Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF A BROTHER'S RECOVERY
“I didn't say those things.”
My voice sounded strange.
Small.
Almost childish.
Dominic held the statement while I stood beside his desk, struggling to breathe.
“I swear to you, sir. I never said you threatened anyone.”
“I believe you.”
“But that's my signature.”
He studied it.
“It's a copy of your signature.”
I remembered the form Vanessa had asked me to sign.
The medication acknowledgment.
The little smile she'd given me.
The promise to help Daniel.
I had thought she'd finally started treating me like a human being.
Now my name was part of a plan to take Oliver and Margaret away.
“I was so stupid,” I whispered.
Dominic shook his head.
“You were trying to protect your brother.”
“That doesn't change what I signed.”
“No. But it changes what you intended.”
He placed the document on his desk.
“We'll correct the record.”
I looked at him.
“Will you fire me?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that my eyes filled with tears.
Then his voice became firmer.
“But from this moment forward, you tell me everything. Even if it's something you're ashamed of.”
I nodded.
“Everything.”
Marco entered with another set of records.
“The billing department confirmed the payments. Vanessa's account covered six months of Daniel's treatment.”
My hands went cold.
Six months.
That meant she'd begun arranging everything long before Margaret's supposed dementia diagnosis.
Dominic checked the dates.
“The first payment was made before I proposed.”
He looked at me.
“When did Vanessa first offer to help?”
“Seven months ago.”
“And what did she ask in return?”
“Nothing at first.”
I thought back.
“She asked whether Mrs. Romano was forgetful. Whether she repeated questions. Whether Oliver spent a lot of time with her.”
Dominic stared at me.
“And?”
“She asked whether you lost your temper.”
He looked down.
I swallowed.
“I told her you could be stern, but I'd never seen you hurt anyone in the household.”
Marco wrote something down.
“Did she ask you to keep records?”
“Yes. She gave me a little notebook.”
“Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.”
Dominic nodded.
“Go get it. Marco will accompany you.”
We walked through the hallway while the last guests were leaving the engagement party.
Golden chandeliers still shone above the banquet table.
The champagne glasses remained half-full.
A huge floral arrangement stood beside a cake no one had cut.
Everything looked beautiful.
And everything felt ruined.
In my room, I retrieved the notebook from beneath my pillow.
Its green cover had become worn from months of use.
Inside were dates, medication schedules, and Margaret's daily activities.
But as Marco examined the final pages, he frowned.
“Someone removed sheets.”
I looked closer.
He was right.
Several pages had been torn from the binding.
“Vanessa borrowed it last week,” I remembered.
“For how long?”
“About an hour.”
Marco photographed the remaining pages.
Then he noticed something written along the inside back cover.
A row of numbers.
“What's this?”
I looked.
“Mrs. Romano wrote those.”
“Why?”
“She said she was afraid she'd forget them.”
The numbers were arranged in groups.
11-14-08.
6-21-14.
9-03-17.
I had assumed they were anniversaries.
Marco studied them.
“The first matches the date on Anthony's watch.”
My stomach tightened.
We returned to the library.
Dominic examined the numbers and immediately recognized the second.
“June twenty-first, 2014.”
His voice changed.
“That was the day my father died.”
He studied the last date.
“September third, 2017.”
His face went pale.
I whispered, “What happened then?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Claire died that morning.”
Three dates.
Three tragedies.
And Margaret had written them together.
Dominic called her into the room.
She looked tired, but when she saw the notebook, her expression sharpened.
“You found it.”
“Mother, what do these dates mean?”
Margaret touched the first one.
“Your father discovered the transfer.”
“The transfer of what?”
“The family trust's controlling account.”
She touched the second.
“He tried to correct it before he died.”
Then her finger stopped on the third.
“Claire found the same records.”
Dominic stared.
“My wife?”
Margaret nodded.
“She came to me two days before her accident. She said the money your father had been searching for was still moving.”
Dominic sank into his chair.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Claire asked me to wait. She wanted proof before she accused anyone.”
“And after she died?”
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
“I was afraid.”
Dominic rubbed his forehead.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he asked the question I'd been dreading.
“Are you telling me Claire's accident wasn't an accident?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Her answer felt more frightening than certainty.
She looked at the notebook again.
“There's something else. Claire gave me a small brass key.”
Dominic stood.
“Where is it?”
“I hid it in the lining of Oliver's first winter coat.”
I remembered that coat.
Dark blue.
Little wooden buttons.
It had been stored in the nursery closet for years.
But Vanessa had ordered the nursery cleaned two days earlier.
I looked at Dominic.
“Sir, that coat is gone.”
His expression hardened.
“Who took it?”
I swallowed.
“Vanessa said she was donating Oliver's old clothes.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Then she whispered:
“Dominic, the key doesn't open a bank box.”
He turned.
“What does it open?”
“Claire's private storage drawer.”
“Where?”
May you like
Margaret looked directly at me.
“At the rehabilitation center where Hannah's brother is being treated.”
