Chapter 4 - LOCKER 317
Dominic refused to take Clare to Union Station.
Clare refused to be left behind.
The argument lasted four minutes.
Dominic lost.
He blamed exhaustion.
Clare blamed the fact that she was right.
“If Bell gave me the clue,” she said, standing inside Dominic’s kitchen wearing borrowed sweatpants and a sweater that probably cost more than her rent, “then there may be something about the locker only I’ll recognize.”
“You nearly got killed tonight.”
“My apartment got searched.”
“Exactly.”
“So hiding me here won’t make the problem disappear.”
Dominic’s mouth tightened.
“You always this difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
“Are you always this controlling?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
Nico walked in.
“We taking bets?”
Both of them looked at him.
“No,” he said. “Understood.”
Union Station was nearly empty when they arrived after midnight.
Dominic brought three men.
Clare thought that qualified as progress considering he had originally wanted twelve.
They entered through the parking garage.
No dramatic guns.
No running.
No shouting.
Just quiet movement.
Clare stayed beside Dominic.
She hated that standing near him made her feel safer.
She hated even more that she had begun noticing things about him unrelated to immediate survival.
How he always positioned himself between her and an open space.
How he checked exits without appearing to.
How people moved when he walked toward them.
How his expensive coat had a small tear near the right sleeve.
Probably from Tommy’s blood.
“You should replace that coat,” she whispered.
Dominic glanced down.
“Why?”
“It’s ripped.”
“You’re worried about my coat?”
“No. I’m making conversation because six men creeping through a train station at midnight makes me feel like I’m in a terrible crime movie.”
Dominic almost smiled.
“Five.”
“What?”
“Five men. You’re not counting yourself.”
“I’m not one of your men.”
“I’m very aware.”
They found the lockers near a lower corridor.
317 was blue.
Clare’s pulse accelerated.
Dominic studied the lock.
“Key?”
“I don’t have it.”
“You said Bell had one.”
“I also said I don’t know what happened to it.”
Nico stepped forward.
“We can open it.”
Clare raised an eyebrow.
“Legally?”
“No.”
“Of course.”
Dominic signaled him.
Nico began working on the lock.
Clare looked around.
Something bothered her.
The corridor smelled faintly of disinfectant.
Not unusual.
But then she saw the man fifty feet away.
Gray jacket.
Baseball cap.
He wasn’t watching them.
That was the problem.
Everyone else who passed glanced at the six intimidating people standing around one locker.
He didn’t.
“Dominic.”
He heard the change in her tone instantly.
“What?”
“Don’t look.”
Naturally, he looked.
The man in the cap started walking faster.
Dominic’s hand moved beneath his coat.
Clare grabbed his wrist.
“No shooting in a train station.”
“He might be armed.”
“And there are cameras everywhere.”
Nico spoke quietly.
“Locker’s open.”
Dominic looked between the retreating stranger and the locker.
“Take whatever is inside. Move.”
Nico opened the door.
There was no money.
No weapon.
No ledger.
Just a children’s lunchbox.
Bright red.
A faded cartoon rocket on the front.
“That?” Clare whispered.
Nico removed it.
The moment he did, the fire alarm erupted.
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Go.”
People began emerging into the hallway.
Doors opened.
Footsteps multiplied.
The man in the baseball cap disappeared.
Dominic took Clare’s hand.
Not her arm.
Not her shoulder.
Her hand.
They moved quickly through the growing crowd.
Outside, rain still fell.
A black SUV pulled up.
They climbed inside.
Only when the doors locked did Dominic release her.
Clare looked down at her hand.
Then at him.
Neither commented.
Nico placed the lunchbox between them.
“Open it,” Dominic said.
Inside was a photograph.
A flash drive.
And a hospital identification bracelet.
Clare picked up the bracelet.
ANTHONY BELL.
The date printed beside his name was yesterday.
After his supposed transfer.
“He was still at Lakeview.”
Price, listening through Dominic’s phone, confirmed it.
“The transfer paperwork was falsified.”
Clare picked up the photograph.
Six people stood outside a charity gala.
She recognized Dr. Weber immediately.
Beside him stood Kathryn Davis from Human Resources.
A Lakeview board member.
Two businessmen Clare didn’t know.
And a man who looked enough like Dominic to be family.
Dominic’s entire body went still.
Clare noticed.
“Who is that?”
“My uncle.”
“Name?”
“Victor Romano.”
She looked at the photograph again.
Victor was older, heavier, smiling.
Dominic was not.
“He works with Lakeview?”
“No.”
“Apparently he does.”
Nico inserted the flash drive into an encrypted laptop.
Several folders appeared.
Invoices.
Transfer records.
Photographs.
Payment schedules.
Clare leaned closer.
She recognized medical supply codes.
“They’re billing for equipment that never reached the hospital.”
Nico scrolled.
Millions of dollars.
Payments moved through shell vendors.
Transport companies.
Charities.
And several companies carrying the Romano name.
Dominic stared at the screen.
“These signatures are forged.”
Nico nodded.
“Some are Tommy’s.”
Clare turned.
“Your brother?”
“He oversees legitimate freight operations.”
“So somebody used his signature.”
“Yes.”
The files kept coming.
Then they found something worse.
Patient numbers.
Dates.
Medication records.
Clare felt physically ill.
“This isn’t just financial fraud.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What is it?”
“These drug quantities…”
She pointed at the screen.
“They’re impossible.”
“How?”
“Some of these medications are controlled. If the hospital claims they were administered but they weren't, then somebody is diverting them.”
Nico’s face hardened.
“Selling them.”
“Maybe.”
Clare scrolled further.
Then stopped.
A familiar patient number appeared.
Her chest tightened.
“No.”
Dominic saw her face.
“What?”
“That patient.”
She clicked the file.
A woman named Eleanor Marsh.
Sixty-two.
Clare remembered Eleanor because she had died unexpectedly after a routine procedure eight months earlier.
The death had bothered Clare.
Her chart had never made sense.
According to the hidden records, medication allocated to Eleanor had been removed from inventory hours before she received it.
A replacement had been logged.
Different manufacturer.
Different supplier.
Clare whispered, “Counterfeit drugs.”
Nobody spoke.
She looked at another record.
Then another.
Patients she remembered.
Unexpected complications.
Strange reactions.
Unexplained deaths.
“Oh, God.”
Dominic leaned toward her.
“What are you seeing?”
“This isn’t theft.”
Her voice shook.
“They were replacing real medications with cheaper counterfeit supplies and selling the real stock somewhere else.”
Nico stared at the numbers.
“How many people?”
Clare didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
Dominic took the laptop from her.
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“Clare.”
“I need to see.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her eyes filled before she could stop them.
“I was there.”
Dominic went silent.
“I held some of these people’s hands,” Clare said. “I told their families we did everything possible.”
“You did.”
“What if we didn’t?”
“You did.”
“The hospital didn’t.”
“That is not the same thing.”
She looked at him.
For all his reputation, there was something unexpectedly steady in his face.
No empty reassurance.
No polished HR language.
Just certainty.
“You did your job,” Dominic said. “Someone else committed a crime.”
Clare wiped her face angrily.
“Don’t make me cry in front of mobsters.”
Nico looked offended.
“I’m extremely sensitive.”
That got a laugh out of her.
Small.
Unexpected.
Necessary.
Then Dominic’s phone rang.
The caller ID showed TOMMY.
Everyone froze.
Tommy was unconscious at the mansion.
Dominic answered.
Nobody spoke on the other end.
Then a distorted male voice said, “You opened the locker.”
Dominic’s expression turned to stone.
“Who is this?”
“You should have let the nurse keep walking.”
The line disconnected.
Nico immediately started tracing the call.
Dominic stared at the phone.
Clare’s fear returned.
But this time, beneath it, something else appeared.
Anger.
She looked at the evidence spread across the seat.
“Your uncle is involved.”
Dominic said nothing.
“Isn’t he?”
He looked out at Chicago through rain-covered glass.
“When my father died, Victor raised Tommy and me.”
That answer hurt more than a yes.
Clare understood.
May you like
Dominic wasn’t afraid of learning his uncle was guilty.
He was afraid he already believed it.
