Chapter 6 - THE MAN BEHIND THE GLASS|
By two o'clock in the morning, Vincent Romano was safe inside a guarded hospital room.
Daniel Romano was still missing.
And Isabella Varela had vanished without leaving a trace.
Gabriel refused to leave his father's bedside.
I sat quietly near the window, watching the lights of passing cars move across the rain-soaked street.
Vincent had been examined by doctors and was stable, although exhausted and badly shaken.
Detective Brooks had warned us not to question him too aggressively.
But Vincent seemed determined to tell us something.
He kept looking toward Gabriel.
Finally, he raised his left hand.
"Paper," he whispered.
I found a notepad in the bedside drawer.
Gabriel held it steady while Vincent took a pencil.
The elderly man's fingers trembled.
He wrote slowly.
One letter.
Then another.
Eventually, three words appeared.
"Daniel needs help."
Gabriel swallowed.
"We're trying, Dad."
Vincent shook his head.
He wrote again.
"Not dangerous."
Gabriel frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Vincent struggled to speak.
"They say..."
He paused to catch his breath.
"They say he's dangerous."
Gabriel looked at me.
I saw the realization cross his face.
"If someone has kept Daniel in a medical facility for years, they may have told him he was mentally unwell."
Vincent nodded.
Then he began crying.
Gabriel knelt beside the bed.
"Dad, listen to me."
Vincent looked at him.
"I'm not angry that Daniel's alive."
His voice broke.
"I'm angry that someone kept us apart."
Vincent reached for his son's hand.
Gabriel held it tightly.
"And whatever happened eighteen years ago, we're going to face it together."
For several seconds, father and son simply looked at one another.
Then Vincent whispered something I barely heard.
"Sorry."
Gabriel shook his head.
"Not now, Dad."
"Sorry."
Gabriel bent forward and embraced him carefully.
I turned toward the window.
Some moments weren't meant to have witnesses.
At three fifteen, Detective Brooks returned.
Her coat was damp from the rain.
Her expression told me the news wasn't good.
"The aircraft left before our units reached the runway."
Gabriel stood.
"Where was it going?"
"The flight plan listed Buffalo."
"Do you believe that?"
"No."
She placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a white private jet.
"The registration connects to a holding company."
Gabriel studied it.
"Let me guess."
"Richard Holloway."
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Detective Brooks continued.
"We're working with federal authorities to trace the flight."
"Was Daniel definitely aboard?"
"We have a witness who saw a dark-haired man escorted onto the plane."
"Was he conscious?"
"Yes."
"Did he resist?"
"The witness couldn't tell."
Gabriel stared at the photograph.
"He's out there."
I stepped closer.
"At least we know he's alive."
Gabriel looked at me.
For a moment, something softer appeared in his expression.
"That's what I keep telling myself."
Detective Brooks opened another folder.
"We also found something in the van used to transport your father."
She removed a medical bracelet.
The plastic was faded.
The printed label read:
"D. HALE."
Below it was a patient identification number.
Gabriel stared.
"Hale?"
Detective Brooks nodded.
"That's the surname Daniel apparently used at the facility."
"Which facility?"
"Willowbrook Recovery Center."
I remembered the photograph from the dinner table.
The building behind Daniel had been low, pale gray, and surrounded by trees.
"Is that the place in the picture?" I asked.
Detective Brooks nodded.
"Yes."
"Then why did Isabella write 'final payment before wedding'?"
"We found financial transfers from an account associated with her business manager."
Gabriel leaned forward.
"To Willowbrook?"
"To a consulting company connected to Willowbrook's administrator."
"How much?"
"Several large payments over the past two years."
Gabriel stared at the photograph.
"She knew where he was the entire time."
Detective Brooks nodded.
"And she wasn't the only one."
She placed another picture beside the first.
It showed Richard Holloway entering Willowbrook's front door.
The photograph was dated four months earlier.
Gabriel's face hardened.
"I want to know everything."
"We're investigating."
Detective Brooks looked at me.
"Claire, there's something unusual about Willowbrook."
"What?"
"The facility's records say Daniel Hale arrived eighteen years ago with a traumatic brain injury."
Gabriel frowned.
"From the accident?"
"Possibly."
"But?"
"The intake paperwork describes him as having no surviving immediate family."
I felt sick.
Gabriel whispered, "They told him we were dead."
Detective Brooks didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Gabriel turned toward his sleeping father.
For eighteen years, Vincent had mourned a living son.
And somewhere, Daniel might have spent those same years mourning a family who had never stopped loving him.
I suddenly understood why Vincent had been so desperate.
He wasn't simply trying to protect an inheritance.
He was trying to bring his child home before he died.
Later that morning, Gabriel arranged for me to return to my mother under police protection.
I protested at first.
His father still needed someone familiar.
But Gabriel insisted.
"Claire, you've barely slept."
"Neither have you."
"I'm accustomed to long nights."
"That doesn't make them healthy."
He gave the faintest smile.
"You sound like my mother."
I almost apologized.
Instead, I asked whether Vincent would be safe.
Gabriel nodded.
"He'll have medical professionals and security."
I looked at the elderly man.
He was sleeping peacefully for the first time all night.
"Tell him I'll visit."
"I will."
As I walked toward the door, Gabriel called my name.
I turned.
He stood beside his father's bed, looking strangely uncertain.
"Thank you for speaking up at dinner."
I thought about the soup stain.
The trembling hands.
The empty chair at the end of the table.
"It shouldn't have taken courage to help him," I said.
Gabriel looked down.
"No."
He paused.
"It shouldn't have."
My mother was waiting when I reached the temporary apartment Gabriel had arranged.
She stood in the doorway wearing her pink bathrobe.
Her silver-streaked hair was pulled into a loose bun.
When she saw me, she opened her arms.
I walked straight into them.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then she pulled back and examined my face.
"Have you eaten?"
I laughed through my tears.
"Mom."
"That's not an answer."
Within fifteen minutes, I was sitting at a kitchen table eating scrambled eggs and toast.
My mother listened while I explained what had happened.
Not everything.
I didn't want to frighten her more than necessary.
But enough.
When I finished, she put down her coffee.
"That poor old man."
I nodded.
"And his sons."
She studied me.
"You care about them."
"I care about Mr. Vincent."
"And Gabriel?"
I looked away.
"He's my employer."
My mother smiled.
"That wasn't my question."
"Mom."
She raised both hands.
"All right."
But she was still smiling when she carried our plates to the sink.
I slept for four hours.
When I woke, sunlight was filtering through the curtains.
My phone showed seven missed calls.
Three from Gabriel.
Two from Anthony.
And two from an unknown number.
I immediately called Gabriel.
He answered on the first ring.
"Claire."
"Is Mr. Vincent all right?"
"He's stable."
"Did you find Daniel?"
A pause.
"Not yet."
I sat upright.
"Then what's wrong?"
Gabriel took a breath.
"Detective Brooks found an old photograph inside Daniel's patient records."
"What photograph?"
"It's from the day he arrived at Willowbrook."
I frowned.
"And?"
"Claire, the photograph shows someone standing beside him."
"Who?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"I need you to look at it."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because the woman in the photograph looks exactly like your mother."
I stopped breathing.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I heard my mother calling from the kitchen.
"Claire, honey, do you want some tea?"
I stared toward the doorway.
Gabriel's voice came through the phone.
"Claire?"
I swallowed.
"Mr. Romano..."
May you like
My voice shook.
"What does my mother have to do with your brother?"
