Chapter 4: What Anthony Said When He Thought No One Was Listening
Dr.
Haan returned at half past nine that evening with a woman I didn't know.
She wore civilian clothes — dark trousers, a grey jacket — and carried a small case the size of a laptop bag.
She didn't introduce herself.
She photographed the prescription bottle from four angles without touching it, then lifted it with gloved hands, sealed it, and left without a word.
Dr.
Haan watched her go.
"She'll have results by morning."
"Who is she?"
"Someone who owes me a favor and doesn't ask questions." He checked the corridor again.
"Get some rest.
You need to look unconscious by six a.m."
He left.
Grace came back an hour later with a clean blanket and a cup of broth she'd heated somewhere down the hall.
She set it on the tray beside me and didn't say anything about the bag, which was gone now.
Veronica hadn't returned for it.
That worried me more than if she had.
"She'll notice it's missing," I said.
"I know." Grace sat in the chair.
"What will she do?"
"She'll assume a nurse moved it.
Or she'll assume someone found it." I looked at the door.
"Either way, she'll move faster."
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"Mr.
Moretti.
Can I ask you something?"
"Dominic."
She looked up.
"My name is Dominic.
You've earned that much."
Something crossed her face.
Not quite a smile.
"Dominic." She folded her hands in her lap.
"Why haven't you called the police?"
It was a fair question.
I'd had five days to think about it.
"Because I don't know yet who they've reached," I said.
"The politician I mentioned — he sits on three oversight committees.
If Veronica has him, I don't know how deep that goes.
I call the wrong number, the right people get warned, and the evidence disappears before morning."
Grace nodded slowly.
"So you're doing this alone."
"I'm doing this carefully."
She accepted that.
She picked up the empty broth cup and stood to leave.
Then she stopped.
"There's something else," she said.
"I wasn't going to mention it.
I wasn't sure it mattered."
"Tell me."
"Three days ago.
Before you — before I knew." She turned to face me.
"Your cousin Anthony was in the corridor outside this room.
He was on his phone.
I was pushing the linen cart and he didn't see me." She paused.
"He said, 'The timeline moves up if the old man doesn't cooperate.
Tell Roland we need it done before the board meeting.'"
The board meeting.
Thursday.
Two days from now.
"He said Roland," I said.
"Yes."
So Anthony knew Roland too.
This wasn't Veronica acting alone.
This was coordinated.
The board meeting was the deadline — not Friday, as Veronica had said.
Thursday.
They'd lied to each other about the timing, which meant neither of them fully trusted the other, which meant there was a fracture I could use.
"Grace."
"Yes."
"Tomorrow morning, when Veronica arrives, I need you to do something that will be very uncomfortable."
She didn't flinch.
"What is it?"
"I need you to tell her you found her bag on the chair and put it at the nurses' station for safekeeping." I kept my voice steady.
"Watch her face when you say it.
Don't look away.
And then come back and tell me exactly what you saw."
Grace stood in the doorway for a moment.
"She frightens me," she said.
It was honest.
Not a complaint.
"I know.
I'm sorry."
"I'll do it." She reached for the light switch.
"Dominic.
The board meeting — what happens there?"
"If I'm declared incapacitated by Thursday, Anthony assumes emergency control of the Moretti Group." I looked at the ceiling.
"Every asset.
Every account.
Every contract.
All of it transfers under a provision my father built into the original charter.
Anthony had it amended two years ago.
I didn't fight it because I trusted him."
The light clicked off.
In the dark, Grace's voice came quietly from the doorway.
"Did your father trust him?"
I didn't answer.
Because I was thinking about what Dr.
Haan had said.
The word Castello.
Eleven years ago.
The night before my father died of what everyone called a heart attack.
The door closed softly.
I hadn't answered Grace's question.
But I already knew.
No.
May you like
My father had not trusted Anthony.
And my father had been right.
