Chapter 2 - BY MIDNIGHT, EVERYONE THOUGHT GRACE HAD POISONED HER
Grace Miller had never been inside an intensive care waiting room where three armed men stood beside a vending machine.
Until that night.
She sat at the far end of the private hospital corridor wearing the same black banquet uniform she had worn at the gala.
Champagne had dried along one sleeve.
A small cut from shattered crystal stung across her palm.
Her feet still hurt.
And inside the pocket of her apron, the folded hospital bill for her mother remained exactly where it had been six hours earlier.
$18,764.
Grace touched the corner of the paper through the fabric.
It almost felt ridiculous now.
An hour ago, that number had represented the largest problem in her life.
Then Margaret DeLuca collapsed.
Now Grace was sitting outside a cardiac intensive care unit while Chicago police officers interviewed catering employees downstairs and Dominic DeLuca’s security team quietly reviewed every second of surveillance footage from the ballroom.
Nobody had officially told Grace she was a suspect.
They didn’t need to.
Dominic’s security chief had asked her not to leave.
A police detective had taken her name, address, phone number, and the name of the staffing agency that hired her.
Then someone had placed her handbag in a clear evidence bag because she had been the last server documented near Margaret’s table before she became ill.
Grace understood what that meant.
The only thing she didn’t understand was why Dominic DeLuca kept looking at her as though he couldn’t decide whether to thank her or destroy her.
He stood near the ICU doors with his tuxedo jacket gone and his white shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.
The terrifying calm she had seen in the ballroom had disappeared.
He looked exhausted.
Human.
That should have made him less frightening.
It didn’t.
A doctor finally stepped into the corridor.
“Mr. DeLuca?”
Dominic moved immediately.
Grace stood too before realizing nobody had called her.
The doctor was in his late forties, wearing navy scrubs beneath a white coat.
“Your mother is stable.”
Dominic’s shoulders moved almost imperceptibly.
Not relaxation.
Permission to breathe.
“Stable means what?”
“She experienced a serious cardiac arrhythmia accompanied by a significant drop in blood pressure.”
“Heart attack?”
“We do not currently see evidence of a classic myocardial infarction.”
“Then why did she collapse?”
“We’re still investigating.”
The doctor lowered his voice.
“Her medication history matters here.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“What about it?”
“Mrs. DeLuca takes a low-dose heart medication already.”
“Yes.”
“The toxicology team is checking whether she may have received an additional cardiac-active substance.”
Grace’s skin turned cold.
The white tablet.
Dominic asked the question she was thinking.
“Could it have killed her?”
The doctor did not dramatize.
“At the wrong dose, in a seventy-year-old woman with her cardiac history, it could have been extremely dangerous.”
Silence.
Dominic looked toward his security chief.
Marco Bellini.
Grace had learned his name from one of the officers.
Marco held a sealed evidence pouch containing what remained of the tablet found beneath Margaret’s champagne glass.
“The lab is prioritizing it.”
he said.
The doctor nodded.
“We should know more soon.”
“Can I see her?”
“Briefly.”
Dominic started toward the ICU.
Then stopped.
He looked at Grace.
“Stay.”
Her stomach dropped.
“I wasn’t planning to leave.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Not anger.
Maybe he realized how the word sounded.
He tried again.
“Please don’t leave until the police finish.”
Better.
Grace nodded.
Dominic disappeared through the doors.
Marco remained.
So did two security men.
Grace sat again.
Five minutes passed.
Then Marco approached.
“Ms. Miller.”
“Grace.”
He remained standing.
“Grace.”
“What did you serve Mrs. DeLuca?”
“Champagne at first.”
“And later?”
“Sparkling water.”
“From where?”
“The service station.”
“Did you pour it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Grace frowned.
She replayed the evening.
Her supervisor, Todd Brennan, had handed her the glass.
Todd had been furious about the broken champagne tray.
He told Grace if Dominic didn’t fire her, the agency probably would.
Then, while everyone was still whispering about Victoria being escorted out, Todd shoved a fresh tray toward Grace and told her to “fix the table.”
Three glasses.
One sparkling water.
Two champagne.
Grace had delivered the water to Margaret.
Her stomach twisted.
“Todd Brennan.”
Marco’s face changed.
“Your supervisor?”
“Yes.”
“He poured it?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
Grace bristled.
“I had three hundred rich people staring at me because I grabbed a woman’s wrist.”
“I was slightly distracted.”
For one second, Marco almost smiled.
Almost.
“Did the glass leave your sight?”
“After Todd handed it to me?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Did you drink from it?”
“No.”
“Touch the rim?”
“No.”
“Put anything into it?”
Grace stared at him.
“No.”
“Did anyone ask you to?”
“No.”
“Did Victoria Sinclair come near the glass?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“I don’t know.”
Marco studied her.
Grace’s fear turned into irritation.
“If you think I poisoned her, say it.”
His expression did not change.
“I think somebody did.”
“And I think facts are more useful than feelings.”
Grace almost laughed.
Apparently powerful men and their security chiefs attended the same school of unsettling sentences.
Before she could answer, her phone rang inside the evidence bag.
The screen lit up.
MOM
Grace stood.
“That’s my mother.”
Marco looked at the evidence bag.
Then toward the police detective at the end of the corridor.
The detective approached, opened the bag, and handed Grace the phone after noting the call.
Grace answered.
“Mom?”
Her mother’s voice was weak.
“Honey, where are you?”
Grace closed her eyes.
Celia Miller was fifty-five and three months into treatment for lymphoma.
She had a talent for sounding apologetic while being the sick person.
“I’m at work.”
“At midnight?”
“Something happened.”
“Are you okay?”
Grace looked toward the ICU.
“Yes.”
Lie.
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
A pause.
Then her mother said:
“The pharmacy called.”
Grace’s heart sank.
Of course.
The specialty medication.
“They said insurance denied the supplemental request again.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Grace.”
“I said I’ll handle it.”
Her voice came out too sharply.
Marco looked away.
Grace softened.
“Sorry.”
“I’m just tired.”
“So am I.”
Celia whispered.
“That’s why I don’t want you taking every shift they offer.”
“I need the money.”
“I need my daughter.”
Grace swallowed.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call ended.
Grace handed the phone back.
Marco resealed it.
Then his eyes moved toward the corner of the hospital bill sticking from her apron.
Grace immediately pushed it deeper.
Too late.
Marco said nothing.
Good.
The last thing she needed was Dominic DeLuca deciding her mother’s illness made her look financially desperate enough to poison a wealthy woman.
Then the detective returned.
“Ms. Miller?”
Grace stood.
“We need to ask you a few more questions.”
The interview took forty minutes.
Grace told the truth.
Every part.
Victoria threatening Margaret.
The raised hand.
The shattered tray.
Todd Brennan sending Grace back with sparkling water.
Margaret taking only two small sips before touching her chest.
The doctor in the ballroom.
Nothing changed.
Then Detective Elena Ruiz asked:
“Do you know Dominic DeLuca?”
“No.”
“Had you met him before tonight?”
“No.”
“Margaret DeLuca?”
“No.”
“Any contact with Victoria Sinclair?”
“No.”
“Any reason you would want Mrs. DeLuca harmed?”
Grace stared.
“No.”
Ruiz nodded.
“Any reason someone might want to make it look like you harmed her?”
Grace almost laughed.
“I’m a temporary waitress.”
“I didn’t exist to these people six hours ago.”
Detective Ruiz wrote something.
“Sometimes that makes a person useful.”
Grace did not like the way she said it.
When the interview ended, Dominic was waiting outside.
He had been allowed to see Margaret.
His expression was steadier.
“How is she?”
Grace asked before she could stop herself.
He looked surprised.
“Awake.”
Relief hit Grace harder than expected.
“Good.”
“She asked about you.”
Grace blinked.
“Why?”
Dominic stared.
“Apparently stopping someone from slapping her earns loyalty.”
Despite everything, Grace smiled.
Then Dominic noticed the mark on her palm.
“Your hand.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Glass.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward Marco.
“Has anyone treated that?”
Grace answered before Marco could.
“I don’t need a private surgeon for a scratch.”
Dominic’s mouth moved slightly.
Almost amused.
Then the lab technician appeared.
Marco straightened.
The technician handed Detective Ruiz and the hospital toxicologist preliminary paperwork.
Everyone watched their faces.
Ruiz read first.
Then looked at Dominic.
“The tablet was carvedilol.”
Dominic frowned.
“That’s a heart drug.”
The toxicologist nodded.
“At a much higher strength than Mrs. DeLuca’s normal dose, and not one currently prescribed to her.”
“Could it cause what happened?”
“Yes.”
“Especially combined with her regular medication and alcohol.”
Grace’s blood went cold.
Ruiz continued.
“The residue in the glass contains the same compound.”
There it was.
Proof.
Not an accidental pill beneath the table.
The glass Grace carried contained it.
Dominic’s eyes moved toward her.
Grace felt every nerve in her body tighten.
“I didn’t put it there.”
He said nothing.
She stepped closer.
“I didn’t.”
“I know what it looks like.”
Dominic’s gaze remained unreadable.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Broke waitress.”
“Mother with medical bills.”
“Last person to serve the victim.”
Her voice shook.
“If somebody wanted a perfect suspect, congratulations.”
“You have one.”
The hallway went silent.
Marco looked at Dominic.
Detective Ruiz watched both.
Then Dominic said:
“I don’t think you poisoned my mother.”
Grace stopped breathing.
“Why?”
“Because you had thirty seconds to let Victoria hit her and walk away.”
“You didn’t.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“But this does.”
Marco handed him a tablet.
Security footage.
Not the ballroom.
The service corridor.
Timestamp:
8:41 p.m.
Todd Brennan stood beside the beverage station.
He looked over both shoulders.
Then a man in a gray catering jacket approached from the restricted loading hallway.
Grace had never seen him.
The man handed Todd something tiny.
Todd poured sparkling water.
Looked around again.
Dropped something into the glass.
Then placed it on Grace’s tray.
Grace stared.
“Oh my God.”
Dominic asked:
“Where is Brennan?”
Marco answered.
“That’s the problem.”
“He left the gala seventeen minutes before Margaret collapsed.”
“His phone is off.”
“His apartment is empty.”
Detective Ruiz’s eyes narrowed.
“Do we know the man in the catering jacket?”
Marco enlarged the image.
The face turned slightly.
Dominic went still.
Grace saw recognition.
“Who is he?”
Dominic did not answer immediately.
Then:
“Thomas Vane.”
“Who?”
“My mother’s former driver.”
Grace frowned.
“Former?”
“Fired eight months ago.”
“For stealing from her.”
Marco added quietly:
“And Thomas Vane currently works for Sinclair Protective Services.”
Victoria Sinclair’s father’s company.
The same Victoria who had threatened Grace on her way out of the ballroom.
Grace stared at the image.
The story had changed in less than a minute.
She was not the poisoner anymore.
She was the delivery system.
May you like
Someone had used her.
And suddenly the fact that Victoria tried to slap Margaret no longer looked like the most dangerous thing the socialite had done that evening.
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