Chapter 2 - Someone Came In After Midnight
The badge belonged to Roman Sava.
I checked twice.
Then a third time.
ROMAN SAVA — EXECUTIVE ACCESS.
I looked from the screen to Dominic.
He did not react.
That scared me more than anger would have.
“Tell me I’m reading it wrong,” I said.
“You’re not.”
“Roman comes into your room at three in the morning?”
“Sometimes.”
“For what?”
“He has access to every room in this house.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dominic turned his face toward the window.
The darkness outside reflected the room back at us.
“He checks on me.”
“Without waking me?”
“Apparently.”
“And opens the medication cabinet?”
His eyes came back to mine.
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But someone did.”
I lowered the tablet.
“You trust him?”
“With everything.”
“That isn’t evidence.”
“It’s more than you have against him.”
“I’m not accusing him.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“Yes.”
At least that earned the faintest shadow of a smile.
“You really don’t know when to be afraid.”
“I know exactly when to be afraid.”
“And now?”
I glanced toward the door.
“Now qualifies.”
He watched me for a long moment.
“Lock it.”
“The door?”
“Yes.”
I did.
Dominic reached for his phone.
I stopped him.
“Who are you calling?”
“My security chief.”
“What if your security chief is involved?”
His hand paused.
He looked at me.
Then he slowly placed the phone down.
“That is an inconvenient question.”
“You hired me for inconvenient questions.”
“I didn’t hire you.”
“Your money did.”
That nearly made him laugh again.
Instead, pain tightened his face.
I moved instinctively toward the bed.
This time he didn’t stop me.
I checked his temperature.
One hundred and one point eight.
Still too high.
His pulse had climbed.
“How do you feel?”
“Fantastic.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Pain?”
“Four.”
“So seven.”
His expression told me I was right.
I checked the dressing.
More drainage.
Something was wrong.
Not simply slow healing.
Wrong.
“Your antibiotics may not be working.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I’m saying something different now.”
I examined the IV tubing.
No obvious contamination.
No discoloration.
Nothing visible.
But I kept thinking about the missing saline flush.
“Did any of the other nurses mention medication issues?”
“One complained about orders.”
“What happened?”
“She quit.”
“Why?”
“She said the house felt unsafe.”
“That is not a reason people abandon fifteen thousand dollars a week.”
“Maybe she had principles.”
“Principles don’t usually pay rent.”
Dominic looked at me.
“You really are here for the money.”
“My brother needs surgery.”
The words left before I could stop them.
Dominic’s expression changed.
“How old?”
“Fourteen.”
“What surgery?”
I hesitated.
“Brain tumor.”
His eyes settled on me.
“And you’re working here because?”
“Because American health insurance is a magical system where a doctor can say a child needs something and an accountant can say he doesn’t.”
Dominic was silent.
I regretted telling him.
I didn’t want pity from this man.
I especially didn’t want leverage.
“Forget it.”
“I won’t.”
“Dominic.”
“You know my problems. Now I know one of yours.”
“That isn’t how nursing works.”
“This isn’t a hospital.”
“No. Hospitals have fewer guns.”
That time he actually smiled.
Then someone knocked.
Three measured taps.
Roman.
Dominic and I looked at each other.
“Open it,” he said.
I unlocked the door.
Roman entered carrying coffee.
His gaze moved immediately to the tablet in my hand.
Then to Dominic.
“Everything all right?”
“No,” Dominic said.
Roman set down the tray.
“What happened?”
Dominic gave me a look.
My decision.
I held up the tablet.
“Someone entered this room last night.”
Roman’s expression did not change.
“I did.”
My stomach tightened.
“At 3:19?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I heard something.”
“What?”
“Mr. Kesler coughing.”
I looked at Dominic.
“You remember?”
“No.”
Roman continued calmly.
“I checked the monitor. You were sleeping. I left.”
“Did you touch the medication cabinet?” I asked.
“No.”
“The badge log shows several entries from you on previous nights.”
“I check Dominic frequently.”
“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
“I didn’t realize my visits were relevant.”
“They are when supplies are moving.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“What supplies?”
“A saline flush.”
He stared at me.
Then at Dominic.
“I did not open the cabinet.”
“Who else has master access?” Dominic asked.
Roman answered immediately.
“Me. Elena. Voss. Marco. Your personal badge.”
“Marco?”
“Head of security.”
“Deactivate all master badges except yours,” Dominic said.
Roman frowned.
“Dominic—”
“Do it.”
“If someone is attempting to access you, restricting security could make you more vulnerable.”
“If someone inside my security is attempting to access me, leaving it alone makes me an idiot.”
Roman was silent.
Then nodded.
“Done within five minutes.”
Before leaving, he looked at me.
Not hostile.
But not friendly anymore either.
“You should sleep when you can, Miss Brennan.”
“I sleep better when medication cabinets stay closed.”
He left.
Dominic glanced at me.
“You made Roman angry.”
“Does he throw trays?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll survive.”
The CT scan that afternoon showed a localized postoperative fluid collection.
Dr. Voss called it expected.
I called it suspicious.
The radiologist recommended aspiration.
Voss resisted.
Dominic noticed.
“You don’t want them to sample it?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because invasive procedures carry infection risk.”
“He already has an infection,” I said.
Voss turned sharply.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
Dominic looked at him.
“I was.”
Silence.
The aspiration happened two hours later.
The fluid went to the lab.
That night I did not sleep.
At 1:00 a.m., I checked every medication.
At 2:00, again.
At 2:43, the door handle moved.
Locked.
I froze.
It moved again.
Dominic opened his eyes.
Neither of us spoke.
Then somebody used a badge.
Red light.
Access denied.
Another attempt.
Denied.
Footsteps retreated.
I ran to the hallway.
Empty.
But at the far end, the service stair door was closing.
I followed.
“Hazel.”
Dominic’s voice stopped me.
I turned.
He was sitting higher in bed, one hand over his incision.
“Do not chase people through my house alone.”
“I can see who it was.”
“And if they were trying to poison me?”
The word hung between us.
“Then chasing them is exactly what you shouldn’t do.”
I hated that he was right.
Roman arrived three minutes later with two guards.
He checked the system.
“The attempted badge belonged to Elena.”
Dominic went completely still.
“Where is she?”
“Asleep in the east wing.”
“Bring her.”
Ten minutes later, Elena entered wearing a robe over pajamas, furious and confused.
“What is happening?”
“Your badge tried to open my room,” Dominic said.
Her face changed.
“What?”
“At two forty-three.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Where’s your badge?”
“In my purse.”
“Get it.”
A guard returned with the purse.
The badge was inside.
Elena stared at it.
“I didn’t leave my room.”
Roman examined the card.
“Could be cloned.”
“Can badges be cloned?” I asked.
“Yes,” Roman said.
“So the log proves nothing.”
“It proves somebody wants us looking in the wrong direction,” Dominic said.
He looked at his sister.
For the first time, I saw genuine hurt underneath the suspicion.
Elena saw it too.
“You think I did this?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Her eyes filled.
“I sat outside surgery for eleven hours.”
“Elena—”
“I gave blood when they said you might need it.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t slept a full night since you came home.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
She left.
The door slammed.
Dominic stared after her.
I had the strange feeling I had just watched something crack that might never fully mend.
The lab called at 6:30 the next morning.
The aspirated fluid grew bacteria.
But not what anybody expected.
Pseudomonas aeruginosa.
Aggressive.
Hospital-associated.
Potentially dangerous.
Voss changed the antibiotic orders.
I read them twice.
Then compared them with the culture sensitivity report.
A cold sensation moved down my spine.
“This dose is wrong.”
Voss looked at me.
“It’s appropriate.”
“It’s below the recommended therapeutic dose for his weight and infection severity.”
“He has renal considerations.”
“His kidney function is normal.”
“I am aware of his laboratory values.”
“So why are you underdosing?”
His eyes hardened.
“Be very careful.”
“No. You be careful. He’s septic if this gets worse.”
Dominic was watching us from the bed.
“Is she right?”
Voss said nothing for half a beat.
Then, “There are clinical variables she doesn’t understand.”
I looked at Dominic.
“Ask him what variables.”
Voss’s jaw tightened.
“Enough.”
He left the room.
I stared after him.
Dominic spoke softly.
“You think Voss is involved.”
“I think your treatment doesn’t make sense.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Verify everything.”
“How?”
“I need access to the medication delivery records.”
Roman, standing near the window, answered.
“I can get them.”
I looked at him.
“You trust me now?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He gave me the records thirty minutes later.
Every drug delivered to the house.
Every lot number.
Every pharmacy authorization.
I checked the antibiotics.
Then the saline.
Then the pain medication.
And I found something.
A drug had been delivered twice.
Only one delivery appeared on Dominic’s official medication administration record.
Midazolam.
A sedative.
Eight vials.
Enough to keep a man deeply asleep while somebody entered his room.
I showed Dominic.
His face went blank.
“I haven’t ordered or received this medication,” I said.
Roman leaned closer.
“Who signed for it?”
I enlarged the entry.
The signature belonged to Dr. Malcolm Voss.
But underneath the signature was something else.
An authorization code.
Kesler Family Office.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
Only three people could authorize expenses through that account.
Dominic.
Roman.
And Elena.
Then Roman suddenly reached for the tablet.
“Wait.”
He zoomed in.
His face changed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“Roman.”
“This code was deactivated two years ago.”
Dominic stared at him.
“Who had it?”
Roman looked directly at Dominic.
And when he spoke, his voice was quieter than I had ever heard it.
“Your father.”
Dominic’s father had been dead for eighteen months.
Yet somebody was still using his authorization.
And whoever it was had ordered enough sedative to drug Dominic night after night.
May you like
Then the house phone rang, and a voice said Dr. Voss had disappeared.
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