Chapter 5 - The Name on the Pharmacy Log
The ledger changed everything.
But it proved nothing.
Not yet.
Anyone could argue Lorenzo had been paranoid.
Anyone could claim S.R. meant something else.
And none of it established who had switched Alexander’s pills the previous night.
“We need the pharmacy records,” Keller said.
“The phones are down,” Vincent replied.
“I can drive.”
“East road is flooded.”
“Then take the north service route.”
Vincent hesitated.
“The gate logs show someone disabled the north camera.”
“Exactly,” Keller said. “So whoever did this used that road.”
I looked at Alexander.
“Go.”
Keller glanced at me.
“You’re comfortable monitoring him?”
“Yes.”
He gave me precise instructions.
Vincent assigned two guards to accompany Keller.
Before leaving, Keller turned back.
“Clara?”
“Yes?”
“If his respiratory rate drops below ten, use the emergency oxygen mask and send someone for me immediately.”
“I understand.”
He looked at Alexander.
For the first time, the doctor’s face revealed something beyond professional concern.
Fear.
“I should have seen it sooner.”
“You prescribed the right medicine.”
“But I trusted what was beside the bed.”
“So did I.”
He shook his head.
“That won’t help me sleep.”
Neither would anything else that had happened.
After Keller left, Vincent began checking staff movements.
Eleanor and I remained with Alexander.
An hour passed.
His fever began dropping.
Not dramatically.
But steadily.
103.1.
102.7.
102.3.
I almost cried from relief.
“He’s responding,” I whispered.
Eleanor touched my shoulder.
“You were right.”
“I’d rather have been wrong.”
She studied me.
“You love him.”
Heat rose to my face despite everything.
I looked at Alexander.
“Apparently I’m terrible at secrets.”
“He knows.”
My head snapped toward her.
“What?”
“Not what you said last night.”
She smiled faintly.
“But the rest?”
“No.”
“Clara, Alexander notices when you enter a room.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“He once fired a florist.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“The florist sent lilies for the west hall.”
“So?”
“You’re allergic to lilies.”
I stared.
Eleanor almost laughed.
“He remembered.”
Before I could respond, Alexander moved.
His fingers tightened weakly around mine.
I leaned closer.
“Alexander?”
His eyes opened a fraction.
Dark.
Unfocused.
But open.
“Clara.”
My heart stopped.
“I’m here.”
He seemed to struggle to stay conscious.
“Don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“Trust…”
His eyes closed again.
“Alexander?”
Nothing.
Eleanor whispered, “He said your name.”
I ignored the way my chest hurt.
“Trust who?”
Alexander had already disappeared beneath sleep again.
Two hours later Keller returned.
His face told us something had happened.
Vincent followed carrying documents.
“What did you find?” I asked.
Keller placed a printed pharmacy log on the table.
“My prescription was filled yesterday at six thirteen.”
“That matches.”
“Yes. I collected it personally at six forty.”
“So the courier bag was fake.”
“Not entirely.”
Vincent showed me a second record.
“At eight fifty-two, someone accessed the pharmacy’s internal account and created a duplicate order.”
“Who?”
Keller pointed to a name.
Dr. Nathan Keller.
“You?”
“No.”
“The login was yours.”
“My credentials were stolen.”
Vincent tapped another line.
“Order pickup authorized by private representative.”
“Name?”
He looked at me.
“Marcus Dane.”
I frowned.
“Who is Marcus Dane?”
Eleanor suddenly sat down.
I turned.
“Mrs. Calder?”
She looked as if she had seen a ghost.
“Marcus Dane worked for Lorenzo.”
“When?”
“Before Alexander took over.”
“What happened to him?”
Her answer came slowly.
“He died.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“When?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
I stared at the pharmacy log.
Someone had used the name of a dead man.
“Could he be alive?”
“No,” Eleanor whispered.
“I went to his funeral.”
The room fell quiet.
Then Vincent’s phone vibrated.
Signal had returned.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression darkened.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“The fake courier has been identified.”
“How?”
“Fingerprints on the motorcycle.”
“Who is he?”
“Ethan Rowe. Private investigator. Multiple fraud arrests.”
“Where is he?”
Vincent’s eyes met mine.
“Police found him forty minutes ago.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief.
Then Vincent continued.
“He claims someone paid him to deliver a sealed pharmacy bag.”
“Who?”
“He never met them.”
“Payment?”
“Cash.”
Of course.
“But he gave us one thing.”
Vincent placed a security still on the table.
Grainy image.
Parking garage.
Ethan receiving an envelope from someone in a long coat.
Face mostly hidden.
But the hand was visible.
On one finger, a distinctive signet ring.
Eleanor gasped.
I had seen that ring before.
Every morning at breakfast.
Every formal dinner.
Every board meeting.
A black onyx ring engraved with an R.
Sebastian Romano wore it every day.
Except that morning.
When he appeared in the cellar.
May you like
His right hand had been bare.
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