7 THAT EVENING, SHE CALLED ME A THIEF—HER FIANCÉ'S SON CALLED ME MOMMY

Francesca Bellini invited us to tea as if the truth were a scheduling inconvenience.

Her townhouse stood beside a quiet stretch of Lake Shore Drive. Nothing in the marble foyer indicated that its owner might have separated a mother from her newborn. Fresh roses stood beneath an oil portrait of Vincent as a boy. A silver tray held pastries nobody touched.

Naomi had warned me not to attend without counsel. So I arrived beside her. Vincent came with Judith. Francesca entered in a navy suit, her silver hair flawless, her expression composed until she saw me.

"You," she said. "I had hoped you would have the sense to leave this family alone."

"I've spent six years doing exactly that," I answered. "It wasn't a choice."

She sat without inviting me to do the same. Vincent remained standing.

"Mother, where is the original custody consent?"

"Your lawyers have copies."

"The notary commission was expired. Maya says the signature is forged."

"Young women change their stories when money appears."

I felt Naomi's shoe touch mine beneath the table, a reminder to breathe and let the facts do the work.

"Did you tell me my baby had died?" I asked.

Francesca didn't blink. "I told you there had been complications."

"You sent someone to say he was dead."

"You were sedated. You may have misunderstood."

My fingers dug into my coat sleeve. "I wasn't confused about holding him."

Vincent stepped closer to the table. "And you told me she had accepted a settlement."

"I told you what your father's attorney advised. You were prepared to sacrifice everything for a woman you'd known a few months. We were trying to protect your son."

"From his mother?"

"From instability. The press. A custody battle."

"You created the custody battle," he said.

Francesca's eyes flashed. "I raised you after your father nearly bankrupted us. Do you think this family survived because I let emotion dictate every decision?"

There it was: not an admission of forgery, but a belief that protection granted her a right to choose for us all. Her motive was older than Leo. She had built a life from emergencies she could control, then begun to call control love.

Naomi opened her notebook. "Did you personally authorize the family release at St. Agnes?"

"Speak to my attorney."

"Was Camille Laurent involved?"

For the first time Francesca looked toward the hallway. "Camille did what she was asked."

Vincent's jaw tightened. "Including photographing an empty room?"

"It was documentation. You refused to believe the girl had left."

"She was still admitted," Judith said. "Her medical records establish that."

Francesca stood. "This conversation is over."

"Not for me," Vincent said.

His mother stared at him, stunned that the threat of disappointment had stopped working. He placed a packet on the table: the first page of a petition seeking correction of the old custody record, disclosure of hospital and agency communications, and supervised temporary contact while parentage was determined through a court-approved process.

"I have instructed Judith to cooperate," he said. "If a document carrying Maya's signature is fraudulent, I won't defend it."

Francesca looked at me. "And what do you want? The penthouse? A press conference?"

"I want the years I can't have back," I said. "Since I can't have those, I want a chance to know Leo without making him responsible for what happened."

She turned away, as though the answer had offended her more than an accusation would have.

On the way out, Vincent slowed beside a framed photograph in the hall. It showed his mother, his father, and Camille at a charity opening six years earlier. Camille wore a narrow gold bracelet with a rectangular clasp. The same bracelet flashed in the hospital-room mirror.

"You were right," Vincent said. "She was there."

Naomi's phone rang before I could answer. The caller was Evelyn Park.

She sounded breathless. "I found something else. I kept a copy of the shift incident report. The infant wasn't released to Vincent that night. Someone signed him out using an employee badge that belonged to Camille Laurent."

"Can you send it to my lawyer?"

"I already did. But Maya, there's a second signature. The one approving the release. I think you need to be prepared for it."