Chapter 5 - A Dead Man’s Signature
At nine the next morning, Manhattan woke to news that Dominic Moretti was dying.
Michael delivered the statement personally.
“Mr. Moretti experienced significant neurological complications overnight. His condition has deteriorated. The family requests privacy.”
The words appeared on television before breakfast.
By ten, flowers filled the hospital lobby.
By eleven, my enemies began arriving.
Nothing attracts respect like the possibility of a powerful man's funeral.
Grace, meanwhile, entered my penthouse with Veronica Hale.
I hated every second of it.
Michael had placed a tiny audio transmitter beneath the seam of Grace's jacket.
The signal reached a receiver in my hospital room.
We could hear everything.
At 9:14, the elevator chimed.
At 9:16, Grace's voice came softly through the speaker.
“Should I start in the bedroom?”
“No,” Veronica replied. “The study.”
Footsteps.
A door.
Keys.
Then Veronica said, “Funny. Dominic never let anyone clean in here without supervision.”
Grace answered calmly.
“He let me.”
That surprised me.
Technically true.
I had once told my staff to stop hovering over Grace while she worked.
Not because I trusted her then.
Because the hovering annoyed me.
Veronica opened drawers.
Paper shifted.
“Have you seen a blue folder?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Think carefully.”
“I see a lot of folders.”
“This one would have legal documents.”
Grace paused.
“I don't read Mr. Moretti's papers.”
Perfect answer.
Veronica laughed lightly.
“Of course not.”
The insult was hidden inside the politeness.
Grace ignored it.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then we heard a drawer refuse to open.
Veronica swore.
“The key.”
“What key?” Grace asked.
“I had it.”
My hand tightened beneath the hospital blanket.
Grace had the key in her pocket.
“Maybe Mr. Moretti moved it,” she offered.
“He couldn't.”
Silence.
Veronica realized what she'd said.
Grace rescued her.
“Before the accident, I mean.”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Grace?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think will happen if Dominic dies?”
I looked at Michael.
He looked at me.
Grace answered, “I assume there will be a funeral.”
Veronica laughed.
A real laugh this time.
“You're funny.”
“People usually don't notice.”
That ended the laughter.
Then Veronica said, “You'll need a new job.”
“I suppose.”
“I could help.”
“No need.”
“I insist.”
Her voice softened.
“I take care of people who are loyal.”
There it was.
A test.
Grace didn't rush her answer.
“Mr. Moretti always paid me fairly.”
“Dominic isn't going to be paying anyone much longer.”
Silence.
Then Grace asked, “Do you know that?”
The room on our end went still.
Veronica's voice lost warmth.
“Doctors aren't hopeful.”
“I see.”
“I'd hate for you to end up struggling because you were loyal to a man who can't reward loyalty anymore.”
Grace answered quietly.
“I don't choose who deserves kindness based on whether they can pay me next week.”
I closed my eyes.
That sentence hurt more than it should have.
Because too many people around me did exactly that.
A drawer slammed.
“Clean the shelves,” Veronica said.
Her performance was over.
For another half hour, only ordinary sounds came through.
Then the penthouse elevator chimed.
A man's voice.
Samuel Rusk.
“Why is she here?”
Grace kept cleaning.
Veronica replied, “She's harmless.”
The word should have insulted her.
Instead, I imagined Grace smiling internally.
Sam lowered his voice.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Keller is nervous.”
“About what?”
“The driver.”
My eyes opened.
“Nico is dead,” Veronica said.
“His family isn't.”
My heart tightened.
Sam continued.
“Apparently Nico called someone the afternoon before the crash.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“What did he say?”
“We don't know.”
“So why does Keller care?”
“Because Nico requested a vehicle inspection.”
I stared at Michael.
Nico knew.
Before the crash.
He had suspected something was wrong with the Bentley.
Veronica cursed.
“When?”
“Four hours before.”
“Did he inspect it?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn't matter.”
“It matters if he told someone why.”
Footsteps approached Grace.
Sam's voice became louder.
“You.”
Grace responded politely.
“Yes, sir?”
“Go clean somewhere else.”
“Of course.”
We heard her leave the study.
But the transmitter continued picking up voices through the doorway.
Veronica spoke first.
“What about tonight?”
“Everything is prepared.”
“The signature?”
“Already handled.”
“Anthony?”
“Still believes he'll receive control.”
“And when he finds out?”
“He becomes irrelevant.”
Veronica lowered her voice.
“And me?”
Sam paused.
“You receive exactly what we agreed.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“I don't like that word.”
I almost smiled.
She had said the same thing Grace had asked me.
But for entirely different reasons.
“Four hundred million after liquidation and taxes.”
Veronica exhaled.
“And Bellhaven?”
“Keller's people take the development interests.”
There it was.
Councilman Keller wasn't simply helping.
He was buying the most valuable piece of the estate.
Sam had built a conspiracy disguised as probate.
Grace's footsteps moved farther away.
Then suddenly stopped.
Another voice had entered the penthouse.
Anthony.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
Grace answered.
“Cleaning.”
Anthony's tone sharpened.
“Again?”
A dangerous silence followed.
Veronica emerged from the study.
“Anthony, don't be ridiculous.”
“I saw her at the hospital.”
“She's Dominic's maid.”
“She was in his room when the monitor went crazy.”
My blood chilled.
Anthony had remembered.
Grace needed to leave.
Now.
Veronica asked, “And?”
“And Sam said somebody could've been listening.”
“I meant electronically,” Sam snapped.
Anthony stepped closer to Grace.
We could hear it in the change of the microphone.
“What's in your pocket?”
Grace froze.
Michael leaned forward.
So did I, as if somehow I could reach across eighteen blocks.
“Cleaning cloth,” Grace replied.
“Take it out.”
A pause.
Fabric moved.
Grace produced something.
Anthony said, “Other pocket.”
The key.
And the transmitter.
If he searched her, everything was over.
Then a crash sounded from the kitchen.
Glass breaking.
Everyone turned.
A woman's voice shouted from across the penthouse.
“Ms. Hale?”
The chef.
Grace had arranged it.
Later, she would tell me she'd deliberately placed a glass bowl near the counter edge and asked the chef to reach behind it at exactly 10:05.
People underestimate maids.
Maids understand houses.
Anthony turned toward the noise.
Grace moved.
“I'll help her.”
She walked quickly away.
Not running.
Running creates attention.
By 10:11, she was inside the service elevator.
At 10:13, the signal disappeared.
At 10:28, Grace entered my hospital room.
She locked the door.
Then reached beneath her jacket.
First came the transmitter.
Then my brass key.
Then a folded piece of blue paper.
Michael stared.
I stared harder.
“You got into the drawer?”
Grace nodded.
“How?”
“When everyone went toward the kitchen.”
She handed me the paper.
It wasn't the folder.
Only one page.
But one page was enough.
Across the top were the words:
IRREVOCABLE MEDICAL DIRECTIVE — DOMINIC V. MORETTI
At the bottom was my signature.
Perfect.
Except I had never signed it.
The directive authorized withdrawal of extraordinary life support under specified conditions.
Veronica Hale was listed as my healthcare proxy.
Samuel Rusk had witnessed it.
And beside his signature sat another.
Dr. Michael Rosen.
Michael turned white.
“I never signed that.”
“I know,” I said.
Grace looked between us.
“They forged the doctor's signature too?”
“Yes.”
I kept reading.
The directive became effective if two physicians certified irreversible neurological incapacity.
One signature would come from Michael.
Forged.
The second line was blank.
Waiting.
I looked at the date.
Friday.
11:00 p.m.
They weren't hoping I died before the money transferred.
They intended to make sure of it.
Grace whispered, “What does it mean?”
I handed Michael the page.
He read it once.
Then again.
Finally he looked at me.
“They're not waiting for Friday, Dominic.”
“No.”
“They're planning to legally disconnect you.”
Grace's face lost color.
Michael continued.
“And if they have someone inside the hospital willing to provide the second certification…”
I finished his sentence.
“Then my murder comes with paperwork.”
At that exact moment, someone tried the locked door.
Once.
Then again.
A man's voice came from the hallway.
“Dr. Rosen?”
Michael looked toward the door.
“Yes?”
“I'm Dr. Leonard Shaw from Neurology.”
Michael frowned.
“I didn't request neurology.”
The man outside answered calmly.
“I know.”
A pause.
Then:
May you like
“Ms. Hale did.”
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