Chapter 3 - The Paper Trail
The private clinic Luca took me to was located in a discreet brownstone in the Upper East Side. There were no crowded waiting rooms, no flickering fluorescent bulbs. Just polished oak floors, muted jazz playing through invisible speakers, and Dr. Robert Keller—a longtime confidant of the Moretti family—waiting for us in an examination room.
Dr. Keller took the X-rays himself.
When the digital films illuminated the light board, Luca stood beside the doctor, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, staring at the translucent images of my bones.
“The good news, Emma, is that there is no fracture,” Dr. Keller said, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. He turned to Luca with a grave expression. “The bad news is severe soft-tissue contusion and acute sprain of the transverse carpal ligament. To produce this degree of localized subcutaneous hemorrhage in under three hours... someone applied immense, focused torsional force.”
Dr. Keller pointed a silver pen at the screen, tracing the dark shadow along my wrist.
“These four marks on the dorsal side correspond to fingernail impressions through the dermis. This broad crescent on the palmar side is a thumb impression. Someone twisted her wrist backward while digging their fingers into the tendon sheath.”
Luca’s expression didn't change, but the air in the room suddenly felt twenty degrees colder.
“A deliberate hold,” Luca murmured.
“Highly deliberate,” Dr. Keller confirmed. “Not a slip. Not a reflex. An intentional, violent grip. I’m going to immobilize it in a fiberglass splint for ten days. Emma, you cannot lift anything heavier than a teacup with that right hand.”
“Dr. Keller, I have to assist Mrs. Moretti,” I protested, panic flaring in my chest. “She relies on me for transfers in and out of the bath. She needs me to help her with physical therapy.”
“Then we hire a secondary nurse to handle the physical transfers,” Luca said immediately, brooking no argument. “You will manage her medications, her schedule, and her companionship. You will not lift a finger until that splint comes off.”
“Luca, hiring an outside agency nurse on short notice requires security clearance—” I started.
“I run a multi-billion-dollar logistics firm, Emma,” he said, looking at me with an eyebrow slightly raised. “I think I can arrange for background-checked medical personnel by tomorrow morning.”
By the time we returned to the Moretti estate, it was nearly ten o’clock at night. The grand iron gates swung open in silence, the gravel crunching beneath the tires of Luca’s black Maybach. The sprawling stone mansion sat against the dark sky like a fortress, its tall arched windows glowing with amber light.
The house was eerily quiet when we stepped into the grand foyer.
Mrs. Moretti had long since gone to bed; her suite on the eastern wing was dark. Isabella’s black sports car, however, was still parked out front, sitting crookedly near the fountain as if parked in a fury.
“Go to sleep, Emma,” Luca told me as he shrugged off his overcoat, handing it to the waiting butler, Thomas. “Take the pain medication Keller gave you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Moretti. For everything.”
He held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “Don't thank me for doing what is basic human decency. Sleep well.”
I retreated to my room, exhausted to my very marrow. But sleep proved impossible.
The throbbing in my wrist had subsided into a dull, persistent ache thanks to the splint and Dr. Keller’s anti-inflammatories, but my mind was racing. Isabella’s parting glare in the hallway replayed behind my eyelids every time I closed them. She was dangerous. I had known she was petty, snobbish, and demanding, but the sheer physical malice she had displayed today revealed something far darker beneath her high-society polish.
At 1:30 AM, my mouth felt dry as sandpaper.
Deciding against ringing the staff call button for water, I quietly slipped on my robe and stepped out into the hallway. The estate was cloaked in heavy shadows, illuminated only by the faint runner lights along the baseboards.
I made my way down the western corridor toward the service pantry.
As I passed the library, a faint sliver of light caught my eye.
The heavy mahogany double doors were slightly ajar.
Normally, Luca’s private study adjacent to the library was strictly off-limits to everyone. Even the cleaning staff only entered under Thomas’s direct supervision.
Curious, and driven by an instinct I couldn't quite name, I padded silently across the thick runner carpet.
Inside the study, a small desk lamp was illuminated.
A figure was standing behind Luca’s massive antique partner desk.
It was Isabella.
She wasn’t wearing her designer clothes anymore; she wore a dark silk robe, her blonde hair pulled back in an uncharacteristically messy knot. She was rifling through a leather-bound folio with frantic, trembling fingers. Her smartphone was propped up on a stack of books, the camera flash quietly snapping photos of every page she turned.
*Snap. Snap. Snap.*
My breath caught in my throat. I pressed myself against the doorframe, every muscle in my body going rigid.
“Damn it, where is the codicil?” she whispered to herself, her voice raw with an anxiety I had never heard in her before. “Where did the old bat put it?”
She flipped another page aggressively. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed. She held the receiver to her ear, tapping her foot with violent impatience against the floor.
“It’s me,” she hissed into the phone, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. “No, it’s not in the main safe. He must have given the revised trust documents to his personal attorney today... Yes, I know what’s at stake! If the elder Moretti signs the transfer of the holding company voting shares over to the charitable foundation before the wedding, the entire merger is worthless to my father!”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The Vance-Moretti union wasn't just a marriage—it was an orchestrated takeover. The Vance family’s political clout was supposed to be exchanged for Moretti capital, but only if Isabella gained direct access to the voting shares that Mrs. Moretti still held in trust.
“Listen to me,” Isabella whispered, her tone turning cold and venomous. “The old woman has to be declared incapacitated. Dr. Keller is too loyal to Luca, but we have Dr. Aris. If her cognitive decline accelerates—if she starts missing doses or having adverse reactions—we can petition the probate court for temporary conservatorship before the end of the month.”
A pause on the line. Isabella smiled, a sickening, predatory curve of her lips.
“Don't worry about the nurse. She’s a nobody. A mouse from the Midwest. I already gave her a little reminder today of who holds the power here. One more slip, and I’ll have her out of this house in handcuffs. Just make sure the substituted vials are delivered by noon tomorrow.”
She hung up.
My heart was hammering so loudly in my ears I was terrified she would hear it.
She wasn't just cruel. She was planning to poison Mrs. Moretti.
Slowly, carefully, I began to ease my weight backward onto my heels. I took half a step away from the doorway.
*Creak.*
A loose floorboard beneath the oriental runner groaned softly under my foot.
Inside the study, the frantic rustle of paper stopped instantly.
“Who’s there?” Isabella’s voice rang out, sharp and terrified.
May you like
I didn’t wait. I turned and ran, my bare feet flying across the cold marble of the eastern gallery, ducking into the dark alcove of the service stairwell just as the heavy study door flew open behind me.
***
