Chapter 2 - The Signature That Shouldn’t Exist
Adriano did not speak for several seconds.
Beatrice watched his face.
“What happened?”
He ended the call.
“Someone used my authorization.”
“For what?”
“To alter hospital records after the explosion.”
Her expression hardened.
“And you expect me to believe you didn’t know?”
“No.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
She grabbed her purse.
Adriano stepped aside instead of stopping her.
That mattered.
Beatrice noticed.
“I need to get to my laundry shift.”
“Don’t.”
“Are you firing me now?”
“I’m paying you for today.”
“I don’t want your charity.”
“It isn’t charity.”
“Then what is it?”
He looked at the receipt in his hand.
“Time.”
She almost laughed.
“You think you can buy that too?”
“No. But I can buy you eight hours to sit with Theo.”
Her anger faltered.
Adriano continued.
“And while you do that, I can find out who used my name.”
Beatrice stared at him.
“What happens if you find them?”
The question was simple.
The answer wasn’t.
Two days earlier, Adriano would have known exactly what happened to people who betrayed him.
Now a six-year-old boy’s voice lived in his head.
Am I going to walk again?
“I get the truth.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what I’m promising.”
Beatrice left.
At Mercy General, Dr. Priya Anand was reviewing Theo’s newest scan.
The fragment had migrated another two millimeters.
“We shouldn’t wait much longer,” she said.
Beatrice looked at Theo through the glass.
“How long?”
“Days would be better than weeks.”
“And if I can’t pay?”
Dr. Anand’s expression softened.
“I’m pushing the hardship committee.”
“But?”
“But there are no guarantees.”
Beatrice nodded.
She had become very good at receiving devastating information politely.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Ms. Carson?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Martin Hale. I represent a private medical foundation. Theo Carson’s surgery has been fully funded.”
Beatrice stood.
“What?”
“All surgical and rehabilitation expenses.”
“By who?”
“The donor requested anonymity.”
Her stomach tightened.
“No.”
“Ms. Carson?”
“Return it.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said return it.”
She hung up.
Twenty minutes later she called Adriano.
“You paid.”
“Yes.”
“I told them to return it.”
“No.”
“You cannot do this.”
“I already did.”
“I don’t want to owe you.”
“You don’t.”
“Everybody owes men like you eventually.”
The words landed.
Adriano was silent.
Beatrice immediately regretted saying them.
Not because they were untrue.
Because they sounded cruel.
He answered quietly.
“Then don’t owe me.”
“What does that mean?”
“If Theo walks, you owe me nothing. If he doesn’t, you owe me nothing. If you quit tomorrow, you owe me nothing.”
“Why?”
He looked at the Navy Pier photograph on his desk.
“Because that bomb was meant for me.”
Beatrice stopped breathing.
Adriano told her.
Not everything.
Enough.
When he finished, the silence stretched between them.
“My sister was there because of you?”
“No. She was there because she took her son to a festival. The bomb was there because of me.”
Beatrice sat down.
She could hear Theo’s television behind the glass.
“Who planted it?”
“Greco’s organization.”
“The same Greco Rachel wrote about?”
“Yes.”
“Then find him.”
“I intend to.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Find him alive.”
Adriano said nothing.
“I mean it.”
“Why?”
“Because I want answers. Not a funeral.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“All right.”
That afternoon, Luca arrived with the altered files.
Seven injured civilians had been downgraded in Adriano’s private report.
Two later died.
One was Rachel Carson.
Adriano stared at the page.
“Rachel wasn’t listed as dead.”
“She died months later.”
“What injuries?”
Luca slid over another file.
“Internal injuries. Concussion. Nerve damage.”
“And the hit-and-run?”
“I checked.”
Adriano looked up.
“There were no skid marks.”
“No.”
“Witnesses?”
“One.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Adriano leaned back.
“How convenient.”
Luca placed a photograph on the desk.
A grainy traffic-camera image.
Rachel leaving Mercy General six months after the bombing.
A sedan waited across the street.
The driver’s face wasn’t visible.
But the passenger was.
Adriano recognized him.
“Damn.”
Luca nodded.
The man was Carlo Vescari.
Adriano’s former accountant.
The same man who possessed his authorization codes.
The same man who disappeared three weeks after Rachel’s death.
Adriano stood.
“Find Vescari.”
“We’ve tried for two years.”
“Try differently.”
That evening he visited Theo.
Beatrice almost blocked the doorway.
“He asked who paid.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That a foundation helped.”
“Good.”
“Don’t make me regret letting you in.”
Adriano entered.
Theo inspected him.
“You’re Aunt Bea’s boss.”
“So I’m told.”
“She says you’re difficult.”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Theo.”
Adriano almost smiled.
“She’s right.”
Theo pointed at his tattoos.
“Did those hurt?”
“Some.”
“More than surgery?”
Adriano’s smile disappeared.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you scared of doctors?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
Beatrice expected him to joke.
He didn’t.
“Yes.”
“What?”
Adriano looked at Theo’s legs.
“Finding out I was too late.”
Theo considered this.
Then he held out his stuffed shark.
“You can hold Captain Bitey.”
Adriano stared at it.
“For fear.”
“I understood.”
He accepted the shark.
Beatrice looked away because suddenly she was close to crying.
Dr. Anand entered.
“We have an operating slot tomorrow morning.”
Beatrice stood.
“That soon?”
“The funding cleared everything.”
Theo’s face went pale.
Adriano handed back the shark.
“You said I’d walk,” Theo whispered.
Beatrice moved to him.
“And you will.”
“You promised.”
“I know.”
The surgery began at 7:10 the next morning.
Adriano waited in the corridor.
So did Beatrice.
Three hours became four.
At 11:46, Dr. Anand emerged.
Beatrice jumped up.
“The fragment is out.”
“His spinal cord?”
“Intact.”
Beatrice covered her mouth.
“But,” the doctor continued, “we won’t know the neurological outcome until the swelling decreases.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow at the earliest.”
Beatrice nodded.
Adriano looked at the small evidence container in Dr. Anand’s hand.
The surgeon noticed.
“We’re required to preserve foreign material in cases involving prior trauma.”
“Can it be analyzed?”
Beatrice turned toward him.
Dr. Anand frowned.
“Possibly.”
That afternoon, Luca arranged a private ballistics comparison.
The result came back at 8:03 p.m.
The metal composition matched material recovered from the Navy Pier device.
But there was something else.
A partial manufacturer code remained etched into the fragment.
Luca called Adriano.
“We traced the explosive housing.”
“To Greco?”
“No.”
Adriano’s expression changed.
“Then who?”
“It came from a shipment purchased through one of our old shell companies.”
Adriano stood.
“That’s impossible.”
“I have the invoice.”
“Who signed it?”
“I’m looking at the signature.”
“Whose?”
Luca didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said a name Adriano had not heard in eight years.
May you like
A name belonging to a man Adriano had buried.
“Your father.”
