Chapter 2 - THE GHOST IN THE HALLWAYS OF POWER AND COLD STONE
The night that followed the revelation was a descent into a specific kind of hell.
I sat in my study,
the amber liquid in my glass untouched,
watching the shadows stretch across the walls.
Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a footstep from the past.
Clara Moretti.
The name sat on my tongue like bitter medicine.
I had spent my life building walls,
fortifying my position,
and ensuring that no enemy could ever get close.
Yet,
she had been here for months.
She had touched my clothes,
cleaned my table,
and comforted my dying mother.
I stood up and walked to the tall windows,
looking out over the sprawling estate.
Below,
the garden was bathed in silver moonlight.
I saw a figure sitting on the stone bench by the fountain.
It was her.
Clara.
I didn't think;
I just moved.
I left my study and navigated the silent halls,
passing the portraits of my ancestors who all seemed to be glaring at me with judgment.
When I stepped out into the cool night air,
the scent of blooming jasmine hit me.
Clara didn't turn around when I approached.
"You should be resting,"
I said,
my voice sounding alien in the quiet garden.
"I find it hard to sleep in a house built on graves,"
she replied.
She wasn't wearing her uniform anymore.
She wore a simple sweater,
looking far too young for the burden she was carrying.
I sat on the opposite end of the bench,
leaving a wide gap between us.
"My mother said she's been helping you for years,"
I began.
"Why stay silent?"
"Why not take the money and run as far away from the Hales as possible?"
Clara turned her head,
her eyes reflecting the moon.
"Because running doesn't stop the nightmares,"
she said.
"I spent years wondering what kind of people could do what you do."
"I thought if I saw you up close,
I could understand it."
"Maybe I thought I could find a reason to forgive."
"And did you?"
I asked.
She let out a dry,
hollow laugh.
"I found that you're just a man,
Bennett."
"A man who thinks he can buy his way out of every discomfort."
"You don't even know your mother’s favorite color,
do you?"
I opened my mouth to answer,
then closed it.
I realized I didn't.
"It’s yellow,"
she said.
"Like the sun she hasn't felt on her skin in months because you keep the curtains drawn to protect her from 'the world'."
"She’s not a prisoner of her cancer,"
"she’s a prisoner of your fear."
I felt a surge of anger,
the familiar heat of my ego reacting to a challenge.
"I am protecting her,"
I snapped.
"There are people who would use her to get to me."
"There are always people like that,"
Clara said,
standing up.
"Your father was one of them."
She began to walk away,
but I reached out and caught her arm.
The moment my fingers touched her skin,
it felt like an electric shock.
She froze,
her gaze dropping to my hand.
I let go immediately,
as if burned.
"I want to make it right,"
I said,
the words feeling clumsy.
"You can't,"
she whispered.
"You can't bring back the dead."
"You can't give me back the twenty years I spent wondering why my family had to die."
She looked back at the house,
at the glowing window of my mother’s bedroom.
"But your mother...
she is the only thing keeping me from wishing this whole place would burn down."
"She has a soul,
Bennett."
"Try to find yours before she’s gone."
She left me there in the dark.
I stayed on that bench until the sun began to peek over the horizon.
The realization was starting to sink in.
Clara Reed—no,
Clara Moretti—wasn't just a secret.
She was a mirror.
And for the first time,
I didn't like what I saw.
I went back inside and called my head of security,
Marcus.
"Sir?"
his gravelly voice answered on the first ring.
"I want everything we have on the Moretti hit,"
I said.
"Every file,
every photo,
every name of every soldier involved."
"Sir,
that was twenty years ago,"
Marcus hesitated.
"Your father ordered those files sealed."
"I don't care what my father did,"
I growled.
"I am the head of this family now."
"And I need to know exactly how much blood is on my hands."
As I hung up,
I realized that by opening those files,
I was inviting the ghosts back in.
But looking at the closed door of my mother's room,
I knew the ghosts were already here.
They were sitting by her bed,
May you like
shaving her hair,
and teaching me what it meant to be human.
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