Chapter 7 - The Name on the Pharmacy Record
Hannah did not go alone.
She told Gabriel.
Gabriel told Vincent.
Vincent insisted on coming.
“You’re barely out of the hospital.”
“I’ve had worse mornings.”
“That is not medically reassuring.”
They arrived at the address Rebecca sent.
A closed neighborhood pharmacy.
The sign had been removed years earlier.
Rebecca waited inside.
She raised both hands when Gabriel entered.
“I’m not armed.”
“You’re also not particularly trustworthy,” he replied.
Rebecca accepted that.
Then she handed Hannah a folder.
Inside was a pharmacy ledger.
The name at the top made Hannah’s breath catch.
Cole, Walter.
Her father.
Eight years earlier.
A medication had been dispensed in his name.
But Walter had never received it.
The prescribing physician was Samuel Whitmore.
Hannah stared at Rebecca.
“How could Whitmore prescribe medication for my father?”
“He didn’t.”
“His name is right there.”
“Because someone copied his credentials.”
“Who?”
Rebecca swallowed.
“Me.”
Gabriel moved closer.
Rebecca flinched.
“I was twenty-two. Whitmore told me it was administrative work. He gave me patient information and had me prepare false records.”
“Including my father?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Hannah’s voice rose.
“He had a stroke.”
“I know.”
“Was he poisoned?”
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca began crying.
“I swear.”
Then she explained Carlo’s last night.
He had summoned her secretly because he discovered false prescriptions bearing Whitmore’s name.
Rebecca confessed that Whitmore had ordered her to create them.
Carlo offered to protect her if she testified.
She agreed.
Before she could leave, Eleanor entered.
Carlo collapsed minutes later.
Rebecca panicked and ran.
“Why?”
“Because I thought Whitmore had done something to him and would blame me.”
“Did you see anyone give Carlo medication?”
“No.”
“Did he eat or drink anything?”
“A glass of whiskey.”
Vincent looked up.
“My father didn’t drink whiskey.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I know that now.”
Someone had placed the glass on Carlo’s desk.
Forensic testing had never been done because the glass vanished before police arrived.
“Who removed it?” Gabriel asked.
Rebecca shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then she opened the pharmacy ledger.
Multiple false prescriptions had been created.
Carlo.
Walter.
Eleanor.
Vincent.
And another patient.
The same surname appeared again and again.
Davenport.
Hannah frowned.
“Who is Davenport?”
Vincent’s face changed.
“Arthur Davenport.”
Gabriel knew the name too.
Vincent explained.
Arthur had been Carlo Moretti’s business partner.
Not a gangster.
Not family.
A respected attorney who handled the Moretti trust.
Arthur died seven years ago.
Stroke.
Hannah felt cold.
“And who took over the trust after he died?”
Vincent looked toward the ledger.
“His son.”
“Name?”
“Julian Davenport.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“That’s the name.”
“What name?”
“The man Whitmore called when Carlo died.”
Everything suddenly rearranged itself.
Whitmore might have been the doctor.
Isabella might have been manipulated.
Rebecca might have created false records.
But another person sat above them.
Someone with access to the Moretti trust.
Someone who benefited from Carlo’s death.
From Arthur Davenport’s death.
From Vincent becoming incapacitated.
Gabriel pulled financial records.
Julian Davenport was currently the Moretti family trust’s senior legal administrator.
If Vincent became incapacitated and Eleanor was deemed mentally unfit, Isabella would nominally inherit authority.
But the trust administrator would control the actual release of assets.
Julian.
Billions of dollars.
Vincent stared at the screen.
“I’ve known him since I was ten.”
Hannah thought of something.
“What happens if Isabella is arrested for poisoning you?”
Gabriel checked.
“If she becomes legally disqualified, the trust goes into administrator control until succession is resolved.”
Everyone looked at Julian Davenport’s name.
The perfect plan.
Poison Vincent.
Frame Isabella.
Discredit Eleanor.
Whitmore provides medical records.
Rebecca provides a convenient trail.
And Julian takes control while the family destroys itself.
Vincent’s phone rang.
Julian Davenport.
Nobody moved.
Vincent answered on speaker.
“Julian.”
“Thank God you’re alive.”
The voice sounded genuinely relieved.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Why?”
“There’s something wrong with your trust accounts.”
Vincent looked at Hannah.
“How wrong?”
“Forty-eight million dollars moved this morning.”
“Where?”
“I’m still tracing it.”
A pause.
“Vincent, I need you to listen carefully.”
They waited.
“Your sister attempted to access the trust from a private terminal three hours ago.”
Isabella was currently in police custody.
She could not possibly have done that.
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Julian?”
“Yes?”
“My sister has been in an interview room for six hours.”
Silence.
Then the call disconnected.
Gabriel immediately began issuing orders.
But Hannah was staring at one tiny line on the pharmacy ledger.
The person who had approved Walter Cole’s false prescription eight years ago was not Whitmore.
Not Rebecca.
Not Isabella.
The authorization initials were J.D.
Julian Davenport.
And if Walter’s stroke had truly been engineered, then Hannah’s father had almost died because he had noticed the same conspiracy Hannah had just uncovered.
May you like
History was repeating itself.
Except this time, the nurse asking questions had no intention of disappearing.
