Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s Verdict
The physician, a graying man with tired eyes named Dr. Vance, stopped in front of Matteo and glanced down at the sleeping infant in his arms.
"Are you the legal guardian?" Dr. Vance asked, his voice low.
"I am her employer," Matteo corrected, standing up with careful, measured movements so as not to wake Noah. "How is Grace Bell?"
"She's stable, but barely," Dr. Vance said, pulling a clipboard from under his arm. "Severe malnutrition, acute exhaustion, and a systemic infection originating from an untreated postpartum complication. Frankly, Mr. Moretti—if that's who you are—it’s a miracle she survived the walk to the supermarket. Her body simply shut down from a lack of food and sleep."
Matteo stared at the doctor, the pieces fitting together with sickening clarity. Grace had been working in his home, under his roof, cleaning his halls, while her children starved and she herself went days without eating.
And Calvin Mercer had been running the estate's payroll and provisions.
"Can she have visitors?" Matteo asked.
"One at a time, for short intervals. She’s sleeping under a heavy sedative right now, but she woke up mumbling a single name before they moved her to ICU."
"Whose name?"
"Lucia," Dr. Vance said, watching Matteo closely. "She kept saying, 'The key is in the lining. Don't let him burn it.' Do you have any idea what that means?"
Matteo didn't answer. He handed Noah gently to one of his waiting guards—a scarred, towering veteran named Tony who handled firearms better than babies but held the infant with surprising tenderness—and walked past the doctor toward the ICU corridor.
The hallway was sterile and dead quiet. Grace’s room, 412, was dark except for the amber glow of the heart monitor pacing beside her bed. She looked impossibly fragile, hooked up to IV drips and an oxygen cannula, her chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate gasps.
Matteo stepped inside, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
He pulled a chair close to the bedside and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, his black ring catching the monitor's light.
Grace’s eyelids fluttered. She didn't open them fully, but her lips parted, dry and cracked.
"Mr... Moretti?" she whispered, her voice like dry leaves scraping across pavement.
"I'm here, Grace," Matteo said, his tone softening despite the cold fury burning in his veins.
"The safe," she breathed, a tear escaping the corner of her eye and sliding into her hairline. "In the north wing. Behind the portrait of your sister. Calvin... Calvin found out I cleaned behind it. He said if I told you about the ledger he was hiding there, he’d throw Norah and the boys out into the snow."
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Matteo froze. "What ledger, Grace?"
"The one... the one that proves Miss Lucia didn't overdose," Grace whispered, her hand weakly lifting off the blanket to grab Matteo’s sleeve. "She was poisoned, sir. And Calvin has her signature forged on every asset transfer document signed the week she died."
