Chapter 12 - The Secret Behind Room 314
Marco arrived at Lily's Garden thirty-eight minutes after I called him.
He didn't knock.
He walked directly into my office, closed the door, and held out his hand.
"Show me everything."
I passed him the photograph, the messages, and the telephone number.
He studied them without speaking.
When he reached the picture of the storage cabinet, his expression changed.
"What?" I asked.
"I've seen that cabinet."
"Where?"
"In the private medical suite at the Moretti estate."
The answer struck me like a physical blow.
"Margaret's medical suite?"
Marco nodded.
"She had two rooms converted into a private treatment area years before Lily was born. Room 314 was part of the old servants' wing. She kept documents there that even Vincent wasn't permitted to see."
I sank into my chair.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because we thought it was her private medical archive."
He paused.
"Claire, I need you to understand something. Keller wasn't just Margaret's physician. He handled medical clearances for several Moretti employees."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning if someone wanted to conceal a medical incident, he knew exactly how."
My hands began trembling.
I pressed them flat against the desk.
"Find him."
"I already have someone looking."
"Then find Margaret."
Marco's jaw tightened.
"She's been living under an assumed name outside Milwaukee since Vincent surrendered."
I stared at him.
"You knew where she was?"
"I knew the general area. She stopped speaking to the family after the federal seizures. Salvatore made sure she had enough money to live quietly."
"Quietly?"
The word escaped my mouth as something between a laugh and a sob.
"My daughter is dead, and the woman who helped turn her funeral into a public humiliation has been living quietly?"
Marco lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
I stood and grabbed my coat.
"Then we're going to Milwaukee."
"No."
I turned.
"Excuse me?"
"Someone sent you an anonymous accusation and a suspicious address. We don't know whether Keller is telling the truth or whether this is a trap. You aren't walking into it."
Before I could respond, the office door opened.
Julian stood there.
He had come straight from the hospital, still wearing his white coat over a navy sweater.
Rebecca had apparently called him after seeing my face.
"Claire?"
The concern in his voice nearly broke me.
I handed him the photograph.
He examined it carefully, then read the message.
His expression grew serious.
"Where did this come from?"
I explained everything.
Unlike Marco, Julian didn't immediately focus on Margaret.
He asked a different question.
"What medication was Lily taking during her final month?"
I listed the inhalers, maintenance treatments, and emergency prescriptions I remembered.
He listened, nodding occasionally.
"Did Margaret ever administer anything without you present?"
I thought back.
So many afternoons.
So many times Vincent's mother had insisted she knew what was best.
One particular memory surfaced.
Two days before Lily died, Margaret had visited our bedroom carrying a small glass bottle.
"These are vitamins," she'd said. "Andrew recommended them. They'll strengthen her lungs."
I had refused.
Margaret had called me an overprotective mother.
We argued.
Vincent told me to stop creating conflict.
And Lily watched us with frightened eyes.
"I don't know," I whispered.
Julian took my hand.
"We need the original records, Claire. Without those, we can't know whether anything was administered or whether it mattered medically."
His caution steadied me.
I was grateful he didn't offer certainty where none existed.
Marco's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Then he looked at me.
"We found Keller's car."
"Where?"
"Abandoned beneath the Kinzie Street bridge."
My heart hammered.
"And Keller?"
Marco didn't answer immediately.
"The driver's door was open. There was blood on the seat."
Julian stepped closer.
"Have the police been called?"
"Yes."
I stared at the rain streaking my window.
For the first time in years, the city beyond the glass looked exactly as it had when I was married to Vincent Moretti.
Dangerous.
Cold.
Full of secrets.
My phone rang again.
This time the caller ID displayed a name I hadn't seen in four years.
Salvatore Moretti.
Marco motioned for me not to answer.
But something inside me refused to retreat.
I accepted the call and put it on speaker.
Salvatore spoke without greeting.
"Claire, whatever Keller told you, don't go looking for Margaret."
"Why?"
His breathing sounded heavy.
"Because she isn't the one you should be afraid of."
I looked at Marco.
"Who is?"
Salvatore's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The woman who helped raise your daughter."
The line disconnected.
And suddenly, I remembered someone I had not thought about in years.
Someone who had been inside our house the night Lily died.
May you like
Someone who had vanished before the funeral.
Nurse Evelyn Cross.
