Chapter 2 - BY MIDNIGHT, HALF OF CHICAGO THOUGHT GRACE HAD POISONED MARGARET DELUCA
Grace Miller had never been inside a police interview room before.
She decided almost immediately that she hated the lighting.
Everything looked guilty beneath fluorescent bulbs.
Her black banquet uniform.
The loose strands of hair around her face.
The scrape across one knuckle from catching herself when the champagne tray fell.
Even the folded hospital bill the detective had removed from her apron looked sinister sitting inside a clear evidence bag.
$18,764.
Her mother’s treatment.
Twenty-seven years of ordinary struggle reduced to something a prosecutor could point at and call motive.
Detective Lena Torres sat across from Grace.
“You were assigned to Mrs. DeLuca’s table?”
“For part of the evening.”
“You served her drinks?”
“I carried drinks near her.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Grace swallowed.
“Yes.”
“I served that section.”
Torres glanced at her notes.
“And approximately five minutes before Mrs. DeLuca collapsed, you physically confronted Victoria Sinclair.”
“I stopped her from hitting an elderly woman.”
“You grabbed her wrist.”
“Yes.”
“Then Dominic DeLuca had Ms. Sinclair removed.”
“Yes.”
“After that, you remained near Margaret DeLuca.”
“Yes.”
Grace heard how it sounded.
Temporary waitress.
Financial problems.
Public altercation.
Powerful woman collapses.
White tablet.
Grace’s stomach twisted.
Torres tapped the evidence photograph.
“Do you recognize this?”
“No.”
“Medication?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your mother is receiving medical treatment.”
Grace’s expression changed.
“My mother’s medical condition has nothing to do with this.”
“You’re familiar with prescription medication.”
“I know what her pill organizer looks like.”
“That doesn’t make me a pharmacist.”
Torres leaned back.
“Grace, I’m not accusing you.”
“That sentence usually means someone is about to.”
For the first time, the detective’s expression softened slightly.
“Fair.”
Then the door opened.
A uniformed officer stepped in.
Whispered something.
Torres looked toward Grace.
Then stood.
“Wait here.”
The door closed again.
Grace stared at the wall.
She had been at Northwestern Memorial for nearly two hours.
Margaret was somewhere upstairs.
Dominic had disappeared behind double doors with doctors.
Grace had been asked to remain after security discovered the tablet.
Then police arrived.
Then her apron had been searched.
Then someone found the hospital bill.
Her phone showed nine missed calls from her mother.
Grace had texted:
WORK EMERGENCY. I’M OKAY. I’LL CALL SOON.
Technically true.
Emotionally fraudulent.
Twenty minutes later, the interview-room door opened again.
Not Torres.
Dominic DeLuca.
Grace stood immediately.
Not because he frightened her.
That was what she told herself.
His tuxedo jacket was gone.
White shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms.
His bow tie had disappeared.
The calm expression from the ballroom was gone too.
He looked like a man who had spent two hours discovering there were things money could not order to become okay.
“How is she?”
Grace asked.
Dominic stopped.
Apparently that was not the question he expected.
“Stable.”
Grace exhaled.
“Thank God.”
“They’re keeping her overnight.”
“Maybe longer.”
“The doctor thinks what happened may have been triggered by something she ingested.”
Grace’s stomach dropped.
Dominic watched her carefully.
Not warmly.
Carefully.
There it was.
Suspicion.
He did not hide it.
Grace straightened.
“If you think I did something, say it.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know what I think.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To ask you something.”
“Police already asked plenty.”
“This isn’t their question.”
He stepped closer to the table but remained on the other side.
“Did my mother drink champagne tonight?”
Grace frowned.
“What?”
“The glass.”
“Security found the tablet around the base of a champagne flute they believed was hers.”
Grace stared.
Then something from earlier returned.
Margaret sitting near the ballroom wall.
Grace offering the tray.
The older woman smiling.
No champagne, sweetheart. My cardiologist already thinks I’m impossible. Bring me sparkling water with lime.
Grace went cold.
“No.”
Dominic became still.
“What?”
“Your mother didn’t drink champagne.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How sure?”
“I served her sparkling water myself.”
“Twice.”
“She specifically refused champagne because of her medication.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“Why didn’t you tell police?”
“They kept asking whether I served her table.”
“They didn’t ask what she drank.”
Dominic turned immediately.
The door opened before he touched it.
Detective Torres stood outside.
She had been listening? Or had arrived at the right moment.
“Say that again.”
Grace did.
Torres wrote quickly.
“When was the second water delivered?”
“Maybe ten minutes before Victoria came over.”
“Who cleared the first glass?”
“I don’t know.”
“The gala had bussers.”
“Who touched Mrs. DeLuca’s place setting after you?”
Grace closed her eyes.
Remembered.
Black uniforms.
White jackets.
Guests.
Movement.
Then:
“My supervisor.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brian Keller.”
“He came to me after Victoria started arguing.”
“He told me to focus on trays near the west bar because Mrs. DeLuca’s table was being covered by senior staff.”
Torres looked at Dominic.
“That wasn’t in Keller’s statement.”
Grace’s pulse jumped.
“What did he say?”
“That Grace remained assigned to Margaret’s table until the collapse.”
Grace stared.
“That’s a lie.”
Dominic’s expression turned frighteningly calm.
Torres held up one hand.
“Let police handle it.”
“I am.”
Dominic answered.
“You’re standing in a police station?”
“No.”
“Hospital security office.”
“Still.”
Grace almost laughed despite everything.
Torres looked back at her.
“Do you know why Keller would lie?”
“No.”
“Did he dislike you?”
“It was my first night.”
“Did anyone ask you to serve Mrs. DeLuca specifically?”
Grace thought.
Her temp-agency schedule had originally assigned her to tables sixteen through twenty.
Margaret sat at fourteen.
Grace had been moved.
“Brian did.”
“What time?”
“Before doors opened.”
“He said another waitress called out.”
Torres wrote again.
“Name?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Dominic’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
His face hardened.
“What?”
Torres asked.
Dominic showed her.
A news alert.
WAITRESS QUESTIONED AFTER DELUCA MATRIARCH COLLAPSES AT CHARITY GALA
Grace’s stomach dropped.
Another headline appeared seconds later.
SOURCES: TEMP WORKER HAD NEARLY $19,000 IN PERSONAL MEDICAL DEBT
Grace stopped breathing.
“No.”
She reached for Dominic’s phone.
He handed it to her.
The article mentioned her mother.
Not by name.
Enough.
A temporary worker facing significant medical bills had physically confronted a major donor shortly before Margaret DeLuca suffered a suspected poisoning.
Grace’s vision blurred.
“How do they know about the bill?”
Torres’s face tightened.
“The evidence was logged less than forty minutes ago.”
“Then somebody leaked it.”
Dominic’s voice became quiet.
Torres looked at him.
“I know.”
Grace shoved the phone back.
“My mother is going to see this.”
“She’s sick.”
“She thinks I’m working a banquet.”
Now everyone will think I tried to murder someone because I can’t pay her hospital bill.”
Her voice cracked.
Grace hated that.
Dominic looked toward Torres.
“Can she call her mother?”
“Yes.”
Grace turned away.
“No.”
Both looked at her.
“If I call sounding like this, she’ll panic.”
She pressed both hands against the table.
“I need five minutes.”
Dominic said:
“I can have someone go to her house.”
Grace spun around.
“No.”
He stopped.
“You do not send strangers to my mother.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
“You can’t solve my life because you’re scared about yours.”
The sentence landed.
Dominic stared at her.
Then nodded.
“You’re right.”
That surprised Grace more than anger would have.
Torres’s phone rang.
She stepped away.
Grace sat.
Dominic remained standing.
Several seconds passed.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
Grace looked up.
“For what?”
“The article.”
“You didn’t write it.”
“No.”
“But people connected to my world make calls before normal people finish asking questions.”
Grace studied him.
At least he knew.
Then Torres returned.
“We found Keller.”
Grace’s stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“He left the hotel fifteen minutes after the ambulance.”
“He told staff his shift ended.”
“Security video shows him entering the basement parking garage.”
“Then?”
“Nothing.”
“The garage camera feed goes dark for ninety-four seconds.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“Security outage?”
“No.”
Torres looked at him.
“Manual administrative override.”
Dominic stopped breathing.
“Whose system?”
“DeLuca Protective Services.”
His own company.
The irony sat heavily.
Someone had used Dominic’s security network to hide movement after his mother was poisoned.
Torres continued.
“We’re pulling access logs.”
Then she looked at Grace.
“For now, you’re not under arrest.”
Grace almost laughed.
Comforting.
“But don’t leave Chicago.”
“I can barely afford to leave my ZIP code.”
Torres ignored the bitterness.
“You’ll need counsel if this escalates.”
Grace looked at Dominic.
He understood the thought before she said it.
“No.”
He spoke first.
“I’m not assigning you one of my attorneys.”
“Good.”
“I can give you a list of independent lawyers who have never represented me or my companies.”
Grace hesitated.
“That I’ll take.”
Not money.
Information.
Dominic nodded.
Then a nurse appeared at the doorway.
“Mr. DeLuca?”
He turned instantly.
“Your mother is awake.”
The fear returned to his face.
Grace watched him.
A man newspapers called untouchable.
A man judges feared disappointing.
A man whose name made Victoria Sinclair pale.
And suddenly just a son.
He looked at Grace.
“My mother asked for you.”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
The nurse confirmed.
“She keeps asking about the waitress.”
Grace almost laughed from exhaustion.
Dominic said:
“You don’t have to.”
Grace thought about Margaret’s trembling hand.
Her calm voice.
If being corrected embarrasses you, perhaps stop lying.
Then the hospital bill in the evidence bag.
The news headline.
The missing supervisor.
The white tablet.
Everything had changed in three hours.
Grace stood.
“I’ll see her.”
Margaret lay surrounded by wires and monitors when Grace entered.
Her color had improved.
Barely.
Dominic stood near the bed.
Grace stopped several feet away.
“Mrs. DeLuca.”
Margaret’s eyes opened.
“Grace.”
“You remembered.”
“You dropped twelve champagne glasses in my defense.”
“Hard to forget.”
Grace smiled despite herself.
Margaret looked toward Dominic.
“Did they arrest her?”
“No.”
He said.
“Good.”
Margaret’s eyes returned to Grace.
Then became serious.
“You didn’t bring me champagne.”
Grace’s pulse jumped.
“No.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“I knew I wasn’t losing my mind.”
Dominic moved closer.
“Ma, what happened after Grace left?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“A man came to clear the table.”
“Then Victoria appeared.”
“She started arguing.”
“About what?”
Margaret looked at her son.
Something changed.
“It wasn’t personal.”
“Not really.”
Dominic waited.
Margaret took a breath.
“Victoria told the mayor’s wife that the Sinclair Foundation had donated forty million dollars toward the South River Medical redevelopment.”
Grace remembered.
I corrected a lie.
Margaret continued.
“They haven’t donated forty million.”
“They bought an option on the land next door.”
“If the medical center gets approved, Sinclair property triples in value.”
Dominic’s jaw hardened.
“What does that have to do with us?”
Margaret looked almost disappointed.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“The land they need for the medical-center expansion is DeLuca property.”
Silence.
“And?”
“You refused to sell.”
“Yes.”
“So did I.”
Dominic’s face changed.
Margaret’s voice became weaker.
“Your uncle Angelo did not.”
Grace saw the name hit him.
“Angelo?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He’s been pressuring me for two months to vote with him.”
“Vote on what?”
Margaret looked directly at her son.
“The board resolution to sell South River.”
Dominic became perfectly still.
His mother continued.
“You have thirty-seven percent of the voting shares.”
“Angelo has thirty-two.”
“The remaining family investors split twelve.”
“And I have nineteen.”
Grace understood before Dominic said it.
Margaret was the deciding vote.
“If you’re incapacitated?”
Dominic asked.
Margaret’s eyes opened.
“My voting rights temporarily transfer to the family council.”
“Who chairs the council?”
Grace already knew.
Dominic whispered:
“Angelo.”
The hospital room went silent.
The poisoning had not only attacked an elderly woman.
May you like
It had attacked a vote.
And someone inside Dominic DeLuca’s own family knew exactly how the trust worked.
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