Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF A FATHER'S SIGNATURE
Anthony stared at the verified approval record.
“I remember signing it.”
His admission stunned me.
Dr. Keene folded his arms.
“Then perhaps this conversation is finished.”
Anthony slowly shook his head.
“No. I remember what you told me I was signing.”
Keene's face tightened.
The agreement had been presented at a fundraising dinner nine months earlier.
Anthony had pledged to purchase specialized rehabilitation equipment.
Claudia had delivered the approval tablet between courses.
He remembered the dinner.
The champagne.
The business partners congratulating him.
He even remembered Claudia saying, “It's just the equipment allocation, Anthony.”
He hadn't read the full agreement.
Now the consequences were standing beside him in a wheelchair.
Daniel watched his father carefully.
Anthony turned to him.
“I should have read it, Danny.”
His son didn't respond.
“I trusted the wrong people. But that doesn't excuse me.”
For the first time since we'd arrived, Anthony sounded less like a man accustomed to giving orders.
He sounded like a father who had failed his child.
Dr. Keene attempted to end the conversation.
“The authorization remains valid.”
“I revoke consent for any further participation in this program,” Anthony replied.
“Treatment decisions require proper clinical review.”
“Then arrange one with an independent specialist.”
Keene glanced toward the officers standing near Emily.
He clearly understood that threatening Anthony wouldn't help him now.
Instead, he turned toward me.
“Miss Morgan, you've been providing services under the Santoro household's care arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“Then you're aware that sharing confidential treatment information can have professional consequences.”
My stomach tightened.
He knew exactly where to strike.
My mother lived in an assisted-living community in Queens.
Her monthly expenses were more than I earned from most caregiving assignments.
If I lost my certification or employment, I couldn't simply find another source of income overnight.
Anthony noticed my expression.
“Rachel works for my family,” he said.
Keene smiled faintly.
“Professional regulators may view the situation differently.”
Emily reached for my hand.
“Don't let him frighten you.”
But I was frightened.
I just wasn't willing to let him see it.
Back at the Santoro mansion, Claudia was waiting in Anthony's office.
Thomas had remained with her while we visited the clinic.
When she saw Emily enter beside Daniel, she covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
Emily stopped.
“You knew.”
Claudia's eyes filled with tears.
“Emily, I tried—”
“You knew they were keeping me there.”
Claudia looked toward Anthony.
“He threatened to shut down Daniel's entire treatment program.”
“Then you should have told me,” Anthony said.
“You weren't listening!”
Her voice cracked.
“Every time I mentioned Daniel's appointments, you told me to handle it. Every time something went wrong, you asked whether the bills were paid.”
Anthony flinched.
Claudia wiped her cheeks.
“I was trying to protect him.”
“By selling his paintings?”
Her expression changed.
“The paintings became valuable after a private collector saw one. Keene said the proceeds could fund better treatment.”
“Six point three million dollars,” Anthony said.
“I know.”
“How much did Daniel receive?”
Claudia said nothing.
That silence answered him.
Emily asked to see the gallery's acquisition records.
Anthony spread them across his desk.
Twelve paintings.
Twelve sales.
Several buyers were anonymous.
Others were investment companies.
Emily examined the titles.
Blue Morning.
The Waiting Chair.
Hands Against Glass.
The Locked Room.
Suddenly, she froze.
“Rachel, look at the dates.”
I leaned closer.
Three paintings had supposedly been completed during weeks when Daniel wasn't allowed to use his art supplies.
I remembered those weeks.
Claudia had told the household staff that painting exhausted him.
But Daniel had always seemed desperate to get back to his studio.
Emily pointed toward the catalog.
“Some of these were finished months before the dates shown.”
“Why change the dates?” Anthony asked.
“Because the pictures recorded things that happened at specific times.”
Daniel began typing.
THE CLOCK.
Emily nodded.
“The clock in the thirteenth painting.”
Daniel typed again.
WATCH. NOT CLOCK.
I frowned.
“What watch?”
He looked toward his father.
Anthony wore a silver wristwatch with a dark blue face.
It had belonged to his own father.
Daniel pointed at it.
Then selected another word.
KEENE.
Anthony stared at him.
“Dr. Keene was wearing my watch?”
Daniel shook his head.
He typed slowly.
YOUR WATCH. ON HIS DESK.
Anthony looked confused.
Then remembered something.
Nine months earlier, during the fundraising dinner, he had briefly removed his watch because its clasp was damaged.
Claudia had offered to have it repaired.
He hadn't received it back for three days.
Emily turned pale.
“Anthony, that means someone photographed your watch to document your approval.”
Claudia suddenly stepped backward.
“No,” she whispered.
Anthony looked at her.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“The gallery director told me the painting was destroyed.”
“Who ordered it destroyed?”
Claudia stared at the floor.
Then she answered.
“I did.”
Emily stepped toward her.
“Why?”
Claudia's voice broke.
“Because Keene showed me what was in the background.”
Daniel struck his wheelchair armrest.
Claudia looked directly at her nephew.
“I thought destroying it would protect you.”
Anthony moved closer.
“Protect him from what?”
Claudia swallowed.
“From the person standing beside Dr. Keene in that painting.”
May you like
She lifted her eyes toward her brother.
“Anthony, Daniel painted you.”
