.
“To whom?”
“Everyone.”
Sarah began moving papers.
“They use legitimate institutions to hide criminal activity. Medical trials. Shell foundations. Bank transfers. Procurement fraud.”
Carlo nodded.
“We have records.”
“Enough for prosecutors?”
“Some.”
“Journalists?”
Marco became still.
Sarah noticed.
“Claire.”
His dead wife.
“She was investigating them,” Sarah said. “Did she keep copies?”
Marco looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said she was a journalist. Journalists who investigate people capable of killing them create insurance.”
Marco stared.
“She told me once…”
“What?”
“If anything happened, I should take Gabriel to the place where we had our first argument.”
Dominic frowned.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Marco ignored him.
“Our first argument was in Boston.”
“About what?”
“She accused me of following her.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Sarah smiled.
“Where?”
“Boston Public Library.”
Carlo stared.
“She hid evidence in a library?”
“Maybe.”
Marco looked at Gabriel playing across the hall.
“I never went.”
“Why?”
“Because Claire died and Gabriel was six months old and I spent the next two years trying not to become a monster.”
Dominic looked at him.
“How did that go?”
“Poorly.”
The brothers shared the faintest smile.
Sarah saw it.
The gap between them was shrinking.
Dangerously.
Beautifully.
“We go to Boston,” she said.
Dominic immediately shook his head.
“No children.”
“Obviously.”
“Sophia stays with them.”
Sophia agreed.
“Maximum security.”
Mateo nodded.
“And Sarah stays here.”
Sarah looked at Dominic.
He corrected himself.
“Sarah decides.”
“Progress.”
Marco muttered, “Marriage is fascinating.”
Sarah pointed at him.
“You need me.”
“Why?”
“If Claire’s files contain medical records, somebody has to understand them.”
Marco accepted that.
The next morning, they flew to Boston under false flight plans.
The clue led to a reading room on the third floor of the library.
Marco stood at a particular wooden table.
“She sat there.”
Sarah watched his face.
“You remember.”
“I remember everything about her.”
He ran one hand beneath the table.
Nothing.
Dominic examined the surrounding shelves.
“What was the argument?”
Marco looked embarrassed.
“She discovered who I was.”
“And?”
“She asked whether Moretti was my real name.”
“What did you say?”
“I said names were cages.”
Sarah frowned.
“Did Claire believe that?”
“No. She said names were keys.”
Sarah looked at the catalog system.
Keys.
Names.
She walked toward the archival lockers.
“Did she have a middle name?”
“Rose.”
“Gabriel’s middle name?”
“Thomas.”
“Yours?”
“Antonio.”
Sarah searched.
ROSE.
Nothing.
Names are keys.
“Her maiden name?”
“Whitaker.”
One locker had no visible number.
Only a faded W.
Marco stared.
Sarah smiled.
“Try her birthday.”
The lock opened.
Inside was a sealed package.
Marco touched it with trembling fingers.
CLAIRE MORETTI was written on the front.
Inside were three flash drives, a notebook, and a letter.
Marco unfolded it.
His face changed as he read.
Sarah did not ask.
After a minute, he handed the letter to Dominic.
“If you are reading this, I was right and Marco was too stubborn to listen. Protect Gabriel. Trust nobody who calls power tradition. If Dominic Moretti is alive, tell him his brother never hated him. He hated the people who made them enemies before they met.”
Dominic stopped reading.
Marco looked away.
Sarah pretended not to notice the emotion on both men’s faces.
The flash drives contained everything.
Names.
Payments.
Clinical trials.
Bribes.
Blackmail.
Assassinations.
Including a file labeled MORETTI SUCCESSION.
Sarah opened it.
Photographs appeared.
Dominic as a child.
Marco.
Leo.
Gabriel.
And another child.
A girl.
Approximately nine years old.
Sarah frowned.
“Who is she?”
Marco stared.
“I don’t know.”
Dominic opened the document.
Subject: Alessia Vitale.
Blood relation probability to Moretti paternal line: 99.91%.
Sarah read the next line.
Candidate classification: Primary.
Dominic’s face darkened.
“Primary?”
Marco leaned closer.
Sarah scrolled.
LEONARDO MORETTI — SECONDARY.
GABRIEL MORETTI — SECONDARY.
ALESSIA VITALE — PRIMARY SUCCESSION CANDIDATE.
Marco whispered, “There’s another heir.”
Sarah read further.
Her heart began pounding.
Maternal guardian: Elena Vitale.
Dominic stared at the screen.
“Elena.”
His biological mother.
The woman everyone believed died forty years ago.
Marco’s mother.
“She’s alive too,” Sarah whispered.
The final line contained an address.
Palermo, Sicily.
Marco looked at Dominic.
Dominic looked back.
For forty years, the brothers had believed their mother was dead.
Now she was alive.
And she had a daughter with her.
Or perhaps a granddaughter.
Sarah closed the laptop.
“We’re going to Sicily.”
Dominic nodded.
Marco said nothing.
Sarah looked at him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
It was the most truthful answer he had given her.
Before anyone could move, Dominic’s phone rang.
Sophia.
He answered instantly.
“What happened?”
His expression changed.
Sarah’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
Dominic put the call on speaker.
Sophia was crying.
“Dominic, the boys are gone.”
The room froze.
“What do you mean gone?”
“We were in the panic room.”
“How did anyone enter?”
“Nobody did.”
Sarah’s pulse pounded.
Sophia continued.
“They left.”
“What?”
“We found the security door open. Leo left a note.”
Dominic’s voice became terrifyingly calm.
“Read it.”
Sophia swallowed.
“Dad, don’t be mad. Gabriel knows where the bad lady kept him. We’re going to help.”
Marco closed his eyes.
Dominic whispered one word.
“Jesus.”
Sarah grabbed the computer.
“Track Leo’s watch.”
Mateo was already working.
“Disabled.”
“Gabriel?”
“No device.”
Sarah stood.
Two seven-year-old boys had just escaped one of the most secure homes in America.
Dominic stared at Marco.
“Your son is a bad influence.”
Marco looked offended.
“My son was kidnapped for six days. Your son convinced him to escape a fortress.”
Dominic paused.
“Fair.”
Sarah slammed both hands on the table.
“Could you two become brothers later?”
They stopped.
She looked at the note on Sophia’s video feed.
Then she noticed something.
A drawing beneath the words.
A black eagle.
Gabriel had drawn it.
Beside it was a number.
Sarah remembered.
The warehouse.
Pier Thirty-One.
“Pier thirty-one,” she whispered.
Dominic was already moving.
The adults had spent days trying to dismantle an international conspiracy.
May you like
Meanwhile two children had decided to solve it themselves.
And for the first time in years, Dominic Moretti looked genuinely terrified.
