Chapter 3 - The Nurse Who Disappeared
Hannah called her father’s care facility immediately.
No answer.
She called again.
Finally a night supervisor picked up.
“Walter Cole is fine,” the woman assured her.
“Has anyone visited him tonight?”
The supervisor checked.
“Yes. A woman arrived about twenty minutes ago.”
Hannah stood.
“What woman?”
“She said she was your friend.”
“What was her name?”
A pause.
“Rebecca.”
Gabriel was already calling his Chicago team.
Hannah’s hands began to shake.
Vincent noticed.
“Go.”
“You’re still recovering.”
“I have twenty people around me. Your father doesn’t.”
Hannah grabbed her coat.
Gabriel drove.
They reached Milwaukee before dawn.
Rebecca Sloan was sitting beside Walter Cole’s bed.
She did not run when Hannah entered.
She looked exhausted.
Older than her photograph.
And terrified.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca whispered.
Hannah moved between her and her father.
“Why are you here?”
“Because your father has something they need.”
Walter’s eyes widened.
“My father suffered a stroke.”
“I know.”
“What could he possibly have?”
Rebecca reached into her coat.
Gabriel’s hand went toward his jacket.
“Slowly.”
She produced a flash drive.
“I mailed this to Walter six weeks ago.”
Hannah stared.
“Why?”
“Because I needed somewhere Isabella and Whitmore would never think to search.”
There was the name.
Isabella.
The accusation nobody had wanted to make without evidence.
Rebecca began talking.
She had been hired to care for Eleanor.
She noticed strange changes after Whitmore’s infusions.
Fatigue.
Confusion.
Trembling.
Episodes of collapse.
Rebecca copied records.
Then she discovered that Whitmore had been altering dosage sheets after treatments.
One afternoon, she saw Isabella enter his private office.
She overheard them arguing.
“She said it was taking too long,” Rebecca whispered.
Hannah felt sick.
“Taking what too long?”
“Vincent.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
Rebecca continued.
“I didn’t understand everything. But Whitmore told her increasing the dose would draw attention.”
“What did Isabella say?”
“That if Vincent died suddenly, people would investigate. She wanted him sick enough to step away from his companies.”
“And Eleanor?”
“Leverage.”
Hannah thought of the elderly woman trembling in her bed.
“Why?”
Rebecca looked at Gabriel.
“Because Vincent controls the Moretti family trust. If he becomes medically incapacitated, the successor named in an amendment takes control.”
“Isabella,” Gabriel said.
Rebecca nodded.
“But there’s more.”
Of course there was.
There was always more.
Carlo Moretti had apparently discovered irregular transfers eight years ago.
Whitmore had helped cover them.
Carlo confronted someone.
Days later he died of what was called a heart attack.
Rebecca suspected his medical records had been falsified.
“Why Walter?” Hannah asked.
Rebecca looked embarrassed.
“At the Milwaukee seminar, I was trying to find someone outside Chicago.”
Hannah remembered her warning.
Check the labels yourself.
“I followed you afterward. I learned about your father. His facility accepts ordinary mail from outside senders and scans almost nothing because residents receive family packages constantly.”
“You used my father as a hiding place.”
“I was desperate.”
Hannah wanted to be furious.
She was.
But Rebecca was shaking.
Someone had frightened this woman badly.
“Where’s the drive?”
Rebecca looked at Walter.
Walter smiled weakly.
Then pointed toward his bookshelf.
Behind a photograph of Hannah as a child sat a small wooden music box.
Hannah opened it.
Inside was another flash drive.
Different from the one Rebecca was holding.
Rebecca exhaled.
“You still have it.”
“What’s on it?”
“Copies of treatment logs. Bank transactions. Audio recordings.”
Gabriel took it.
“And proof of Isabella’s involvement?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Enough to ask questions.”
Not enough.
Hannah could tell by Gabriel’s expression.
They needed certainty.
Because accusing Vincent Moretti’s sister without certainty could destroy an entire family.
Rebecca then delivered one final piece of information.
“Whitmore has been doing this longer than you think.”
“How long?”
“At least eight years.”
Carlo.
Hannah thought of the recording.
Rebecca nodded.
“I found a file with his name.”
Gabriel became completely still.
“What file?”
“A medical toxicology panel dated two days before Carlo died.”
“Why would he have toxicology testing?”
“Because someone already suspected he was being poisoned.”
Hannah looked toward her father.
Suddenly Walter made a rough sound.
His damaged speech had been limited since his stroke.
But he was trying to say something.
“Hannah.”
She rushed to him.
“I’m here.”
Walter lifted a trembling finger toward Rebecca.
“Know.”
Hannah frowned.
“You know Rebecca?”
Walter nodded.
Rebecca’s face drained of color.
“No.”
Walter struggled again.
“Hospital.”
Rebecca backed away.
“What is he talking about?”
Hannah stared at her.
“My father worked in hospital administration before his stroke.”
Walter nodded urgently.
Then forced out another name.
“Whitmore.”
The room became silent.
Hannah’s heart began pounding.
“Dad knew Dr. Whitmore?”
Walter’s hand shook violently.
“Yes.”
And then, with enormous effort, Walter Cole forced four more words through damaged speech.
“Before Carlo Moretti died.”
Hannah turned toward Rebecca.
Gabriel looked at the drive in his hand.
May you like
The conspiracy had just crossed state lines.
And somehow Hannah’s father had been connected to it years before she ever walked into Vincent Moretti’s mansion.
