Chapter 2 - THE NAME AT THE BOTTOM OF THE FILE|
The most dangerous thing about Dante Moretti wasn't his reputation, his money, or the armed men who guarded his mansion.
It was the way he could look at someone without saying a word and make them feel as though their entire future depended on what happened next.
And right now, he was looking at me.
My name glowed at the bottom of his stolen medical records.
ANNA FOSTER.
The letters were perfectly aligned beneath an authorization statement I had never seen before.
"I didn't release those files," I repeated.
Dante's security chief, Marcus Vale, stood beside the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"That's what we need to determine," Marcus said.
I turned toward him.
"Determine how?"
"The documents were transmitted from a registered medical account at 2:14 this morning."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"Whose account?"
Marcus hesitated.
Dante noticed.
"Answer her."
"Miss Foster's."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
My medical credentials had been used without my permission.
Someone had reached into the most private part of Dante's life and deliberately placed my fingerprints on the theft.
"I was asleep at two in the morning," I said.
"Can anyone confirm that?" Marcus asked.
I stared at him.
"Are you seriously asking whether I have a witness for sleeping?"
"Anna," Dante said quietly.
I turned back toward him.
He hadn't moved.
His hands rested on the arms of his wheelchair, but his fingers were curled tightly against the leather.
"Did you ever download my complete medical history?"
"No."
"Did you ever send it to another physician?"
"Only the approved rehabilitation specialist, through the estate's encrypted system, with your written consent."
"Did you give anyone your password?"
"Never."
He studied my face.
The silence felt endless.
Then Marcus spoke again.
"Boss, we need to suspend her access until this is resolved."
My chest tightened.
Dante looked at him.
"That's not your decision."
"Sir, the foundation gala is in seventy-two hours, and several reporters already have copies of the records."
"Then find out who gave them access."
"With respect, the evidence points directly—"
"I can read, Marcus."
The room went completely still.
Dante turned back toward me.
"Anna, I'm going to ask you something, and I need the truth."
"You've had it since the moment I walked into this room."
"Is there anything in your past that someone could use against you?"
The question struck harder than an accusation.
Because there was.
And I had spent six weeks hoping Dante would never discover it.
Two years earlier, my younger brother, Noah Foster, had been arrested in connection with a financial fraud investigation.
He had never been charged.
But his name had appeared in enough newspaper articles to destroy his career.
Mine had suffered too.
The private clinic where I worked quietly declined to renew my contract.
Friends stopped answering my calls.
And Noah disappeared from Seattle, convinced that everyone he loved would be safer without him.
I looked down.
Dante noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
"My brother."
Marcus straightened.
"What about him?"
"He was investigated for fraud two years ago."
Dante's expression changed.
"Which investigation?"
"The HarborPoint Medical billing scandal."
Marcus looked sharply at Dante.
Something passed between them.
Something I didn't understand.
"You should have told us," Marcus said.
I faced him.
"About an investigation that ended without charges?"
"About a potential security vulnerability."
"My brother isn't a vulnerability."
"Anna," Dante interrupted.
His voice was gentle.
"Where is Noah now?"
"I don't know."
"When did you last speak to him?"
"Eight months ago."
That part was true.
What I didn't say was that Noah had called me three nights earlier.
I hadn't answered.
He'd left a voicemail with only five words.
"Anna, don't trust the foundation."
I had listened to it four times.
Then convinced myself he was frightened, paranoid, or running from ghosts that no longer existed.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Dante watched me.
"You have something else to say."
I swallowed.
"My brother called three nights ago."
Marcus immediately reached for his phone.
"What did he say?"
I hesitated.
Dante's eyes softened.
"Anna."
I forced the words out.
"He told me not to trust the foundation."
For the first time since Marcus had entered, Dante looked genuinely shaken.
Not angry.
Not suspicious.
Afraid.
"Leave us," he told Marcus.
"Boss—"
"Now."
Marcus stepped outside.
The door closed.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom, suddenly uncertain whether I still had a job.
Dante rolled closer.
"Look at me."
I did.
"Whatever happens next, I need you to understand something."
My throat tightened.
"What?"
"I don't believe you leaked those files."
The words nearly broke me.
"Then why did you question me?"
"Because somebody wants me to doubt you, and I need to know how they're planning to do it."
He reached for my hand.
This time, I stepped back.
Pain flashed across his face.
"Anna?"
"You shouldn't touch me."
"Why?"
"Because if someone is willing to ruin me just to hurt you, being close to me will only make things worse."
Dante went very still.
Then he gave a humorless laugh.
"Do you think distance has ever protected someone in my world?"
"No."
"Neither do I."
He looked toward the window, where the Seattle skyline shimmered beneath a gray afternoon sky.
"I built my entire life around making people afraid to betray me."
His voice lowered.
"And now someone is trying to make me betray the one person who has treated me like myself."
I couldn't answer.
He looked back at me.
"I've been injured, Anna."
"I know."
"I've lost people."
"I know that too."
"But if you walk away because somebody manufactured a lie, they win before we've even started fighting."
My eyes burned.
"You're asking me to stay?"
"I'm asking you to decide for yourself."
That was Dante.
Even now, when his private medical history was circulating through the city, he was offering me the very thing everyone else kept taking from him.
A choice.
I took a breath.
"I'll stay."
His shoulders relaxed.
"But I want access to the original transmission log."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You're giving me orders now?"
"I'm protecting my professional license."
A faint smile appeared.
"Good."
I reached for the tablet.
Dante handed it over.
The document contained the date, time, recipient address, and an electronic authorization signature.
But something about the signature bothered me.
The letters in my name were slightly different from those on the original care documents.
The second A in ANNA had an unusual spacing pattern.
I enlarged the image.
Then I noticed the authorization code.
My stomach dropped.
"What?" Dante asked.
"This isn't my current medical identification number."
He leaned forward.
"Whose is it?"
"Mine, but from two years ago."
"Before you came here?"
"Before I lost my job at HarborPoint's affiliated clinic."
Dante's expression hardened.
"Someone used your old credentials."
"Yes."
"And those credentials should have been deactivated."
"Exactly."
I looked at him.
"Dante, whoever did this didn't hack my account."
"They had access to the old system."
I nodded.
"And they knew you would see my name."
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Dante reached for his phone.
"Marcus, get me everything on HarborPoint Medical."
He paused.
"And quietly reopen the investigation into Noah Foster."
I stared at him.
"Dante, please don't send armed men after my brother."
He looked up.
"I'm not hunting him."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Finding out why somebody connected to my foundation wanted him to disappear."
A cold sensation moved through me.
"What do you mean, connected to your foundation?"
Dante hesitated.
Before he could answer, his phone vibrated.
A message appeared on the screen.
There was no sender.
Only an image.
I leaned closer.
It showed Dante and me in his bedroom.
My fingers were adjusting his collar.
His hand was holding mine.
The photograph had been taken less than twenty minutes earlier.
Beneath it was a single sentence.
"THE NURSE ISN'T THE ONLY PERSON YOU SHOULD STOP TRUSTING."
I looked toward the bedroom door.
Then toward the windows.
Someone had been watching us.
Inside Dante's own home.
And whoever had taken the photograph was still close enough to know exactly what we were doing.
Dante enlarged the image.
His expression became terrifyingly calm.
"Anna," he said, "when you came into this room today, was the door open?"
"No."
"Was anyone else here?"
"No."
He looked toward the antique mirror opposite his wardrobe.
Then at the tiny black sensor mounted above the frame.
"Neither was anyone supposed to be watching."
He rolled toward the mirror and reached for the sensor.
I followed him.
"What is that?"
"A security camera I ordered disconnected six months ago."
He pulled it free.
A small red light blinked beneath the housing.
And suddenly I understood.
The person who framed me hadn't merely stolen Dante's secrets.
May you like
They had been watching him become himself again.
And they were terrified of what would happen if he finally discovered the truth.
