Chapter 3 - The Specialist’s Secret
“Emma!” Lucy screamed.
Emma dropped to the floor.
“I’m here.”
Vincent’s voice cut through the darkness.
“Nobody moves.”
Emergency lights activated seconds later.
Mercer was gone.
The front doors were still guarded.
Vincent looked toward the service corridor.
Open.
“Marco.”
“On it.”
Security flooded the house.
Emma held Lucy tightly.
The child trembled against her.
Vincent crouched.
“Lucy.”
She looked at him.
“Daddy.”
“I’m here too.”
Lucy reached for him.
Vincent gathered both his daughter and the walker awkwardly into his arms.
Emma watched something soften in his face.
He kissed Lucy’s forehead.
Then he looked at Emma.
“Stay with her.”
“What about Mercer?”
“He’s my problem.”
Emma’s voice hardened.
“If this involves my mother, it’s mine too.”
Vincent considered arguing.
He didn’t.
Mercer was caught in the garage.
He had attempted to leave through an old staff entrance.
Vincent brought him into the office.
Emma remained outside with Lucy until the child fell asleep.
Then she entered.
Mercer looked terrified.
Vincent placed Rachel’s complaint on the desk.
“Talk.”
“I need an attorney.”
“You can have one.”
Mercer looked surprised.
Vincent leaned forward.
“But first you’re going to explain why Rachel Kim accused you of falsifying Lucy’s medical evaluations.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
Mercer said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“Rachel claimed Lucy was improving.”
Silence.
“She claimed you instructed staff to increase sedating medication before evaluations.”
Emma covered her mouth.
“She claimed those medications worsened Lucy’s muscle weakness.”
Mercer finally spoke.
“I followed medical protocols.”
“Rachel disagreed.”
“Rachel was unstable.”
“Convenient.”
Mercer looked at Emma.
“Her mother was the same.”
Emma stepped forward.
“Stop talking about my mother like you knew her.”
“I did know her.”
Emma froze.
Mercer told them Evelyn Brooks had worked at St. Catherine’s Hospital.
Emma knew that.
Her mother had been a nursing assistant.
What Emma had never known was that Evelyn had accused Mercer, then a young resident, of altering medication records after a wealthy patient suffered permanent neurological damage.
The hospital settled quietly.
Evelyn lost her job.
Mercer’s career survived.
“My mother told me she quit,” Emma whispered.
“She was fired,” Mercer said.
“Why?”
“Because nobody believed her.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
Mercer gave a bitter smile.
“People believe doctors. Not women who clean rooms.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
The words explained something about Emma he had not understood.
Why she watched.
Why she questioned.
Why she refused to let professional titles intimidate her when Lucy was frightened.
Emma had learned it from Evelyn.
“What happened to Rachel?” Vincent asked.
Mercer’s expression closed.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent pushed the photograph across the desk.
“Celeste met her.”
“That has nothing to do with me.”
“Then explain Lucy.”
Mercer looked away.
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“Was my daughter deliberately kept weaker than she needed to be?”
Mercer said nothing.
That silence was enough to make Vincent stand.
Emma stepped between them.
“Don’t.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Move.”
“No.”
“He harmed my daughter.”
“And if you hurt him, he stops talking.”
Vincent stared at Emma.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
Nobody except apparently the maid his family considered insignificant.
He sat.
“Continue.”
Mercer exhaled.
“I never injured Lucy.”
“But you lied about her progress?”
Mercer hesitated.
“Yes.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“Why?”
“Money.”
Vincent laughed once without humor.
“You were already being paid.”
“Not by you.”
Silence.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Mercer refused.
Marco entered.
“We traced several payments.”
“To whom?”
“Mercer.”
“From?”
Marco placed banking documents on the desk.
The payer was a shell corporation.
Vincent recognized the company.
Moretti Holdings owned it.
Only four people had authorization.
Vincent.
Celeste.
Anthony.
And Isabella.
Emma whispered, “Someone in your family paid him.”
Vincent stared at the records.
“For what?”
Mercer’s hands began shaking.
“You don’t understand your own family.”
“Explain it.”
“Your father’s will.”
Vincent became motionless.
“What does Lucy have to do with my father’s will?”
Mercer laughed nervously.
“Everything.”
Vincent’s father, Lorenzo Moretti, had died three years earlier.
His estate had been divided according to strict conditions.
Vincent controlled the businesses.
But a massive trust remained reserved for the next generation.
Lucy.
Vincent’s only child.
If Lucy reached adulthood, control passed to her.
If she died or was declared permanently incapable of managing her affairs, trusteeship shifted.
“To whom?” Emma asked.
Mercer looked at Vincent.
“Your sister.”
The room went silent.
Vincent stood.
“Celeste.”
Mercer nodded.
“But she never asked me to hurt Lucy.”
“What did she ask?”
“To document permanent disability.”
Emma stared.
“She wanted Lucy declared incapable when she’s two?”
“Not now. Establish the medical history. Make future guardianship uncontestable.”
Vincent’s expression became frighteningly calm.
“And Rachel discovered it.”
Mercer nodded.
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent grabbed the desk edge.
“Where is my sister?”
Marco checked his phone.
“She left the property twenty minutes ago.”
“Find her.”
Marco moved.
Mercer suddenly said, “You won’t.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“She knows you saw something.”
“How?”
Mercer stared at the surveillance monitor.
“The cameras aren’t only yours.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
Marco immediately began checking the system.
Someone had remote access.
For months.
Perhaps years.
Vincent’s entire house had been watched.
Emma thought of Lucy.
Her bedroom.
Therapy sessions.
Private conversations.
“Who?”
Marco typed quickly.
Then stopped.
“The access originated from inside Moretti Security.”
Vincent frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
Only his most trusted people could enter that system.
Marco turned the screen.
One administrator account had downloaded footage repeatedly.
The username belonged to a man Vincent had trusted since childhood.
Anthony Moretti.
Vincent’s younger brother.
His phone rang.
Anthony.
Vincent answered.
“Where are you?”
Anthony’s voice was strained.
“You need to get Emma out of the house.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because Celeste knows who her mother was.”
“So?”
A long silence.
Then Anthony whispered:
“Evelyn Brooks didn’t die in an accident.”
Emma heard him.
Her face went white.
Vincent tightened his grip on the phone.
“What did you say?”
Anthony breathed heavily.
“Vincent, listen to me. Don’t trust anyone until I get there.”
A crash sounded through the phone.
“Anthony?”
No answer.
“Anthony!”
Then another voice came onto the line.
A woman.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Hello, Vincent.”
May you like
Vincent’s mother was on the other end.
And behind her, Anthony was screaming.
