Chapter 7: Thursday
I called Dr.
Haan at five in the morning.
"I'm ending the coma today," I said.
A pause.
"Dominic, if you surface too early—"
"If I wait until after the board meeting, Anthony controls every asset I own.
Including the accounts that fund your department's research grant." I kept my voice even.
"I need to be conscious, ambulatory, and in that boardroom by ten a.m."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Your ribs aren't healed."
"I know."
"You'll be in significant pain."
"I know that too."
"If Veronica or Anthony see you walking in, they'll know the coma was fabricated.
There will be a confrontation."
"I'm counting on it," I said.
"I need them to react in front of witnesses."
Dr.
Haan was quiet for a moment.
"I'll need two hours to prepare the discharge paperwork and arrange a private exit from the building.
If you leave through the main entrance, someone will call ahead."
"Service exit.
Same way Marco came in."
"I'll have a car waiting." A pause.
"And Dominic — I spoke with my contact this morning.
The prescription bottle.
The compound inside it matches the same class of drug found in your father's original toxicology report."
The line was silent between us.
"Same formula," I said.
"Near identical concentration." His voice was careful.
"They used the same method twice.
Which means either they were confident it couldn't be traced, or they didn't care."
"Or both," I said.
"Yes.
Or both."
I ended the call and looked at the window.
The city was grey and early.
Grace was asleep in the chair in the corner, her head tilted against her shoulder.
She had refused to leave.
I watched her for a moment.
Six months of invisible work in my home, and she had seen more clearly than anyone with a title or a salary or a seat at my table.
I reached over and set a spare blanket across her lap without waking her.
Then I called my attorney.
Not the one who had been haggling over trusteeships at my bedside.
A different one.
A woman named Claire Ashworth who had handled three of my most sensitive acquisitions and who had never once leaked a word to anyone.
"Claire.
I need you in the Moretti Group boardroom at ten this morning."
A beat of silence.
"Dominic.
Everyone thinks you're—"
"I know what everyone thinks.
Bring the original charter, the amendment Anthony filed two years ago, and anything you have on a Delaware holding company called—" I opened Marco's folder.
"Halcyon Bridge LLC."
I heard her sharp intake of breath.
"You know it," I said.
"I've seen that name before," she said slowly.
"In the filing for your father's estate.
There was a challenge to the original distribution — it was withdrawn before it went anywhere.
The challenger was listed as Halcyon Bridge." A pause.
"I thought it was a clerical error."
"It wasn't."
"Dominic." Her voice dropped.
"How deep does this go?"
"Deep enough that I need you in that room at ten.
Can you be there?"
"I'll be there at nine forty-five."
I ended the call.
Grace stirred in the chair.
She opened her eyes, saw me sitting up, and straightened immediately.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Early.
Go back to sleep."
"You're not sleeping."
"No."
She looked at the folder in my lap.
Then at my face.
"Today's the day," she said.
It wasn't a question.
"Today's the day."
She stood, folded the blanket, and set it on the chair.
She smoothed her uniform.
"What do you need me to do?"
I looked at her.
A woman who had come to change my flowers and had ended up standing between me and people who had been planning my death for six years.
"Nothing more," I said.
"You've done enough.
More than enough."
She shook her head.
"Tell me what you need."
I thought for a moment.
"Veronica will come this morning before the board meeting.
She'll want to see me one more time before Thursday's deadline." I met Grace's eyes.
"When she arrives, I need you to make sure she stays in this room for at least ten minutes.
Keep her talking.
Tell her the doctor left a message.
Tell her anything."
"And where will you be?"
"Getting dressed," I said.
"And making one more call."
Grace nodded.
She picked up the empty water glass from my tray and moved toward the door.
Then she stopped.
"Dominic." She turned.
"When this is over—" She stopped herself.
"Say it."
"When this is over, I hope you find people around you who are actually worth trusting." She said it simply.
Without self-pity.
"You deserve that."
She left before I could answer.
I sat with that for a moment.
Then I reached for the phone and made the last call.
"It's Moretti," I said.
"I need you to execute the Castello protocol.
Full activation." A pause.
"Yes.
May you like
All of it.
Today."
