Chapter 9 - THE DOCTOR WHO SOLD HIS SIGNATURE
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The ink on Mrs. Moretti's hand explained something that had troubled me since the dinner began.
The signature.
Vanessa had insisted that Eleanor signed the transfer documents voluntarily.
But the date was wrong.
The signature looked unusual.
And now Eleanor was telling us that she had awakened after receiving medication and discovered ink on her fingers.
I looked at Luca.
“She may have been unconscious when someone put her hand on those documents.”
His face hardened.
“Dr. Harlan.”
Detective Morales shook her head.
“It's a possibility. We need the medication records, the original documents, and an independent medical evaluation before we can establish what happened.”
Then she turned toward Eleanor.
“Mrs. Moretti, would you be willing to have another doctor examine you?”
I translated.
Eleanor immediately nodded.
Morales arranged for an independent physician to visit the mansion that night.
Meanwhile, officers began searching for Dr. Harlan, Silas Crane, Vanessa, and Richard Bellini.
The doctor was found first.
He had not returned to his medical practice.
Instead, he was attempting to board a late flight at O'Hare.
Police detained him for questioning under a warrant connected to the suspected financial fraud investigation.
By dawn, his attorney was negotiating an interview.
But I didn't learn that until later.
Because at four in the morning, I was sitting in the mansion kitchen, staring into a cup of coffee I hadn't touched.
I was exhausted.
My uniform was wrinkled.
My hair had fallen out of its bun.
And the events of the past several hours felt impossible.
Luca entered quietly.
For the first time, he wasn't wearing a jacket.
His black shirt sleeves were rolled above his forearms, revealing intricate tattoos.
He looked tired enough to collapse.
“Can I sit?”
I almost laughed.
“It's your kitchen.”
“That's not what I asked.”
I looked at him.
Then nodded.
He sat across from me.
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said, “My mother asked about you.”
“Is she okay?”
“Sleeping. The doctor says she's stable.”
I exhaled.
“Good.”
Luca studied me.
“You should go home.”
“I will.”
“I can arrange transportation.”
I shook my head.
“I'd rather have the police help coordinate it.”
He nodded immediately.
“Of course.”
I was surprised by how much that small agreement mattered.
He wasn't trying to take control.
He was listening.
Then he said something unexpected.
“I was wrong about Vanessa.”
I looked up.
“She fooled a lot of people.”
“She fooled me because I wanted to believe her.”
His voice was rough.
“My father died when I was twenty-three. I inherited businesses I barely understood and enemies I didn't know I had. I spent years thinking the only way to survive was to become harder than everyone around me.”
I said nothing.
“Then Vanessa came along. She was charming. Intelligent. She said she loved my mother.”
He stared into his coffee.
“I liked how easy everything felt.”
“Did your mother tell you she didn't trust Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
The admission hung between us.
“What did you do?”
“I told her she was being unfair.”
I looked down.
“My mother used to say that people show you who they are in the way they treat someone who can't offer them anything.”
Luca gave a humorless smile.
“Then Vanessa showed me exactly who she was tonight.”
“Not just tonight,” I said gently.
He looked at me.
“She showed you every time she interrupted your mother. Every time she called her confused. Every time she treated her wishes like an inconvenience.”
Luca lowered his eyes.
“You're right.”
A quiet moment passed.
Then he asked, “Why did you take this job?”
I almost smiled.
“Because the pay was better than the nursing home where I worked before.”
“You worked in a nursing home?”
“As a care aide. I wanted to finish nursing school, but my mother's medical bills and Lily's surgery made it difficult.”
He looked thoughtful.
“Why didn't you finish?”
“Money.”
The answer seemed too simple for someone like him.
But that was the truth.
Sometimes a person's life could be changed by a few thousand dollars.
And sometimes another person barely noticed spending that amount on dinner.
Before he could respond, my phone vibrated.
Detective Morales.
I answered.
“Claire, I need you to listen carefully.”
Something in her voice made me sit straighter.
“Dr. Harlan's attorney has indicated he may cooperate.”
“About the documents?”
“About several things.”
I glanced at Luca.
Morales continued.
“Harlan says he was paid to falsify medical evaluations describing Eleanor as mentally incompetent.”
My stomach turned.
“He admitted it?”
“He's made statements through counsel. We still have to verify them.”
“Why?”
“To justify transferring control of her assets.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
Mrs. Moretti was sleeping upstairs.
A woman who could communicate.
Who remembered her life.
Who understood what was happening around her.
And men had been paid to declare her incapable of making decisions.
Morales paused.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“Harlan says the transfer to Wisconsin wasn't supposed to happen tomorrow.”
I frowned.
“Then when?”
“He says Vanessa moved the date forward because she learned Eleanor had been communicating with someone in the household.”
My heart stopped.
“She knew about me?”
“Apparently.”
I gripped the phone.
May you like
Then Morales said the words that changed everything.
“Claire, someone has been recording the conversations in Eleanor's bedroom.”
