Chapter 4 - Friday’s Money
Grace did not cry.
That frightened me more than tears would have.
She stared at the message until the screen went dark.
Then she unlocked the phone and read it again.
“Where is your mother?” I asked.
“Queens.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Address.”
Grace shook her head.
“No.”
“Grace.”
“I am not giving you my mother's address.”
“Someone threatening her already has it.”
Her face tightened.
That was the moment the situation stopped being about helping Dominic Moretti.
Someone had reached into Grace's life.
I understood that kind of fear.
Not fear for yourself.
Fear that your decisions had placed someone innocent in danger.
“Call her,” Michael said.
Grace pressed the number.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
Grace's composure cracked.
“Mom.”
She called again.
Nothing.
I turned to Michael.
“Call Carlo.”
Michael hesitated.
“You trust him?”
I thought of Carlo standing beside the hospital window while Anthony talked about replacing me.
Carlo had called him a vulture.
Trust was a luxury.
Tonight I needed probabilities.
“More than the others.”
Michael used his own phone.
When Carlo answered, I took it.
“Don't say my name.”
Silence.
Then Carlo whispered, “Boss?”
The word carried genuine shock.
“Listen carefully. Send two people you trust to an address in Queens.”
“Anything.”
“No family men.”
Carlo understood.
Men with families could be pressured.
“No one connected to Anthony.”
“Understood.”
I gave him Grace's street after she reluctantly whispered it to me.
“Watch the building. Do not enter unless necessary. Call Michael when it's secure.”
“What is happening?”
“I'll tell you when I know whether you're part of it.”
I disconnected.
Grace stared at me.
“That was cruel.”
“It was honest.”
“You've known him how long?”
“Thirty-one years.”
“And you don't know if you trust him?”
“I knew Nico nineteen.”
That silenced the room.
Grace sat beside the window.
The Manhattan skyline glittered behind her.
People were eating dinner.
Taking taxis.
Arguing over restaurant bills.
Somewhere, a couple was probably getting engaged.
The city continued without caring that inside one hospital room, four lives had been split open.
Michael checked my ribs.
“You need rest.”
“I need Friday.”
“You won't make Friday if you keep doing this.”
“I've heard worse medical advice.”
“From whom?”
“Me.”
He wasn't amused.
Grace finally spoke.
“Explain the money.”
“What?”
“Why Friday?”
So I did.
The Bellhaven acquisition had begun as a legal real estate deal.
Nothing glamorous.
Warehouses.
Old piers.
Industrial land.
But the city had approved a redevelopment corridor connecting residential, commercial, and technology projects.
Property that had been worth two hundred million could eventually be worth three times that.
The final ownership structure locked Friday night.
If I remained alive, control stayed with me.
If I died before the closing, my voting shares passed temporarily to the trustee named in my estate structure.
Samuel Rusk.
Grace listened carefully.
“And Veronica?”
“Receives beneficial control over part of the trust after probate conditions.”
“Anthony?”
“Nothing.”
Grace stared.
“He doesn't know?”
“No.”
“What does he inherit?”
“Several properties. Maybe thirty million.”
She blinked.
“Maybe?”
“I haven't memorized my death.”
“That seems like something you should memorize.”
Under any other circumstances, I might have laughed.
“Anthony thinks Sam will give him the company.”
“Which he won't.”
“No.”
“Then why use him?”
“Because Anthony has access.”
“To your schedule.”
“Yes.”
“To your car.”
“Yes.”
“To your phone.”
I nodded.
Grace's face became sad.
“He thought the brake thing was supposed to scare you.”
“Apparently.”
“Do you believe him?”
That question hurt.
Anthony and I had grown up more like brothers than cousins.
My father died when I was thirteen.
His father—my uncle—brought me into their home.
Anthony and I shared a bedroom for two years.
We fought over baseball cards.
Stole beer from his father's refrigerator.
Attended each other's first communions, graduations, weddings, funerals.
There had been a time when I would have trusted him with my life.
Apparently I had.
“I believe,” I said slowly, “that betrayal doesn't become innocent because you misunderstood how much blood it would cost.”
Grace looked away.
Michael's phone rang.
Carlo.
“Building secure,” he said. “Two men were sitting in a sedan across the street. They drove off when my people arrived.”
Grace closed her eyes.
“Your mother still isn't answering,” I said.
She nodded.
“Can they check?”
Carlo sent someone upstairs.
Three minutes felt like thirty.
Finally the phone rang.
“She's fine,” Carlo said. “Sleeping. Phone was on silent.”
Grace covered her face.
Relief broke through her in one shaky breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I told Carlo to keep people there.
Then Grace's phone buzzed again.
Another unknown message.
This one contained no threat.
Only a photograph.
It had been taken from across the street.
Grace's apartment building.
Timestamp: seven minutes earlier.
Under it:
YOU CAN'T GUARD EVERYONE FOREVER.
Michael swore.
Grace stared at me.
“What do they want me to do?”
“Leave.”
“Why?”
“Because they know you heard something.”
“How?”
That question had been bothering me.
Only five people knew Grace had been inside this room during the meeting.
Me.
Grace.
Michael.
And whoever had seen her through hospital surveillance.
Then I remembered Anthony asking about the cameras.
Veronica had said they were “already handled.”
Someone was watching.
“Michael,” I said. “How many cameras cover this floor?”
“Hallway cameras. Elevator. Service corridor.”
“Who controls them?”
“Hospital security.”
“Can we get footage?”
“Maybe.”
“Not through official channels.”
Michael nodded slowly.
He understood.
Grace stood.
“There's another problem.”
“What?”
“If they watched me enter the room, they'll know I stayed too long.”
“Yes.”
“And if they know I heard them…”
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
I looked at the door.
For five days, the hospital room had been my hiding place.
Now it had become a cage.
“We change the game,” I said.
Michael frowned.
“How?”
“Tomorrow morning, you announce that my condition has deteriorated.”
“To what?”
“Organ failure. Neurological decline. Pick something terrifying and complicated.”
“Dominic—”
“By Thursday night, everyone needs to believe I won't survive Friday.”
Grace understood first.
“You want them to stop being careful.”
“Exactly.”
People make mistakes when victory feels inevitable.
Sam thought I was dying.
Anthony thought he was inheriting an empire.
Veronica thought six hundred and eighty million dollars was almost within reach.
I wanted them comfortable.
Greedy.
Talking.
Grace looked uneasy.
“And what happens when they decide they can't wait?”
I met her eyes.
“That,” I said, “is what we prepare for.”
She sat down again.
I expected another argument.
Instead, she reached into her handbag and removed something small.
A key.
Brass.
Old-fashioned.
I recognized it instantly.
My desk key.
“Where did you get that?”
“Under Miss Hale's jewelry box.”
My eyes narrowed.
“She stole my key.”
“Yes.”
“And you stole it from her?”
Grace placed it in my palm.
“I prefer ‘temporarily relocated.’”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then she said the words that gave us our next move.
“If the blue folder is still inside your desk, maybe we don't have to wait until Friday to learn what they're planning.”
My penthouse was eighteen blocks away.
Protected by security.
Possibly watched by Anthony.
Definitely accessible to Veronica.
And somewhere inside my locked study was a folder Samuel Rusk clearly didn't want me to see.
Grace looked at me.
“You can't go.”
“I know.”
“So I'll go.”
“No.”
“You need what's in that drawer.”
“No.”
“You said people don't notice me.”
“They're noticing you now.”
Her expression didn't change.
“You don't have anyone else.”
I hated that she was right.
But before I could answer, Michael glanced through the window in the door.
His face changed.
“Dominic.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who?”
Michael stepped back.
“Veronica.”
Grace grabbed the flowers.
The door opened.
Veronica entered wearing black this time.
She looked at Grace.
Then at Michael.
Then at my supposedly unconscious body.
Her gaze lingered on the blanket.
Right over my hand.
For one terrible second, I wondered whether she'd noticed the missing desk key.
Then Veronica smiled.
“Grace,” she said sweetly, “I'm surprised you're still here.”
Grace lowered her eyes.
“I was just leaving.”
Veronica stepped aside.
“Of course.”
Grace walked toward the door.
As she passed, Veronica touched her arm.
“Actually…”
Grace stopped.
Veronica's smile remained perfect.
“Could you come to the penthouse tomorrow morning?”
My pulse sharpened.
“I need help cleaning Dominic's study.”
Grace looked at her.
Neither woman moved.
Then Veronica added softly:
May you like
“There are several things in there I need to get rid of before Friday.”
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