Chapter 3 - THE SECRET HIDDEN IN HIS MEDICAL RECORDS
Faith Willis had survived twenty-six years by learning when to speak and when to disappear.
That night, she chose to disappear.
She stepped silently into the narrow hallway beside the pantry just as Carmine opened the office door.
A beam of light swept across the marble floor.
"Mrs. Gable?"
No answer.
Carmine walked toward the kitchen.
Faith pressed herself against the wall, barely breathing.
He stopped so close that she could see the reflection of his shoes in the polished baseboard.
His phone vibrated.
"Yeah?"
A muffled voice answered.
"No," Carmine said. "Nobody's here."
He listened.
Then his next words made Faith's stomach tighten.
"Whitmore is getting nervous. I'll handle the girl tomorrow."
The footsteps retreated.
Faith waited until she heard the office door close.
Then she ran upstairs.
Dominic was awake when she entered his room.
He sat near the fireplace, an untouched glass of whiskey on the table beside him.
His eyes narrowed.
"What's wrong?"
Faith shut the door.
"Nothing."
"You're pale."
"I'm tired."
"Faith."
It was the first time he'd spoken her name without sarcasm.
She looked at him.
"Do you trust Carmine?"
Dominic's expression went cold.
"Why?"
"Answer me."
"Carmine has been with me eleven years."
"That isn't what I asked."
Dominic placed his glass down.
"What happened?"
Faith crossed the room.
She could still hear Carmine's words.
He can't discover what we did.
She wanted to tell Dominic everything.
But what if he didn't believe her?
What if Carmine had already convinced him she was stealing?
And what if Whitmore controlled the only records that could prove the truth?
"I heard something downstairs," she said carefully.
Dominic waited.
"Carmine was speaking with Dr. Whitmore."
"About?"
"Your medication."
Dominic's jaw tightened.
"Go on."
"They said you couldn't discover what they'd done."
The silence that followed was terrifying.
Dominic didn't shout.
He didn't curse.
He simply stared at her.
"Repeat that."
Faith did.
Word for word.
When she finished, Dominic wheeled toward his desk.
"Lock the door."
She obeyed.
He opened a drawer and removed a small black phone.
"There's a number in here," he said. "Call it."
"Who am I calling?"
"Someone Carmine doesn't know about."
Twenty minutes later, a silver sedan stopped outside the mansion's rear entrance.
A woman in her early forties stepped out wearing a charcoal coat and carrying a leather medical bag.
Dr. Rebecca Shaw had once served as a trauma surgeon at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
She had also saved Dominic's life after a shooting nine years earlier.
Unlike Whitmore, she had never accepted money to tell Dominic what he wanted to hear.
Dominic trusted her because she had once called him an arrogant idiot while removing a bullet from his shoulder.
She entered through the service corridor.
Faith met her near the stairs.
"You're Dr. Shaw?"
"Rebecca. Where is he?"
"Upstairs."
Rebecca studied Faith's face.
"You look frightened."
"I am."
"Good. Fear means you're paying attention."
Dominic didn't waste time.
"I want you to examine my medical records."
Rebecca set down her bag.
"Why?"
"Because I think someone has been lying to me."
She glanced at Faith.
"Explain."
Faith described the spasm, the medication log, and the conversation she had overheard.
Rebecca listened without interrupting.
Then she examined Dominic.
She checked his sensation, muscle tone, reflexes, and responses to carefully controlled movements.
Dominic gripped the wheelchair arms.
"Well?"
Rebecca stepped back.
"I can't tell you what recovery is possible from this examination alone."
His expression tightened.
"But?"
"But your neurological presentation deserves a new evaluation."
Dominic leaned forward.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I want fresh imaging, a complete review of your original scans, and an independent rehabilitation assessment."
"Whitmore told me there was nothing left to evaluate."
Rebecca's eyes darkened.
"Then Whitmore should have no objection to a second opinion."
They reviewed the records Dominic had been given.
The original injury involved swelling and trauma near his lower thoracic spine.
Surgery had stabilized the damaged area.
The reports described severe weakness and loss of voluntary movement.
But one page caught Rebecca's attention.
She read it twice.
Then she looked at Dominic.
"Where are the follow-up images?"
"What follow-up images?"
"Your hospital discharge summary recommends repeat MRI imaging and specialist reassessment."
Dominic stared at her.
"Whitmore said it wasn't necessary."
Rebecca turned another page.
"According to this, the reassessment was canceled."
"By whom?"
"The treating physician."
Dominic's hands tightened.
"Whitmore."
Rebecca nodded.
"That alone doesn't prove misconduct. There may have been medical reasons. But I want the full hospital record, not this abbreviated packet."
Faith stepped closer.
"Could he walk again?"
Rebecca hesitated.
"I won't promise that."
Dominic looked away.
"But," Rebecca continued, "I also won't tell him to stop asking questions."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Dominic whispered something Faith almost missed.
"I stopped trying."
Rebecca's expression softened.
"I know."
By morning, Faith had a new assignment.
Dominic wanted her to accompany Rebecca to retrieve his complete hospital records.
Carmine would be told she was visiting a pharmacy.
The arrangement made Faith uncomfortable.
She was a caretaker, not a detective.
But Dominic had asked her to help.
And somewhere between the broken breakfast dishes and the midnight confession, she had begun caring about the man beneath the anger.
Not the money.
Not the power.
The man.
At the hospital, Rebecca requested the records through the proper authorization process.
Dominic had signed the release.
An hour later, they received the electronic files.
Rebecca opened them on her laptop in a quiet consultation room.
Faith watched her expression change.
"What is it?"
Rebecca scrolled backward.
"The medication administration records."
"What about them?"
"Dominic was prescribed a sedative during the first several weeks after surgery. That's not necessarily unusual."
She paused.
"But the documentation shows repeated adjustments after he was medically stable."
Faith leaned closer.
"Could that affect his recovery?"
"Sedation can interfere with participation in rehabilitation. I need to know why those changes were made."
Rebecca opened another document.
Her face went still.
"What?"
"This is strange."
"What is?"
"A rehabilitation specialist recommended a structured mobility program four months ago."
Faith felt her pulse quicken.
"Dominic never mentioned it."
"Because according to this note, the recommendation was rejected by his designated medical representative."
"Who was that?"
Rebecca clicked the signature field.
CARMINE BELLINI.
Faith stared at the screen.
"Why would Carmine have authority over Dominic's treatment?"
Rebecca's voice was quiet.
"That's a very good question."
Back at the mansion, Dominic was meeting with Carmine.
The older man stood beside the fireplace.
"Boss, the shipment from Milwaukee has been delayed."
Dominic nodded.
"Handle it."
Carmine shifted.
"There's another issue."
"What?"
"Faith Willis."
Dominic looked up.
"Careful."
"She's asking too many questions."
"She's doing her job."
"Her job is cleaning and bringing your meals."
Dominic's expression turned dangerous.
"Her job is whatever I decide it is."
Carmine swallowed.
"I think she's taking advantage of your condition."
Dominic smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
"What is?"
"That's exactly what someone taking advantage of my condition would say."
Carmine froze.
Before he could answer, Dominic's phone vibrated.
A message from Rebecca.
We found something. Don't confront anyone yet.
Dominic locked the screen.
Then he looked directly at the man who had stood beside him for eleven years.
"Tell me something, Carmine."
"Anything, boss."
"Who gave you authority over my medical decisions?"
The room went silent.
May you like
Carmine's face lost its color.
And Dominic realized he had just asked a question his oldest friend had never expected him to ask.
