Chapter 3 - A Debt Vincent Moretti Could Not BuyVincent Moretti hated hospitals.
Her first thought was that someone had died.
Her second was that Lily had done something terrible.
By the time the buzzer sounded, she was already halfway down the narrow staircase.
“Lily!”
Her daughter came through the lobby doors carrying a fresh pharmacy bag.
Claire pulled her into both arms.
“Where were you?”
“Mom, I—”
“You were supposed to come straight home!”
“I tried.”
Claire held her at arm's length.
Only then did she notice the man standing behind her.
Marco Bellini looked dramatically out of place inside their chipped-tile lobby.
Tailored charcoal suit.
Polished shoes.
An expression that suggested he noticed every exit before entering a room.
Claire immediately placed herself between him and Lily.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Marco Bellini.”
“That doesn't answer why you're with my daughter.”
“Mom,” Lily interrupted, “a man fell down.”
Claire turned sharply.
“What?”
“He fell on Broadway.”
Marco finished the explanation.
He kept it simple.
A collapse.
Lily's phone call.
The ambulance.
The crushed medicine.
He did not mention poison.
Claire closed her eyes for a second.
“You stopped beside a stranger?”
“Nobody else helped.”
Claire's fear softened.
She knew exactly why her daughter had done it.
Lily had once seen Claire collapse in their kitchen during the worst episode of her illness.
She had screamed for neighbors.
Nobody came for several minutes.
The memory had never left her.
Claire pulled Lily close again.
“You did the right thing. But you scared me.”
“I'm sorry.”
Marco handed Claire the replacement medication.
She stared at the bag.
“You paid for this?”
“Mr. Moretti did.”
“Who?”
“Vincent Moretti.”
Claire froze.
Unlike Lily, she knew the name.
Everyone in New York business knew it.
Moretti Development.
Moretti Hotels.
Moretti Shipping.
Moretti Foundation.
Vincent Moretti had built an empire from almost nothing after inheriting a struggling construction company from his father.
Some newspapers called him a billionaire philanthropist.
Others called him ruthless.
There were endless rumors about how he obtained property, crushed competitors and maintained friendships with politicians, police commissioners and people nobody photographed.
Claire handed the bag back.
“I can't accept this.”
Marco didn't take it.
“It's already paid for.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“Your daughter saved his life.”
“She helped a sick man. That doesn't create a debt.”
Marco studied Claire more carefully.
Most people who heard Vincent Moretti's name immediately wanted something.
Money.
Access.
Influence.
A job.
Claire Carter apparently wanted none of it.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“Ms.”
“My apologies. Ms. Carter. Keep the medicine.”
Claire looked at Lily.
Her daughter's worried eyes settled the argument.
“Fine.”
Marco reached inside his jacket.
Claire stiffened.
He withdrew a business card.
“If anyone asks about what Lily saw today, call this number.”
Claire's suspicion returned.
“Why would anyone ask?”
Marco hesitated.
Too long.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“Nothing you need to worry about tonight.”
“I decide what I need to worry about when it concerns my child.”
Marco respected that answer.
He lowered his voice.
“Doctors don't believe Mr. Moretti collapsed naturally.”
Claire's hand tightened around Lily's shoulder.
“What does that mean?”
“We're still finding out.”
“Was my daughter in danger?”
“We don't know.”
“That is not an acceptable answer.”
“No,” Marco agreed. “It isn't.”
He looked through the glass lobby doors.
One of his men stood outside.
“I'll place someone near the building tonight.”
“You absolutely will not.”
“Ms. Carter—”
“I don't know you. I don't know your boss. And I'm certainly not letting armed strangers stand outside my home.”
Marco almost admired her.
“Then I'll ask plainclothes officers to patrol the block.”
“Actual police?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He gave her a faint look.
Claire sighed.
“Right. Vincent Moretti.”
Marco turned to leave.
Lily tugged his sleeve.
“Will the man wake up?”
Marco looked down.
“We hope so.”
“Can you tell him I said he better?”
Marco's expression softened.
“I'll tell him.”
At St. Catherine's Medical Center, Vincent Moretti was fighting for his life.
The entire private floor had been cleared.
Two detectives waited outside.
Three security men guarded the elevator.
Dr. Nathan Price entered the conference room just before midnight carrying lab results.
Marco stood instantly.
“Well?”
“Digitalis toxicity.”
Marco stared.
“You're certain?”
“His blood concentration is far above therapeutic levels.”
“Vincent doesn't take digitalis.”
“I know.”
“So somebody gave it to him.”
Dr. Price removed his glasses.
“Most likely.”
“How?”
“Food. Drink. Medication. We won't know without more testing.”
Marco walked to the window.
Thirty floors below, New York glittered as if nothing had happened.
“Who was with him today?”
“According to his schedule? Board breakfast at eight. Charity planning meeting at ten. Lunch at Bella Vista with Anthony Russo. Then the walk downtown.”
Marco turned.
“Russo?”
The doctor shrugged.
“I only saw the itinerary security provided.”
Marco's phone rang.
The hospital room.
He answered.
“Marco.”
A nurse spoke urgently.
“He's awake.”
Marco was through the door before she finished.
Vincent looked nothing like the man people feared.
Not then.
He looked exhausted.
His skin was gray.
An oxygen line ran beneath his nose.
Machines surrounded him.
Marco moved close.
“Vince.”
Vincent's eyes opened.
“What happened?”
“You were poisoned.”
There was no dramatic reaction.
Only stillness.
Then Vincent asked, “Lily?”
Marco blinked.
“The girl.”
“She got home safely.”
“Medicine?”
Marco almost smiled.
“You remember that?”
“I remember the bag getting crushed.”
“We replaced it.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Good.”
Marco leaned closer.
“Do you remember what you ate?”
“Coffee.”
“Where?”
“Office.”
“Who brought it?”
“My assistant.”
Marco's face hardened.
“Rebecca?”
Vincent opened his eyes.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He struggled to think.
“Anthony.”
Silence filled the room.
Anthony Russo had been Vincent's closest friend for twenty-seven years.
Best man at his wedding.
Godfather to his late son.
The man entrusted with nearly every secret inside the Moretti organization.
Marco shook his head.
“Anthony wouldn't.”
“I didn't say he poisoned me.”
“He brought you coffee.”
“At the board meeting.”
“Did anyone else touch it?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent tried to sit up.
Pain stopped him.
“Security footage.”
“We're pulling everything.”
Another knock came at the door.
Detective Elena Brooks stepped inside.
“Mr. Moretti, we need to ask you—”
“No.”
Marco stepped between them.
Vincent lifted one weak hand.
“Let her.”
Brooks approached.
“We've reviewed street cameras.”
Vincent watched her.
“There was a man near you immediately before you collapsed.”
“Who?”
“We haven't identified him.”
Brooks placed a photograph on the bedside table.
A blurry image showed Vincent walking through the crowd.
Several feet behind him stood a man in a baseball cap.
Vincent stared.
Marco frowned.
“Never seen him.”
“We enlarged another frame.”
Brooks placed down a second photograph.
This one showed the stranger looking directly toward Vincent.
Vincent's breathing changed.
“You know him?” Brooks asked.
“No.”
But Marco knew Vincent well enough to recognize a lie.
Brooks gathered the pictures.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The street camera shows the same man standing approximately fifteen feet from Lily Carter while she made the call.”
Vincent's eyes sharpened.
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
“Was he watching her?”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
Every trace of weakness disappeared from his voice.
“Put protection on that child.”
Marco nodded.
“Already arranged.”
“I mean real protection.”
“Claire won't allow visible security.”
“Then make it invisible.”
Detective Brooks frowned.
“You cannot assign your own people to surveil a six-year-old.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I can make sure the child who saved my life reaches seven.”
Across town, Claire tucked Lily into bed.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do rich people get scared?”
Claire brushed hair from her forehead.
“Everybody gets scared.”
“Even Mr. Moretti?”
“Especially powerful people.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes they have more to lose.”
Lily thought about it.
Then she closed her eyes.
Claire turned out the light.
Neither of them noticed the gray sedan parked across the street.
Nor the man inside it.
He raised a camera.
May you like
Focused the lens on Lily's bedroom window.
And took three photographs.
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