Chapter 7 - THE DOCTOR AT THE DINNER TABLE
“Dr. Edward Vale?”
Dante stared at the appointment record.
The name had lived quietly in his memory for twenty years.
Vale had been the physician who explained Catherine's death.
He had spoken kindly.
He had even attended her funeral.
Dante remembered shaking his hand.
Thanking him.
Now he wondered what exactly he had been thanking the man for.
Luca closed the security file.
“He's seventy-one. Retired from practice. Lives outside Evanston.”
“And he's coming to my house tomorrow?”
“According to Isabella's schedule.”
Dante looked toward the covered mirror.
“Then I want him seated where I can see his face.”
Saturday evening arrived under a gray Chicago sky.
The Moretti mansion glowed with warm chandelier light.
Fresh flowers filled the drawing room.
A long dinner table had been arranged for twelve guests.
To anyone entering through the front gates, it looked like another elegant gathering of business associates.
But Dante had quietly replaced several members of the security detail with men Luca personally trusted.
All changes had been documented.
No one inside the house knew which records were being preserved outside the company network.
Elena wanted to leave.
Dante understood.
“I can have you and Sophie taken somewhere safe,” he told her.
She looked toward the kitchen, where Sophie was helping a cook arrange cookies.
“And where would that be?”
“A property Marcus doesn't know about.”
“Thomas thought he had safe places too.”
Dante couldn't answer.
Elena folded her arms.
“I spent two years being frightened. I won't let Sophie spend the rest of her childhood running because I never asked the right questions.”
Dante looked at her carefully.
“Staying doesn't make you responsible for what happens.”
“I know.”
“Then promise me you'll follow Luca's instructions if things change.”
Elena nodded.
“And promise me you'll stop treating yourself like the only person allowed to carry this.”
Dante almost smiled.
“I'll try.”
At seven forty-five, Isabella arrived.
She wore a midnight-blue gown and the same pearl necklace from her previous visit.
Marcus followed her.
He looked as he always had.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
Warm, fatherly expression.
“Dante,” Marcus said, embracing him. “You look well.”
Dante returned the embrace.
“So do you.”
For a brief second, he remembered Marcus teaching him how to tie his first business necktie.
Then he remembered Thomas Hartley's broken body beside a road.
He stepped back.
“Dinner's almost ready.”
Marcus surveyed the room.
His eyes paused on the white sheet covering the mirror.
“Redecorating?”
Dante shrugged.
“I've decided it doesn't belong here.”
Something flickered in Marcus's face.
But he said nothing.
Dr. Edward Vale arrived shortly afterward.
He was thin and stooped, with careful hands and a dark leather medical bag he appeared to carry out of habit.
Dante greeted him.
“Doctor. It's been a long time.”
Vale's eyes filled with discomfort.
“Indeed, Mr. Moretti.”
“You knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps we'll have something to discuss after dinner.”
Vale swallowed.
“I would welcome that.”
Across the room, Isabella watched them closely.
At the dinner table, Marcus spoke about future investments.
Isabella praised a new charitable foundation.
The directors discussed a restructuring proposal.
Dante listened.
He asked questions.
He let Marcus believe nothing had changed.
Then Isabella placed a leather folder beside Dante's plate.
“There's a small matter we hoped you'd approve tonight.”
Dante opened it.
A board resolution.
A temporary delegation of executive authority.
Marcus would assume control of several divisions while Dante underwent a proposed medical evaluation.
Dante looked up.
“Medical evaluation?”
Isabella touched his wrist.
“Darling, you've been under terrible stress.”
Marcus nodded sympathetically.
“No one is questioning your ability. We just want to protect you.”
Dante glanced at Dr. Vale.
The elderly physician stared at his plate.
Dante turned a page.
There was a preliminary medical assessment attached.
Signed by Vale.
It described Dante as suffering from paranoia, sleeplessness, and impaired judgment.
The assessment had been dated two weeks earlier.
Dante had not seen Vale in twenty years.
He closed the folder.
“I assume this is a joke.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“We're concerned about you.”
“Because I don't like my mirror?”
Isabella's smile tightened.
“Dante, please.”
“Because I'm asking questions about company accounts?”
The directors exchanged uneasy looks.
Marcus's voice hardened slightly.
“This isn't the place.”
Dante rested both hands on the table.
“I think it's exactly the place.”
Then he turned to Vale.
“Doctor, when did you examine me?”
Vale looked at Marcus.
Dante repeated the question.
“When?”
The old man whispered, “I didn't.”
Silence filled the room.
Isabella's fingers tightened around her napkin.
Marcus spoke quickly.
“Edward, perhaps you should explain—”
“No,” Vale interrupted.
He looked at Dante.
“I will.”
His hands trembled.
“I signed that assessment because I was told your behavior had become dangerous. I was also told you would be evaluated before anything was filed.”
Dante stared.
“Who told you?”
Marcus leaned back.
Vale's eyes filled.
“The same man who told me twenty years ago that your mother had become a danger to herself.”
Dante felt the room tilt.
“What did you do to my mother?”
Vale gripped the table.
“I didn't cause her stroke.”
Dante went still.
“Then what did you do?”
Vale's voice broke.
“I signed the paperwork after she arrived at the hospital. But I knew the records had been changed.”
Marcus stood abruptly.
“Enough.”
Dante didn't move.
Vale reached into his medical bag.
He withdrew a faded hospital identification bracelet.
CATHERINE MORETTI.
Dante recognized his mother's name.
But beside it was a time stamp.
The bracelet showed she had been admitted to the hospital at 9:42 p.m.
Frank had been told she arrived before five.
Vale looked at Dante.
“Your mother spent almost five hours somewhere else before she reached us.”
Dante stared at the bracelet.
May you like
Then Vale whispered:
“And according to the original transfer record, the person who signed her out of that first clinic was your father.”
