Chapter 4
By 10:15 p.m., Luca Moretti was officially fighting to keep control of his own company.
By 10:30, I was in a hospital gown wondering whether I had accidentally started a corporate war.
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant, coffee, and rain-soaked jackets. My X-rays were being reviewed. My knees were bandaged. The cuts at my waist had been cleaned and covered with fresh gauze.
Mrs. Kline sat beside my bed with her purse in her lap and the expression of a woman personally offended by modern civilization.
“I told you to sit down three times this afternoon.”
“I know.”
“You said you were fine.”
“I was lying.”
“I know.”
She handed me a paper cup of water.
“Drink.”
I obeyed.
Mrs. Kline had been working for Luca’s family for nineteen years. She was sixty-two, Polish, five feet two inches tall, and the only person I had ever seen tell Luca Moretti his tie looked cheap.
She watched me drink.
Then said, “You should quit.”
I nearly choked.
“What?”
“Not tonight. Tonight would look dramatic. Tomorrow morning.”
“I need the job.”
“You need knees more.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my eyes filled with tears.
That irritated me.
I looked away.
Mrs. Kline pretended not to notice.
After a minute, she said, “You are not crying because of knees.”
“No.”
“Because of Vanessa?”
“Partly.”
“Because Mr. Moretti?”
“No.”
She gave me a look.
I frowned.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“It looked like something.”
“I have old face. Old face makes many expressions.”
“Mrs. Kline.”
She smiled and patted my hand.
My new temporary phone buzzed on the tray table.
Luca had sent it through one of his drivers less than an hour after police took mine. I had protested until Mrs. Kline pointed out that Sergeant Ruiz had specifically told me to preserve communications, which required having some form of communication.
The screen showed an unknown number.
I stared at it.
Mrs. Kline stared too.
“Answer?” she asked.
“No.”
The call stopped.
Three seconds later, a text appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE BRACELET AND KEPT QUIET.
My blood went cold.
Mrs. Kline grabbed the phone before I could stop her.
Another message arrived.
NOW EVERYONE PAYS.
Mrs. Kline stood.
“I call police.”
“Wait.”
“No wait.”
“Take a screenshot first.”
She looked at me with sudden approval.
“Good girl.”
We saved everything and called Sergeant Ruiz.
She answered on the second ring.
“Ruiz.”
“It’s Claire Dawson.”
“What happened?”
I read the messages.
Her tone changed immediately.
“Do not reply. Do not block the number. Forward screenshots to the email on my card. Where are you?”
“Hospital.”
“Stay there until someone from my team arrives.”
I glanced at Mrs. Kline.
“Okay.”
“And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“If anyone approaches claiming they were sent by Luca, Daniel, me, or the building, verify them before you leave.”
My stomach tightened.
“Do you think someone would do that?”
“I think somebody already planted jewelry in your purse and destroyed a phone.”
Point taken.
Ten minutes later, Luca walked into the emergency room.
He still wore his vest suit, but the jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled up. Rain darkened his hair. He looked less like the polished man from the head of the dinner table and more like someone who had been in a fight without throwing a punch.
Mrs. Kline stood.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you, Marta.”
“You should eat.”
“Yes, Marta.”
“You will not.”
“No, Marta.”
She muttered something in Polish and went to find coffee.
Luca looked at me.
“How bad?”
“No fracture.”
His shoulders loosened slightly.
“Good.”
“Deep bruising. Cuts. Doctor says I should stay off my feet for a few days.”
“You will.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He caught himself.
“You should.”
“Learning.”
“Slowly.”
I showed him the messages.
The humor vanished from his face.
“Ruiz knows?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“What happened at the office?”
He leaned against the counter.
“Matteo left before I arrived.”
“Vanessa?”
“Also gone.”
“Dr. Hale?”
“Gone.”
“So you found nothing?”
“I found my brother’s office stripped of two file boxes and his desktop computer.”
“That seems bad.”
“It is.”
“What about the emergency petition?”
His jaw tightened.
“Still pending.”
“How can anyone claim you’re cognitively impaired? You’re standing here having a conversation.”
“Corporate law is creative when enough money is involved.”
“That sounds like something Daniel would say.”
“He did.”
He sat in the chair Mrs. Kline had vacated.
“The petition alleges erratic judgment, undisclosed medication use, mood instability, and recent episodes of confusion.”
I stared at him.
“Is any of that true?”
“No.”
“Medication?”
“Occasional migraine medication. Prescribed.”
“Confusion?”
“No.”
“Mood instability?”
He looked at me.
“I’m Italian.”
I laughed.
He almost did too.
Then his face hardened again.
“Dr. Hale attached a preliminary letter stating he observed warning signs during two private consultations.”
“Did you have private consultations with him?”
“Never.”
My laughter disappeared.
“So he lied.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you prove it?”
“I can prove he isn’t my doctor.”
“That seems useful.”
“It should be.”
“Should?”
“My board is twelve people. Matteo only needs six votes to impose a seventy-two-hour emergency restriction while they investigate.”
“And during that time?”
“He becomes acting chief executive.”
I thought about the contract.
“Then if you were married to Vanessa…”
“Her family management company could petition to step in under the marital governance provisions.”
“So they were building two roads to the same place.”
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
“One through Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“One through Vanessa.”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
“Why?”
Luca didn’t answer.
I waited.
Finally he said, “Moretti Hospitality owns thirty-seven hotels, fourteen restaurants, and development rights on six major properties. We’re finalizing a refinancing package next month.”
“How much money?”
“Three point eight billion.”
I stared.
“That many billions?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to need another paper cup of water.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he continued.
“If control changes before the refinancing closes, someone could redirect asset sales, replace lenders, alter development partners.”
“Steal?”
“Legally, if they structure it well enough.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
“It usually is.”
The curtain opened.
A nurse stepped in.
“Ms. Dawson, radiology cleared you. Doctor will discharge you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
She left.
Luca looked toward the hall.
“You’re not going home.”
I sighed.
“You were doing so well.”
He gave me an irritated look.
“Claire.”
“I know. Hotel.”
“Different hotel now.”
“Why?”
“The Langford is ours.”
“So?”
“So if Matteo has internal access, he can see reservations.”
That scared me more than I wanted him to know.
“Where then?”
“Daniel has a furnished apartment in Brooklyn used for visiting consultants.”
I stared.
“You want to hide me in Brooklyn?”
“Apparently Queens is too predictable.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
The temporary phone buzzed again.
Both of us looked down.
Another unknown number.
This time, a photo appeared.
My breath stopped.
It was my apartment building in Queens.
Taken tonight.
Rain shining on the front steps.
My building number clearly visible.
Then another photo.
My younger sister, Emily, stepping out of a subway station.
I dropped the phone.
Luca caught it before it hit the floor.
“Emily.”
“What?”
“That’s my sister.”
He was already dialing.
“Number.”
“What?”
“Your sister’s phone number.”
I gave it to him.
He called from his own phone on speaker.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
My hands went numb.
“She always answers me.”
“Maybe she’s underground.”
“The picture shows her outside.”
Luca called Marco.
“Get two people to Claire’s sister. Emily Dawson. I’m sending her number and photo. Do not approach aggressively. Just find her and keep eyes on her until police arrive.”
He hung up.
I stood.
Pain exploded through my knees.
“I’m going home.”
“No.”
“My sister is there.”
“We don’t know that.”
“I’m going.”
He stepped between me and the curtain.
“Claire, if someone sent you that photo, they want you to panic and move.”
“She’s my sister.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice broke.
“You don’t know anything about us.”
His face softened.
“You’re right.”
That made me angrier.
“I promised my mother I’d take care of her.”
“Then take care of her by not walking into whatever this is.”
I stared at him.
I hated that he was right.
Again.
The phone rang.
Unknown number.
Luca looked at me.
“Don’t answer.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
A man’s voice, distorted electronically.
“You should have kept serving dinner.”
My skin went cold.
“Where is my sister?”
A soft laugh.
“Ask Luca what happened to his first witness.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen.
Then at Luca.
He had gone completely pale.
“What did he mean?”
He said nothing.
“Luca.”
Still nothing.
My fear turned into something sharper.
“What first witness?”
Mrs. Kline had returned with coffee.
She stopped at the curtain when she saw his face.
“Luca?”
He looked at her.
She whispered, “No.”
That one word told me there was a story everyone knew except me.
I pushed myself upright.
“Tell me.”
Luca closed his eyes for a second.
Then opened them.
“Four years ago, an accountant at Moretti Hospitality told me someone was moving money through a construction subsidiary.”
“What happened to him?”
Luca’s voice dropped.
“He disappeared before he could give me the records.”
My heart hammered.
“Disappeared how?”
“His car was found near the East River.”
“And him?”
“Never.”
I stared at him.
The room suddenly felt much colder.
“Was Matteo involved?”
“I didn’t know then.”
“And now?”
He looked at the phone in his hand.
“Now I’m not sure what I know.”
Before I could answer, his phone rang again.
Marco.
Luca put it on speaker.
“Tell me you found Emily.”
A beat.
Then Marco said, “We found her apartment.”
My knees weakened.
“And?” Luca asked.
“The door was open.”
I stopped breathing.
Marco continued.
“The place has been searched.”
My voice barely worked.
“Is she there?”
Silence.
May you like
Then:
“No.”
