Three days after the hospital told me my newborn son was dead, I gathered my family to name my younger brother as heir to everything I owned. Before I could sign the papers, the maid’s eight-year-old daughter walked into the room carrying a crying baby—and the number on his hospital bracelet matched the child I had supposedly buried.

Two months passed.

The spring sun finally broke through the perpetual gray clouds, filling the Moretti estate with warm light and the scent of blooming jasmine.

Inside the city’s High Court, the legal system delivered its final blow to the conspirators.

Dr. Arthur Mercer was sentenced to thirty years in federal prison for child trafficking, medical fraud, and conspiracy to murder. The corrupt nurses and hospital administrators received maximum sentences without the possibility of parole.

Matteo Moretti and Clara Mercer were tried under both civilian law and Syndicate tribunal authority. Their assets were seized, their identities erased from official registries, and they were sentenced to life imprisonment in isolated, high-security facilities far from the city.

I sat in the back row of the courtroom as the judge slammed the gavel down, finalizing the sentences.

Beside me sat Marco, my chief legal officer, holding a heavy folder of official adoption and guardianship papers.

“Everything is clean, Julian,” Marco whispered, handing me a pen. “Clara Mercer has officially renounced all maternal rights. The court has recognized you as the sole legal and biological parent of Leo Moretti.”

I signed the final document with a steady hand.

“And the other matter?” I asked.

Marco pulled out a second document. “Teresa has been appointed head of estate management with a permanent trust fund set up in her name. And Sophia’s educational trust is fully funded—she will be able to attend any university in the world when she grows up.”

“Good,” I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. “Let's go home.”

As I walked out of the courthouse steps into the bright afternoon sunlight, reporters and news crews crowded around, shouting questions about the scandal that had rocked the city’s upper class.

I didn't answer a single question. I simply stepped into the rear seat of my armored car, where Lorenzo was waiting.