Chapter 8 - THE BLOOD DEBT
Vincent Martini had never felt weaker.
His chest burned.
Every step pulled against his stitches.
But the sight of Mary standing beside her father gave him enough strength to remain upright.
"Gabriel," he said quietly, "call the police."
Eleanor laughed.
"You're going to invite the police into your own affairs?"
Vincent looked at her.
"You're not my affair."
"Your companies depend on my investments."
"Then they can fail."
Eleanor's smile vanished.
Gabriel stepped into the room.
"Ma'am, stay where you are."
Eleanor raised her hands.
"You're making accusations without evidence."
Mary held up the medical folder.
"Ten years of concealed treatment records."
"Private medical records are not evidence of a crime."
"No," Mary said. "But unlawful confinement is."
Eleanor glanced toward Daniel.
"He was never legally detained."
Mary's voice trembled.
"He couldn't leave."
"Because he was medically incapacitated."
Dr. Park appeared in the doorway.
"Then perhaps you can explain why every independent neurological consultation I requested over the last four years was canceled."
Eleanor turned sharply.
Park stepped forward.
"And why the hospital's electronic records contain no mention of this patient."
For the first time, Eleanor looked uncertain.
Vincent watched her carefully.
"You knew my father."
"Everyone knew Anthony."
"You helped him disappear."
Eleanor said nothing.
Vincent stepped closer.
"Why?"
She looked at him with something resembling pity.
"Because your father knew how to survive."
"Where is he?"
"Ask Rico."
Rico shook his head.
"I haven't seen Anthony in years."
Eleanor smiled.
"Then you really were the least intelligent man in the organization."
Rico lunged toward her.
Gabriel intercepted him.
"Enough!"
The room fell silent.
Mary looked at Daniel.
His breathing had become shallow.
"Dad?"
She checked his pulse.
Too fast.
His skin was clammy.
"Angela, I need a monitor."
Daniel gripped her wrist.
"Mary."
It was barely audible.
She leaned close.
"I'm here."
His lips trembled.
"Not... Anthony."
Mary frowned.
"What?"
Daniel struggled.
"Fire..."
She bent lower.
"Who started it?"
His eyes moved toward Eleanor.
Then toward Vincent.
"Your... mother."
Vincent froze.
"My mother?"
Daniel's eyes closed.
The monitor began alarming.
Mary immediately turned toward Angela.
"Get the rapid response team."
Vincent stepped backward.
His mother, Isabella Martini, had died when he was fourteen.
A car accident.
A closed-casket funeral.
His father had refused to discuss it.
Mary glanced at him.
"Vincent?"
He shook his head.
"My mother was dead before the warehouse fire."
Eleanor's expression had changed completely.
She looked frightened.
Not of Vincent.
Not of Rico.
Of what Daniel had said.
Within minutes, medical staff rushed Daniel to intensive care.
Mary followed.
Vincent remained behind.
He turned toward Eleanor.
"Tell me about Isabella."
Eleanor said nothing.
"Tell me."
She lifted her chin.
"Your mother was a complicated woman."
"She died in a car accident."
"That's what Anthony told you."
Vincent stared at her.
"Are you saying she survived?"
Eleanor looked toward the corridor.
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
She leaned closer.
"Your father wasn't the only Martini who knew how to disappear."
Before Vincent could respond, a police detective entered the room.
Detective Sarah Whitcomb.
Forty-six.
Sharp-eyed.
Known for investigating organized crime without accepting favors from anyone.
She looked at Eleanor.
"Eleanor Voss?"
"Yes."
"You're being detained while we investigate allegations of unlawful confinement, medical fraud, and conspiracy."
Eleanor smiled coldly.
"You'll regret this."
Whitcomb didn't blink.
"Get in line."
As officers escorted Eleanor away, she turned toward Vincent.
"Your mother loved you."
He stared at her.
Eleanor's smile returned.
"That's why she made sure Mary Andrews survived."
Vincent felt his knees weaken.
Mary had been saved by Jack Sullivan.
Everyone knew that.
But if Eleanor was telling the truth, someone else had arranged for Jack to be near the warehouse.
Someone who knew the fire was coming.
May you like
Someone who had been declared dead four years earlier.
And someone who might still be alive.
