Chapter 2 - Behind the Family Photograph
Gabriel hit the greenhouse door with his shoulder.
It didn’t move.
“Hannah, step back.”
He struck it again.
Old glass trembled in the frame.
On the third attempt, the wooden latch tore loose.
They emerged into the rain.
A black SUV was already racing down the private road toward the front gates.
“Isabella?” Hannah asked.
“Maybe.”
Gabriel spoke into his radio.
“Close the outer gate.”
Static.
Then a guard answered.
“Too late.”
The SUV disappeared.
Gabriel immediately ordered Eleanor transported to the hospital under protection.
Then he returned to the metal box.
A locksmith from Vincent’s security team opened it shortly before midnight.
Inside were property documents, old photographs, handwritten ledgers and a sealed envelope bearing Eleanor’s name.
But the item that changed everything was a small digital voice recorder.
Eight years old.
Carlo Moretti had apparently made a recording weeks before his death.
The battery was dead, but Gabriel found a compatible charger.
When the device finally powered on, there was only one audio file.
Carlo’s voice filled the greenhouse.
“If Eleanor is listening to this, then I was right to be afraid.”
Gabriel stopped breathing.
Hannah looked at him.
The recording continued.
“I have reason to believe someone close to our family has been manipulating medical records, medications and financial documents. I don’t yet know the full reason.”
A chair scraped in the background of the old recording.
Then Carlo said:
“Samuel Whitmore is involved.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
There it was.
The first proof.
“But Samuel isn’t acting alone.”
A long pause.
“I made the mistake of trusting someone because they share my blood.”
The recording ended.
That was all.
No name.
No explanation.
No accusation against Isabella.
But enough to reopen questions that had been buried for eight years.
At 1:17 a.m., Gabriel received another call.
Vincent was awake.
And the first person he asked for was Hannah.
When she entered his hospital room, Vincent looked very different from the intimidating man she had met hours earlier.
Pale.
Exhausted.
Angry.
Alive.
“You stopped my treatment.”
“Yes.”
“You ignored me.”
“Yes.”
“You humiliated my doctor in front of my family.”
“Yes.”
Vincent stared at her.
Then he said:
“Thank you.”
Hannah hadn’t expected that.
Gabriel closed the door behind them.
Vincent’s eyes moved between them.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Gabriel placed Carlo’s recorder on the bedside table.
Vincent listened to his father’s message without interrupting.
When it ended, the room remained silent.
Finally Vincent looked at Gabriel.
“Where did you find this?”
“Your mother knew where your father hid it.”
“My mother?”
“She’s being evaluated downstairs.”
Vincent tried to sit straighter.
“What happened to her?”
“She’s been receiving similar treatments.”
His expression changed instantly.
“From Howard?”
“Yes.”
For a moment Hannah saw something more dangerous than anger cross Vincent’s face.
Betrayal.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“And Isabella?”
“Also gone.”
Vincent looked toward the dark hospital window.
“She knew.”
Hannah stopped him.
“We don’t know that.”
“She brought medication to my mother.”
“That makes her suspicious. It does not prove she understood what was in it.”
Vincent looked at Hannah.
“You defend everyone?”
“No. I separate evidence from anger.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
But after several seconds he nodded.
“Fine. Evidence.”
Hannah told him about the missing IV bags.
The incomplete records.
His mother’s worsening symptoms.
The previous nurse.
At that, Vincent frowned.
“What previous nurse?”
“Your mother said another nurse asked questions.”
“I never knew.”
“Your sister told you your mother didn’t want you seeing her.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Did Eleanor ever say that herself?”
He looked away.
“No.”
Hannah leaned closer.
“Then someone has been controlling what you know.”
At 2:03 a.m., Eleanor Moretti was admitted for observation.
Her bloodwork suggested prolonged exposure to something her physicians immediately began investigating.
But before Hannah could speak to her, Gabriel received a message from one of his investigators.
The missing nurse had a name.
Rebecca Sloan.
She had worked for Eleanor six weeks earlier.
Officially, Rebecca had quit unexpectedly.
But according to her landlord, she had left her apartment without clothes, without her car and without her cat.
No forwarding address.
No contact with family.
Nothing.
She had simply vanished.
Gabriel placed a photograph of Rebecca on the table.
Hannah stared at it.
She recognized the woman.
Not from the Moretti house.
From somewhere else.
Then she remembered.
Three months earlier, Hannah had attended a mandatory nursing seminar in Milwaukee.
A frightened woman had approached her during lunch.
She had asked whether Hannah had ever worked for wealthy private clients in Chicago.
Hannah had said no.
The woman had replied:
“If you ever do, check the labels yourself.”
Then she had disappeared into the crowd.
Hannah had forgotten the encounter.
Until now.
“That was Rebecca,” she whispered.
Vincent looked at her.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face hardened.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“We’re coming.”
Vincent demanded an explanation.
Gabriel looked directly at Hannah.
“Rebecca Sloan just used her credit card.”
Hannah felt her pulse jump.
“Where?”
“At a gas station outside Milwaukee.”
The city where Hannah lived.
The city where Hannah’s father was receiving long-term care.
Then Gabriel said the part that changed everything.
“The purchase was made ten minutes ago.”
Rebecca Sloan wasn’t dead.
May you like
She was running.
And for reasons nobody yet understood, she was running straight toward Hannah’s father.
