Chapter 2 - My Husband Prepared My Funeral While I Was Still Breathing—Then a Toxicology Report Proved Someone Inside the Moretti Mansion Had Been Slowly Killing MeThe medication bag disappeared into an evidence container at 6:18 p.m.
Julian tried to stop it.
Harriet stopped him instead.
“Touch that bag and I call federal investigators from this bedroom.”
Julian stared at her.
“You're threatening me in my own house?”
Harriet's expression didn't change.
“It's Elena's house.”
Silence.
Beautiful silence.
Even from my bed, I felt it.
Julian looked at me.
Then back at Harriet.
“What?”
Harriet opened her briefcase.
“The deed.”
She placed a copy on the table.
“Purchased by Elena Ward Holdings eleven years ago, eighteen months before your marriage.”
Julian knew that.
Of course he knew it.
But men like Julian became accustomed to reality bending around them until legal ownership seemed less important than possession.
Harriet continued.
“The vehicles are owned by Ward Development.”
“Several legitimate Moretti offices are leased from Elena-controlled entities.”
“And as of 4:03 this afternoon, the controlling interests of those assets were transferred into an irrevocable charitable trust.”
Julian's face changed.
“What did you do?”
Harriet almost smiled.
“I didn't do anything.”
“Elena did.”
He looked at me.
For the first time in months, he really looked.
“Elena?”
My eyes stayed on his.
“Undo it.”
I blinked once.
No.
Claire covered a smile.
Julian noticed.
His voice dropped.
“Elena, this isn't the time.”
My heart rate accelerated.
Claire stepped between us.
“Then leave.”
Julian stared at her.
“You're fired.”
“No,” Harriet said.
“You don't employ her.”
Another hit.
Julian's jaw tightened.
“Everyone out.”
Harriet shook her head.
“Also not your decision.”
It was extraordinary watching a man who controlled hundreds of armed criminals discover that a sick woman's bedroom contained boundaries he could not command away.
Then Serena entered.
Of course she did.
“What is taking so—”
She stopped.
Harriet.
Doctor.
Evidence bag.
Julian's face.
Her own expression flickered.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Not confusion.
Fear.
Harriet saw it too.
“Ms. Vale.”
Serena recovered.
“Who are you?”
“Elena's attorney.”
“Oh.”
Serena looked at me.
Then at Julian.
“Is she...?”
“Alive?” Harriet asked.
Serena flushed.
“I meant stable.”
“Interesting correction.”
Julian snapped:
“Enough.”
Serena approached him.
“What's happening?”
Harriet answered.
“Someone may have tampered with Elena's medical treatment.”
Serena's hand froze halfway to Julian's arm.
There.
Again.
Fear.
Julian noticed this time.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Serena.”
“I’m shocked.”
“You don't look shocked.”
“I am.”
She stepped backward.
Harriet quietly pressed something on her phone.
Recording.
Then Serena said:
“Maybe Dr. Voss made a mistake.”
Nobody had mentioned Dr. Voss.
Not to her.
The room went silent.
Serena realized it.
Too late.
Julian's voice became terrifyingly soft.
“How do you know we're discussing Voss?”
Her face lost color.
“You said medical treatment.”
“I didn't say doctor.”
“I assumed.”
“Why?”
“Because he's her doctor.”
Julian stepped closer.
Serena stepped back.
“Julian.”
“How do you know Voss made a mistake?”
“I don't.”
“Then why did you say his name?”
“Stop interrogating me!”
Wrong thing to say.
Julian's entire demeanor changed.
For months, I had hated him.
In that moment, I remembered why other people feared him.
But before he could do anything, Harriet spoke.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Julian didn't look away from Serena.
“If you touch her, you contaminate everything.”
That stopped him.
Harriet continued.
“If you actually care whether Elena survives, you let the evidence speak.”
Julian turned toward me.
I held his gaze.
He wanted permission.
For violence?
For control?
For something?
I blinked deliberately.
No.
His shoulders lowered.
“Fine.”
Serena moved toward the door.
Julian blocked her.
“You're staying.”
Harriet corrected him.
“No. She's free to leave.”
Serena looked relieved.
“Which means,” Harriet continued, “if she stays, it is voluntary.”
Serena's relief vanished.
Power works differently when choice is visible.
She left.
But federal investigators were waiting at the gate.
Harriet had called them twenty minutes earlier.
By midnight, toxicology confirmed the first nightmare.
My medication contained concentrations inconsistent with the prescription.
A sedative had been added.
So had a compound capable of worsening neuromuscular weakness.
Not enough to kill me immediately.
Enough to make my decline look inevitable.
Dr. Voss disappeared.
Serena disappeared too.
And Julian?
He sat outside my bedroom door until dawn.
I knew because Claire told me.
“He hasn't moved.”
I didn't care.
At least that's what I told myself.
At 7:06 a.m., Dr. Ellis began reversing the medications.
The next forty-eight hours nearly killed me.
Withdrawal.
Respiratory crises.
Pain.
My muscles felt as though they were waking inside fire.
But slowly—
impossibly—
movement returned.
First my right index finger.
Then two toes.
Then my wrist.
On the third morning, I whispered my first word in eleven days.
“Water.”
Claire burst into tears.
Harriet cried.
Dr. Ellis smiled.
Julian heard from the hallway.
He entered without thinking.
I turned my head.
Barely.
But I did it.
His face crumpled.
“Elena.”
I had never seen Julian cry.
Not when his father died.
Not when his brother was sentenced.
Not when three of his men were killed in an ambush.
Now tears filled his eyes.
He approached.
I whispered:
“Stop.”
He stopped instantly.
Good.
“Get... out.”
His face broke.
“Elena.”
“Out.”
He obeyed.
That was the beginning of my recovery.
It was also the beginning of Julian losing everything.
The charitable transfers remained intact.
Haven Animal Rescue Foundation became the legal beneficiary of the estate assets if I died.
While I lived, the trust remained under independent management.
Julian lost access to three properties within days.
His armored SUV was repossessed from his own driveway.
Claire took a photograph.
I treasured it.
The mansion itself remained mine.
I ordered Julian to move out.
He did.
Not because he suddenly became gentle.
Because Harriet arrived with legal papers and four federal agents.
Julian Moretti understood paperwork when paperwork had guns.
Meanwhile, investigators discovered Dr. Voss had received $1.8 million through a shell company.
The money originated from a Moretti-linked construction fund.
Julian swore he knew nothing.
I believed that much.
But the account required authorization from one of three people.
Julian.
His uncle Vincent Moretti.
Or his chief financial officer.
Julian's uncle Vincent had helped raise him.
He had also hated me from the beginning.
An architect.
An outsider.
A woman with legal control over assets he believed belonged to the Morettis.
Then another discovery changed everything.
Serena Vale wasn't Serena Vale.
Her legal name was Serena Voss.
Dr. Adrian Voss was her older brother.
The mistress and my doctor were family.
Julian learned it from Harriet.
His face went blank.
“He told me they met through a charity.”
“No,” Harriet said.
“They met through you.”
Julian looked confused.
Harriet showed him security records.
Serena first entered the Moretti organization eighteen months before my diagnosis.
Not as Julian's lover.
As Vincent Moretti's consultant.
She had been introduced to Julian later.
Just like my illness, the affair had been engineered.
That did not excuse him.
I made sure he understood.
When Julian came to see me at the rehabilitation hospital, he said:
“Vincent placed her near me.”
I was sitting upright for the first time in months.
My hands still shook.
My voice remained weak.
But it was mine.
“And?”
“I didn't know.”
“You slept with her.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“You kissed her beside my deathbed.”
“Yes.”
“You told her my house would become hers.”
“Yes.”
“You ordered my things thrown away.”
His eyes closed.
“Yes.”
“Vincent didn't make you do any of that.”
“No.”
“Good.”
I leaned back.
“Then don't insult me by turning your betrayal into his conspiracy.”
Julian looked at me.
“You're right.”
“I know.”
He almost smiled.
I didn't.
“Why, Julian?”
He looked toward the window.
“I was afraid.”
I laughed weakly.
“You were afraid?”
“Yes.”
“You were dying.”
“I couldn't fix it.”
“So you found a mistress?”
“I found somewhere I didn't have to feel helpless.”
There it was.
Ugly.
Pathetic.
Human.
“I spent my life solving problems.”
Julian continued.
“Threats could be removed.”
“Debts paid.”
“Enemies frightened.”
“Then you got sick.”
“And none of my power mattered.”
“So instead of sitting beside me while I was afraid, you ran toward someone who made you feel powerful again.”
“Yes.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“I needed my husband.”
“I know.”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“You know now.”
He lowered his head.
“I know now.”
I looked away.
“Leave.”
He stood.
At the door, he stopped.
“I love you.”
I didn't answer.
Because love was no longer the question.
Two days later, federal investigators found Dr. Voss.
Dead?
No.
Alive.
Trying to cross into Canada with forged documents.
He cooperated within six hours.
Vincent had paid him.
But Vincent wasn't trying merely to kill me.
He needed my death before a specific date.
October seventeenth.
Harriet checked the trust documents.
Then discovered why.
Years earlier, Julian had used my development company to guarantee financing for Moretti Harbor Redevelopment.
If I died before October eighteenth without revoking a particular survivorship clause, Julian's controlling interest would automatically consolidate.
The project was worth nearly $1.4 billion.
But if I lived past the deadline?
The guarantee expired.
Ownership reverted.
And Vincent's hidden stake became worthless.
They weren't killing me because Serena wanted my bedroom.
Serena had been a distraction.
They were killing me for $1.4 billion.
October seventeenth arrived.
I was alive.
Barely walking.
But alive.
At 11:59 p.m., Harriet sat beside my hospital bed.
Midnight arrived.
She smiled.
“Congratulations.”
“For?”
“You just cost Vincent Moretti approximately four hundred million dollars.”
I smiled.
“Best recovery milestone yet.”
Then the lights went out.
Emergency power activated.
Claire entered.
“Something's wrong.”
Security alarms screamed.
A gunshot echoed from the rehabilitation floor.
Harriet grabbed my wheelchair.
Then Julian burst through the door.
Blood on his shirt.
Not his.
“Vincent knows the deadline passed.”
May you like
His eyes found mine.
“He's coming for you himself.”
Related Stories
