Chapter 2 - The Secret Behind Suite 512
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the blood rushing through my ears.
My mother?
A witness?
Adriano Costello's father?
I stared at him, waiting for some indication that this was an elaborate misunderstanding.
There wasn't one.
"I think you have the wrong family."
Adriano remained beside the window.
"I don't."
"My mother has never mentioned you."
"She wouldn't have."
"And my father—"
I stopped.
There were things about Daniel Brennan that my mother had refused to discuss for seventeen years.
Every time I'd asked why he'd left us, she gave the same answer.
Some people make choices we cannot understand, sweetheart.
As a child, I'd believed her.
As a teenager, I'd hated him.
As an adult, I'd stopped asking.
Now a stranger had placed his photograph on a hotel table, and all the anger I'd buried began clawing its way back.
"What do you want from me?"
Adriano glanced at the other men.
"Leave us."
One of the bodyguards moved toward the door.
"Boss—"
"Outside, Marco."
Within seconds, the room emptied.
Adriano remained standing, leaving the chair nearest the entrance available to me.
"You can sit."
"I'd rather stand."
"Then stand."
He opened the cream folder.
"Seventeen years ago, the Harrington Foundation operated a medical assistance program called the Evergreen Initiative."
"I've never heard of it."
"Most people haven't. It was shut down after an internal financial scandal."
He placed a document before me.
The paper had yellowed around the edges.
At the bottom was my mother's signature.
NORA E. BRENNAN.
I recognized her handwriting immediately.
"She was an accountant?"
"Senior compliance auditor."
I looked closer.
The document contained columns of numbers, transaction dates, and hospital reimbursement codes.
"She identified irregularities in the foundation's funding."
"What kind of irregularities?"
"Money allocated for vulnerable patients was being redirected through shell companies."
My stomach twisted.
"Stolen?"
"Millions."
I looked up.
"By whom?"
Adriano's jaw tightened.
"That's the question your parents were trying to answer."
He produced another photograph.
This one showed three men standing outside a private hospital.
One was Conrad Harrington.
One was a younger Adriano's father.
The third man had his face partially obscured.
"My father, Vittorio Costello, was one of the initiative's principal donors," Adriano explained. "He discovered the discrepancies and demanded an external audit."
"What happened?"
"Three weeks later, he died."
A chill moved over me.
"How?"
"Officially, cardiac arrest."
"And unofficially?"
Adriano studied me.
"We have reasons to believe someone deliberately interfered with his medical treatment."
I stepped backward.
"No."
"Your mother investigated the financial transfers. Daniel was helping her."
"My father sold insurance."
"Your father was a forensic accountant."
I felt the room tilt.
Every childhood memory suddenly seemed to contain a question I'd never thought to ask.
My father's late-night phone calls.
His locked office drawer.
The argument I'd overheard between my parents shortly before he disappeared.
My mother crying in the kitchen.
"What happened to him?"
Adriano's expression became unreadable.
"His car was found near the Hudson River. The police recovered his wallet and identification. No body."
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
"Mom told me he left."
"She may have been protecting you."
"From what?"
"Whoever was responsible."
I turned toward the door.
I needed air.
I needed to call my mother.
Most of all, I needed this conversation not to be happening.
Adriano spoke before I reached the handle.
"Eliza."
I stopped.
"Your mother was admitted to St. Catherine's nine weeks ago."
My blood ran cold.
"Have you been following us?"
"I received information about her hospitalization yesterday."
"From whom?"
"A former employee of the Evergreen Initiative."
"Why?"
He closed the folder.
"Because three days ago, someone accessed the hospital's restricted patient files using credentials connected to the Harrington Foundation."
I stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
"It means someone may have discovered where Nora Brennan is."
I called my mother from the hallway.
No answer.
Again.
Straight to voicemail.
I dialed the nurses' station.
A woman answered after the fourth ring.
"St. Catherine's, fourth floor."
"Hello. My name is Eliza Brennan. I'm calling about Nora Brennan in room 418."
"One moment."
I listened to distant voices and the faint sound of equipment.
The nurse returned.
"Your mother is resting, sweetheart. Is everything okay?"
"Has anyone visited her tonight?"
A pause.
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Please don't let anyone into her room unless they have my permission."
"Miss Brennan?"
"Please."
My voice broke.
The nurse softened.
"I'll make a note and notify the charge nurse."
I thanked her and ended the call.
When I returned to the suite, Adriano was standing near the table.
"I need to leave."
"Of course."
"I need to see my mother."
"I can have a car take you."
"No."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"I'm not trying to keep you here, Eliza."
"Then stop acting like you already know everything about my family."
He absorbed the accusation without responding.
I regretted the words almost immediately, but I didn't apologize.
I was frightened.
Angry.
And completely exhausted.
He picked up a small white envelope.
"Your payment for tonight."
"I haven't served anything."
"You came upstairs at my request."
"I don't want your charity."
"It isn't charity. You were asked to work, and I changed the assignment."
He placed the envelope on the edge of the table.
"You can take it or leave it."
I looked at it.
Then at him.
"Why are you helping me?"
For the first time, he seemed uncertain how to answer.
"Because your parents tried to tell the truth when everyone else preferred silence."
I swallowed.
"And because of your father?"
His expression hardened.
"Yes."
A black sedan waited outside the hotel.
I refused the ride twice.
The third time, Mrs. Winters approached me.
"Eliza, take the car."
"Did he send you?"
"No. I'm telling you as your supervisor. It's after midnight, and you look ready to collapse."
I finally agreed.
The driver introduced himself as Marco.
He didn't ask questions during the journey.
Neither did I.
At St. Catherine's, I practically ran through the lobby.
The elevator seemed to take forever.
When I reached room 418, my mother was awake.
Her thin frame rested beneath a pale blue blanket.
She had lost weight during the past three months, and the soft brown hair I remembered from childhood had become sparse and silver at the temples.
But when she saw me, she smiled.
"Baby."
That one word nearly destroyed me.
I crossed the room and hugged her.
"You're supposed to be asleep."
"You're supposed to be home."
I pulled up a chair.
"Mom, I need to ask you something."
She reached for my hand.
"What's wrong?"
I hesitated.
Then I took my phone from my pocket.
I'd photographed the picture of her and my father before leaving Suite 512.
I turned the screen toward her.
The change was immediate.
Her smile vanished.
Her fingers tightened around mine.
"Where did you get that?"
"From a man named Adriano Costello."
The heart monitor continued its steady rhythm.
But my mother's face went completely white.
"Eliza."
"Mom, who is Vittorio Costello?"
She released my hand.
For the first time in my life, my mother looked genuinely terrified of me knowing an answer.
"Did Adriano tell you about Evergreen?"
"Yes."
She closed her eyes.
A tear escaped.
"Oh, Daniel."
My throat tightened.
"Mom, did Dad really leave us?"
She covered her mouth.
I moved closer.
"Please. I'm not ten anymore."
For a long time, she said nothing.
Then she reached toward the bedside cabinet.
"Bring me my bag."
I retrieved the faded blue handbag she'd owned for years.
She pointed toward the inner compartment.
"There's a key."
I unzipped it.
Inside was a small brass key attached to a worn blue ribbon.
"What's this for?"
My mother squeezed my fingers.
"Your father left something for you."
I stared at her.
"Where?"
Before she could answer, someone knocked on the door.
We both turned.
A nurse stepped inside carrying a small bouquet of white lilies.
"These were just delivered for Mrs. Brennan."
My mother froze.
"Who sent them?"
The nurse looked at the card.
"There's no name."
I took the flowers.
Tucked between the white petals was a folded piece of cream-colored paper.
Four words had been written across it.
WE KNOW SHE'S ALIVE.
My mother began to cry.
May you like
And then she whispered something I would never forget.
"Eliza, whatever happens, don't let Conrad Harrington get that key."
