Chapter 4 - Vincent Wakes Up
By sunrise, Vincent had ignored three separate medical orders and demanded a secure video call.
Hannah stared at him through Gabriel’s phone.
“You should be sleeping.”
“And you should apparently stop walking into conspiracies.”
“Fair.”
“What did your father say?”
“Not much. His speech is limited.”
“Enough?”
“Enough to know he met Whitmore before your father died.”
Vincent’s expression became unreadable.
For the first time, Hannah understood something about him.
His intimidating reputation was not built on constant aggression.
It was built on control.
He listened.
He remembered.
He rarely reacted before deciding what mattered.
“What does Walter remember?” Vincent asked.
Hannah sat beside her father.
Through gestures, written letters and exhausting attempts at speech, Walter reconstructed a fragmented story.
Eight years ago, while working as a hospital compliance administrator, he had been contacted about an unusual laboratory test.
A private patient from Chicago.
Carlo Moretti.
The sample showed evidence of repeated exposure to medication that had not appeared on Carlo’s official chart.
Walter reported the discrepancy.
The physician responsible for the patient’s records?
Dr. Samuel Whitmore.
Within twenty-four hours, Walter’s supervisor ordered him to close the review.
A week later, Carlo died.
“Why didn’t Dad go to police?” Hannah asked softly.
Walter’s face twisted with shame.
He pointed toward her.
Then himself.
Then made the sign for money.
“You were afraid of losing your job?”
He nodded.
“And taking care of me?”
Another nod.
Hannah’s anger vanished.
Walter closed his eyes.
He had carried that guilt for eight years.
Vincent watched from the phone screen.
“Mr. Cole.”
Walter opened his eyes.
“You did not kill my father.”
Walter swallowed.
Vincent continued.
“The person who hurt him did.”
Walter began crying.
Hannah squeezed his hand.
Then Gabriel returned with a laptop.
Rebecca’s drive had finished decrypting.
Most documents were exactly as she described.
Altered infusion schedules.
Different versions of the same treatment sheet.
Payments from a private Moretti-linked holding company to Whitmore’s clinic.
But one folder was password-protected.
Its title was simply:
C.M.—FINAL.
Vincent stared at it.
“My father.”
They tried Carlo’s birthday.
Eleanor’s.
Vincent’s.
Isabella’s.
Nothing.
Hannah remembered the box in the greenhouse.
“What about the rose garden?”
Vincent looked at her.
“My mother’s roses?”
“Your father hid the recorder near the greenhouse. Maybe the password relates to something personal.”
Vincent thought.
Then typed:
BLUEJULIET.
The folder opened.
Gabriel frowned.
“What’s Blue Juliet?”
“My mother’s favorite rose.”
Inside were scanned documents.
One was a laboratory report.
One was a handwritten letter.
And one was a photograph of a medication vial.
The lab report confirmed Rebecca’s claim.
Carlo Moretti had tested positive for a substance not prescribed to him.
The handwritten note appeared to be Carlo’s.
If this report is accurate, S.W. has lied to me.
Below that:
I confronted I. She denied everything.
Hannah’s stomach dropped.
“I.”
Isabella?
Vincent said nothing.
Gabriel zoomed in.
There was more handwriting at the bottom.
Do not tell Vincent until I know why.
Vincent stood despite his IV line.
“Sit down,” Hannah ordered.
He ignored her.
“My father knew.”
Gabriel spoke carefully.
“We still don’t know what the initial means.”
“We both know.”
“No,” Hannah said. “We suspect.”
Vincent looked at her sharply.
“You still want to defend my sister?”
“I want the truth to survive a courtroom.”
That stopped him.
Rebecca opened another document.
A spreadsheet of money transfers.
Payments flowed from one Moretti subsidiary to an offshore account.
Then from that account into Whitmore’s practice.
The person authorizing the original transfers was listed by initials.
I.M.
This time nobody spoke.
Vincent sank back into the chair.
His sister’s full name was Isabella Moretti.
Gabriel closed the laptop.
“We need law enforcement.”
Vincent stared at him.
“We need my mother safe first.”
“She is.”
“No. If Isabella did this, then nowhere connected to my family is safe.”
Hannah watched him.
The terrifying Vincent Moretti from yesterday had disappeared.
In his place was a son discovering that his father might have been murdered and his mother slowly poisoned.
A brother facing the possibility that the person responsible was the sister he had protected his entire life.
Then Vincent’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A message appeared.
YOU’RE LOOKING AT THE WRONG MORETTI.
Attached was a photograph.
Isabella.
She was tied to a chair.
Her cream blouse torn at the shoulder.
A bruise marked her cheek.
Behind her stood Dr. Whitmore.
And taped to Isabella’s chest was a handwritten message.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHAT HAPPENED THE NIGHT CARLO DIED.
Vincent stared.
Hannah felt the entire theory collapse.
If Isabella and Whitmore were partners, why was he holding her?
Unless the photograph was staged.
Or unless the Moretti family had been lying to itself for eight years.
Vincent looked at Gabriel.
“Find her.”
Then he turned to Hannah.
“You wanted certainty?”
His voice was low.
“Now we get it.”
Because Isabella Moretti might be guilty.
She might be innocent.
May you like
Or she might be something far more dangerous:
Both.
