Chapter 6 - THE MAFIA BOSS FOUND HIS MAID UNCONSCIOUS OUTSIDE HIS MOTHER'S LOCKED BEDROOM—BUT WHEN SECURITY FOOTAGE REVEALED WHO HAD ATTACKED HER, DOMINIC DISCOVERED A BETRAYAL THAT THREATENED BOTH WOMEN HE HAD SWORN TO PROTECT
For almost a minute, nobody in the library spoke.
Walter Bell had been at the Moretti estate longer than Dominic had been alive. He had taught Dominic how to tie a necktie before his first school dance. He had stood beside Eleanor at her husband's funeral. He had brought Hannah tea after Vanessa humiliated her in front of a ballroom full of guests.
Now the camera showed him placing an object in Eleanor's medicine trolley.
Dominic replayed the footage, searching for some detail that would explain it away. The time stamp read 12:14 a.m. Walter entered through the east corridor, checked the hallway, and slid something into the bottom drawer. He left less than a minute later.
“Bring him here,” Dominic told Marco.
“Without restraints?”
“Without restraints. I want to hear him speak.”
Walter arrived carrying the expression of a man summoned to discuss dinner service. When Dominic showed him the video, his face became very still.
“I wondered when you'd find that,” he said.
Hannah stepped closer. “You knew about the bottle?”
Walter shook his head. “I didn't put medicine there. I put a key in the drawer. Mrs. Moretti's late husband gave it to me. He said if anything happened to him, I was to keep it hidden until Eleanor was ready to ask questions.”
“Why in the medicine trolley?” Dominic demanded.
“Because it was the one piece of furniture Vanessa insisted nobody else touch. I thought if she was hiding something there, the key might be found when someone finally looked.”
“That makes no sense,” Marco said. “Why not give it to Dominic?”
Walter's hands tightened. “Because I had been told he was involved in the foundation payments. I didn't know what to believe.”
Dominic felt the accusation strike like a fist. “Who told you that?”
“Samuel Whitmore. He showed me documents with your signature. He said if I interfered, Eleanor would lose access to the treatment keeping her alive.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I was afraid he might be right.” Walter looked at Eleanor's photograph above the mantel. “I watched your father die. Then I watched your mother become frightened of ordinary things. I told myself staying close was enough to protect her. I was wrong.”
Julia, who had joined them, held up a hand. “We need his complete statement recorded. And we need to verify the date the key was placed there. The footage alone doesn't tell us what was in his hand.”
Walter agreed to cooperate. He also revealed that he had copied several old household schedules after noticing Vanessa's visits coincided with changes in Eleanor's health. He had hidden the copies in a locked cabinet beneath the servants' staircase.
Dominic was furious that Walter had kept silent. He was also aware that his own reputation had made silence seem safer. For years, staff had been taught that questions were a kind of disloyalty. Now those rules had nearly destroyed his mother.
“I'll review what you've done after the investigation,” Dominic told Walter. “For now, you are relieved of medication duties. You can speak with Julia and the investigators. No one will threaten you for telling the truth.”
Walter bowed his head. “That's more than I deserve.”
Hannah watched him leave. “He was scared,” she said.
“Fear can make people do terrible things.”
“It can also make them wait too long to do the right one.”
Dominic looked at her. “You're thinking of Daniel.”
“And myself.”
He wanted to tell her she had nothing to regret. But he had learned that easy comfort sometimes silenced the person receiving it. Instead he asked whether she wanted to rest. Hannah said she would rather help Julia organize Annie's records.
The following day, investigators obtained access to the North Quay property. The building stood behind a rusted fence on a road lined with abandoned warehouses. Its upper floors had been damaged by fire, but a concrete stairwell led to a sealed basement with independent ventilation.
Dominic was not permitted inside during the search. He waited in a nearby office with Julia, watching rain bead on the windows. Hannah remained at the mansion with Eleanor, who had been tired after a medical examination. Neither woman needed to spend the day in a cold industrial building to prove courage.
The investigators found temperature-controlled cabinets, archived shipping manifests, and cartons bearing the name of a medical distributor tied to the foundation. Some cartons were empty. Others contained sealed samples requiring laboratory testing. A locked filing cabinet held lists of patient identifiers, including Eleanor's, and a record of payments approved through North Quay Consulting.
Most troubling was a folder marked REED, ANNIE. It contained copies of her complaints, photographs of her movements, and a summary of her hospital shifts. Someone had been monitoring her before the crash.
Julia called Hannah as soon as she was permitted to share that information. Hannah listened, sitting beside Eleanor's bed.
“So they knew,” she whispered. “They knew she was trying to report them.”
“The documents indicate someone was tracking her,” Julia said. “We're still identifying who ordered it.”
“Did you find her original notes?”
“Not yet.”
Hannah closed her eyes. The answer hurt, but it also meant the search was not over.
That evening, Dominic returned to find Eleanor reading in the conservatory. Her color was better than it had been in weeks. Priya had adjusted her treatment under supervision, and although the cause of her symptoms remained under investigation, she had managed an entire afternoon without the severe dizziness that had become routine.
“You look tired,” Eleanor told him.
“I am.”
“Then sit down. The world can survive without you standing over it for ten minutes.”
He obeyed. Through the windows, the lake reflected a strip of violet sunset.
“Do you remember when I was little,” he asked, “and Father told me the Moretti name meant nobody could hurt us?”
Eleanor smiled sadly. “I remember telling him that was a foolish thing to promise a child.”
“He believed it.”
“He wanted to.” She turned a page. “Power can keep strangers away from the gate. It can't make the people inside honest.”
Dominic thought of Vanessa, Samuel, Walter, and himself. He had been so proud of the walls around his estate that he had never considered how frightening they could be to someone who worked within them.
At nine o'clock, Hannah came to the conservatory carrying a small box of Annie's belongings. Julia had located the contents of the storage unit through an auction company. Most items were ordinary: a blue sweater, nursing textbooks, photographs, a chipped mug. But one book had a folded receipt tucked between its pages.
The receipt was for a courier service. The destination was Eleanor Moretti's private office. The delivery date was two days before Annie died. Someone had signed for the package using Walter's name.
Walter examined the signature when Marco brought him in. “That isn't mine,” he said. “The W is wrong. I never signed my surname that way.”
Dominic compared the receipt with the household delivery log. The corresponding entry had been removed. He asked Julia to preserve both records.
Hannah turned the book over. Annie had underlined a sentence in the margin: If the first door closes, find the person who still asks questions.
“That's what she used to tell me,” Hannah said. “She believed there was always someone willing to listen.”
Eleanor took her hand. “She was right about you.”
Hannah smiled faintly, then looked toward the clock. “It's time for your evening check with Dr. Shah.”
Priya was expected in fifteen minutes. Eleanor agreed to rest in her bedroom until then. Hannah accompanied her upstairs, while Dominic remained behind to speak with Julia about the courier receipt.
At 9:18 p.m., the lights flickered.
Marco called the security desk. A power fluctuation had affected the east wing, though the backup system remained active. Two cameras briefly lost their feed. Dominic rose at once.
“Where's my mother?”
“Upstairs with Hannah,” Marco answered.
Dominic was already moving.
He reached the second floor to find the corridor lights dimmed. Eleanor's bedroom door was closed, its electronic lock showing red. Hannah lay on the carpet outside, one arm twisted beneath her, her navy cardigan spread across the floor.
For one awful second, Dominic could not make himself move.
Then he knelt beside her. “Hannah?”
She was breathing. There was a swelling near her temple and a shallow cut along her hairline. He did not shake her or try to lift her. He called for medical help, checked that she was breathing normally, and kept the corridor clear while Marco summoned the estate's emergency team.
“Mother!” he called toward the locked door. “Can you hear me?”
No answer.
Marco used the authorized emergency override. Inside, Eleanor was sitting on the edge of her bed, pale and confused. She had heard a crash but believed Hannah had gone to fetch water. Priya, arriving moments later, examined her while paramedics assessed Hannah.
Hannah regained consciousness as they prepared to transport her for evaluation. She blinked at Dominic, trying to focus.
“Don't let him take the bag,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“The man in the blue coat. He said he was from the pharmacy.”
Dominic looked at Marco. “Find him. Don't confront him alone. Get the police.”
Hannah tried to sit up. The paramedic gently asked her to remain still until they could assess the injury. Dominic crouched beside the stretcher.
“Eleanor is safe,” he told her. “You're going to the hospital. I'll follow.”
She caught his sleeve with her uninjured hand. “The bag,” she repeated. “He went into her room.”
“I heard you.”
At the hospital, scans showed no serious internal injury, but the physician diagnosed a concussion and recommended observation. Hannah was exhausted and frightened, yet her first question after the examination was about Eleanor.
“She is with Dr. Shah,” Dominic said. “Marco has arranged additional security.”
Hannah studied him. “Are you angry?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
The question stopped him. He remembered the first night, Vanessa's raised strap, Hannah bracing for punishment because she had tried to protect his mother.
“Never for being hurt,” he said. “I'm angry that someone attacked you. I'm angry I didn't see how dangerous this had become.”
She looked away, her eyes shining. “I thought I could stop him.”
“You shouldn't have had to.”
For a while, they sat without speaking. Then Hannah said, “I don't want to live the rest of my life in fear. But I don't know how to stop.”
“Maybe we start by not pretending fear is shameful.”
She gave a tired laugh. “You sound different from the man who walked into that ballroom.”
“I hope I am.”
He wanted to take her hand. Instead he asked. When she nodded, he held it gently, careful of the bruised wrist.
Back at the mansion, Marco recovered the camera footage from the east wing's backup recorder. The primary system had been interrupted, but a hallway camera on an independent circuit had continued filming. At 9:16 p.m., a man in a blue delivery coat approached Eleanor's room carrying a black medical bag. Hannah stepped into his path and asked for identification.
The man tried to pass. Hannah blocked him and reached for her phone. He struck her with the hard side of the bag. She fell against the wall, then collapsed. He entered Eleanor's room for less than forty seconds before leaving through the service stairs.
Marco froze the frame as the man turned toward the camera.
His face was clear.
It was not Samuel Whitmore.
It was not Daniel Cross.
It was Nathan Brooks, the former hospital compliance officer who had been helping Julia investigate the foundation.
Dominic stared at the screen. Nathan had sat in his library, examined Annie's letter, and advised them about hospital records. He had known exactly when Eleanor's new physician would arrive. He had known the backup cameras were older than the primary system.
“Find out who recommended him,” Dominic said.
Marco checked Julia's notes. “Samuel Whitmore's former legal office supplied his name as a potential whistleblower. Julia vetted his credentials, but his work history was genuine.”
“Genuine credentials don't mean genuine intentions.”
Marco's phone rang. He listened, then held it out. “It's Julia. She says Nathan accessed the foundation archive twenty minutes before the attack. He downloaded a file called ANNIE_REED_ORIGINAL.”
Dominic took the phone. “What was in it?”
“We're restoring the file now,” Julia said. “But there's something else. Nathan didn't just take records. He used Eleanor's identity to schedule a transfer from a private foundation account.”
“How much?”
“Eight million dollars.”
Dominic felt a cold certainty settle over him. The theft was not an afterthought. Someone had planned to remove both the evidence and the money while Eleanor was too ill to challenge the transaction.
“Can you stop it?”
“We've alerted the bank's fraud department and law enforcement. The transfer is on hold pending verification.”
Then Marco's second phone vibrated. A guard at the west gate had found the abandoned blue coat beside a maintenance shed. In its pocket was a printed note with instructions to retrieve a small silver drive from Eleanor's bedside drawer.
The instructions ended with a signature line: V. WHITMORE.
Dominic read the note twice. It could be forged. He knew that now. He would not let a convenient piece of paper replace an investigation.
But the next message was harder to dismiss.
His personal phone lit up with a video call from an unknown number. He answered while Marco began tracing it through the security team.
Vanessa appeared on the screen, seated in the back of a moving car. She looked terrified, her makeup smeared, her silver earrings gone.
“Dominic,” she whispered. “You have to listen. Samuel is going to kill your mother. I tried to stop him.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you. He has people everywhere.”
“Then call the police and tell them what you know.”
Vanessa shook her head. “You don't understand. Samuel wasn't the one who started this. He was taking orders.”
“From whom?”
Vanessa looked toward the front seat. Her eyes widened.
A man's voice came from beyond the camera, smooth and familiar.
“Tell Dominic what Annie Reed discovered, Vanessa.”
The phone shifted. For a heartbeat, Dominic saw the driver's reflection in the dark window.
It was a man whose portrait hung in the Moretti mansion's main hall.
A man whose funeral Dominic had attended five years earlier.
May you like
His father, Anthony Moretti.
Then the screen went black.
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