Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE GLASS
“Don't let them take my mother anywhere.”
Dominic Moretti's command was so cold that even his security chief stopped breathing for a moment.
On the telephone, the frightened woman from Whitmore Private Care whispered, “Mr. Moretti, you don't understand. Your mother isn't supposed to know who she is.”
Dominic tightened his grip on the receiver.
“What does that mean?”
“She's been listed as Marian Ellis for twenty years. Her real name isn't anywhere on her identification bracelet.”
“Then how do you know she's my mother?”
A pause.
“Because yesterday she heard someone mention your engagement. She started crying and begged me to find you.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
For twenty years, he'd visited a grave.
Twenty Christmas mornings.
Twenty birthdays.
Twenty Mother's Days spent standing before a marble headstone, wondering whether his mother would have been proud of the man he'd become.
Now a stranger was telling him she was alive.
“What's your name?” he asked.
“Leah Price. I'm one of the nurses.”
“Leah, listen carefully. Don't allow anyone to move her. I'm coming.”
“The transfer team is scheduled for ten.”
Dominic checked his watch.
Eight seventeen.
“Then I'll be there before they arrive.”
He ended the call.
Across the library, Evelyn Harper sat trembling beside Rachel.
Dominic looked at the elderly nurse.
“Why didn't you come to me sooner?”
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
“Because the last time I tried, someone ended up in the hospital.”
“Who?”
“Your father's accountant.”
Dominic went still.
His father, Antonio Moretti, had died five years earlier. Whatever secrets he'd carried had gone into the ground with him.
“Explain.”
Evelyn pressed the silver pendant against her chest.
“Not here. Your mother has waited twenty years. Please don't make her wait another night.”
Rachel stood.
“Mr. Moretti, I'll help Mrs. Harper get ready.”
Dominic studied her.
The young maid had risked her entire livelihood for someone she'd never met.
“Rachel, you don't have to get involved.”
She looked him directly in the eyes.
“Neither did your mother when she helped people who couldn't protect themselves.”
Evelyn suddenly raised her head.
“That's exactly what Elena used to say.”
Dominic felt something painful move behind his ribs.
Elena.
He hadn't heard his mother's first name spoken with affection in years.
Before he could answer, Vanessa appeared in the library doorway.
“Dominic, darling, the guests are asking where you've gone.”
Her eyes moved toward the transfer papers.
Then toward Evelyn.
“What's happening?”
Dominic walked toward her.
“Your father's private facility has been holding my mother for twenty years.”
Vanessa's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But he saw it.
“That's impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Dominic, your mother died in a fire. You know that.”
“Apparently, I don't.”
Vanessa reached for his arm.
“Please. Don't let this woman manipulate you.”
He stepped away.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That my mother was alive.”
For the first time that evening, Vanessa couldn't meet his eyes.
“I knew my father treated a woman connected to your family. I didn't know the whole story.”
“Then why did you take her records?”
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
“Because my father told me that woman was dangerous.”
Evelyn rose slowly.
“Dangerous?”
She looked at Vanessa with such disappointment that Rachel instinctively stepped closer.
“Your father made Elena spend twenty years inside a locked medical ward. And now you're calling her dangerous?”
Vanessa snapped.
“You have no idea what my father has sacrificed for that facility!”
Dominic opened the library door.
“Marco.”
His security chief appeared immediately.
“Have the cars brought around.”
“Sir?”
“We're going to Whitmore Private Care.”
Vanessa stepped into his path.
“If you go there tonight, you could destroy everything.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Then perhaps everything deserves to be destroyed.”
He walked past her.
Rachel followed with Evelyn.
Behind them, Vanessa stood motionless.
Then she reached into her evening bag and removed her phone.
For several seconds, she stared at her father's contact.
Finally, she typed a message.
He knows about Elena.
She hesitated before sending a second.
Please don't hurt her.
Whitmore Private Care stood forty minutes outside Chicago, behind iron gates and a row of carefully trimmed trees.
The building looked nothing like a prison.
Its windows glowed warmly.
A fountain stood beneath the entrance canopy.
A polished bronze sign promised dignity, comfort, and exceptional care.
Dominic had never hated a building more.
Marco approached the reception desk first.
“We're here to see Marian Ellis.”
The receptionist stiffened.
“Visiting hours ended at seven.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Then you'll make an exception.”
A gray-haired administrator emerged from an office.
“Mr. Moretti. I'm Dr. Warren Bell.”
“You know who I am?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know why I'm here.”
Bell adjusted his glasses.
“Marian Ellis is a protected patient under a court-appointed guardianship. She cannot receive visitors without authorization.”
“Her name is Elena Moretti.”
Bell's face remained still.
“I'm afraid you're mistaken.”
Rachel noticed his hand moving toward a small button beneath the desk.
She placed herself beside Evelyn.
“Mrs. Harper,” Rachel said quietly, “do you recognize him?”
Evelyn's face drained of color.
“He was the physician who signed the certificate saying I died.”
Bell froze.
Dominic turned toward him.
“You want to explain that?”
Before Bell could respond, a younger nurse entered the reception area.
She wore blue scrubs and carried a medication tray.
Her name badge read LEAH PRICE.
“Dr. Bell,” she said, “the patient is asking for her son.”
Bell's jaw tightened.
“Return to your station.”
“She has refused her evening medication.”
“Then document the refusal.”
“She also asked me to give Mr. Moretti something.”
Leah reached into her pocket.
A folded piece of paper.
Bell lunged toward her.
Marco stepped between them.
“Don't.”
Leah placed the paper in Dominic's hand.
It was a child's drawing.
A little house.
A crooked tree.
A woman holding a boy's hand.
Below it, in childish handwriting, were five words.
Mommy, I'll always find you.
Dominic's knees nearly gave way.
He remembered that picture.
He'd drawn it when he was seven.
His mother had taped it beside her bedroom mirror.
“Where did you get this?”
Leah's voice softened.
“She keeps it beneath her pillow.”
Rachel watched Dominic trace the crooked tree with his thumb.
For the first time since she'd started working at his mansion, he looked less like a powerful man than a frightened son.
Bell cleared his throat.
“Mr. Moretti, emotional manipulation is common among confused patients.”
Dominic folded the drawing carefully.
“Take me to her.”
“I cannot.”
“Then contact whoever has the authority to review her guardianship tonight.”
Bell looked toward the security cameras.
“Your mother has a documented history of dangerous behavior.”
Dominic moved closer.
“What behavior?”
“She set a residential fire that endangered several people.”
Evelyn made a small, broken sound.
Dominic turned.
“What is he talking about?”
Evelyn whispered, “Let Elena explain.”
Leah led them through a corridor lined with paintings and artificial flowers.
At the far end stood a secured door.
Behind its glass window sat a woman in a wheelchair.
Her hair was white.
Her shoulders were thin.
She wore a pale blue sweater and held something small against her lap.
Dominic stopped.
Twenty years disappeared.
Those eyes.
He knew those eyes.
“Mom?”
The woman slowly raised her head.
Her hand moved toward the glass.
“Dominic?”
His throat closed.
He placed his left palm against the window.
She immediately looked at the pale scar running between his thumb and forefinger.
The scar he'd gotten at seven when he broke a blue drinking glass while helping her wash dishes.
His mother began crying.
“My boy.”
Dominic pressed his forehead against the glass.
“I'm here, Mom.”
She shook her head urgently.
“Don't sign anything they give you.”
“I won't.”
“And don't trust the medical records.”
“I don't.”
Her gaze shifted toward Evelyn.
Then Rachel.
Finally, she looked back at her son.
“Dominic, there's something you must understand before you take me out of here.”
He straightened.
“What?”
His mother touched the glass.
May you like
Her voice was barely audible.
“The night everyone thought I died, I was the one who started the fire.”
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