Chapter 5 - THE SECRET ISABELLA LEFT BEHIND
Vincent sat down.
I had never seen him do that during a confrontation.
Anthony remained standing.
Lucas and Leo had been taken into the adjoining bedroom by Mrs. Harper.
For once, the adults had learned.
Vincent looked at the photograph again.
“Start talking.”
Anthony rubbed his jaw.
“Isabella came to me about two months before she died.”
“Why not me?”
“You know why.”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
Anthony did not retreat.
“She had been reviewing charitable accounts connected to Moretti Holdings.”
My pulse changed.
“Why?”
“She thought money was disappearing.”
Vincent frowned.
“From where?”
“Medical charities.”
I looked at him.
“Blake?”
Anthony nodded.
“Some of the funds went through clinics connected to him.”
Vincent’s face became unreadable.
Anthony continued.
“Isabella found payments to shell companies.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
He looked at the photograph.
“Daniel helped her.”
Vincent stared.
“The man poisoning my sons helped my wife investigate Blake?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if Daniel wasn’t always working for Blake.”
I felt the shape of the conspiracy changing.
Anthony continued.
“Daniel was an environmental engineer before he came here. Isabella hired him privately to trace chemical purchases linked to one of Blake’s clinics.”
“What kind of chemicals?”
I already knew.
“Solvents?”
Anthony looked at me.
“Yes.”
Vincent stood again.
“What did Blake use them for?”
“Illegal pharmaceutical manufacturing.”
Silence.
Anthony explained.
Blake had spent years running a hidden compounding network through legitimate medical facilities.
Counterfeit specialty drugs.
Controlled substances.
Experimental compounds sold to wealthy private clients who wanted treatments unavailable through normal channels.
Medical fraud worth millions.
Possibly tens of millions.
Moretti charities had been used to launder part of the money.
Vincent looked sick.
“I would have known.”
“No.”
Anthony shook his head.
“You knew the totals. You didn’t know the invoices.”
That was believable.
Powerful men often know numbers without understanding what happens beneath them.
“Isabella found it.”
“Yes.”
“What did Daniel do?”
“He helped her collect environmental records proving Blake’s facilities were using chemicals they had no legitimate reason to possess.”
“Then why was he poisoning my sons?”
Anthony hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Wrong answer.”
“I don’t.”
Anthony’s voice rose.
“I haven’t spoken to Daniel in four years.”
“What about the boat?”
“The company used to be mine.”
“Who took control?”
“I don’t know.”
Rafael said quietly, “Someone filed reinstatement papers eighteen months ago.”
Exactly when the twins became sick.
Someone had resurrected an Anthony-controlled shell company.
Framing him.
The same pattern Blake had apparently used before.
Manufacture evidence.
Create leverage.
Destroy trust.
I asked, “What was Isabella afraid of?”
Anthony looked toward the photograph.
“She believed Blake knew she was investigating.”
“Why didn’t she go to police?”
Vincent answered.
“Because of me.”
Anthony nodded.
“If Isabella went to law enforcement, investigators would look at the Moretti charities.”
“And find Vincent’s other business.”
“Yes.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“My empire protected her murderer.”
Nobody corrected him.
Anthony continued.
“She wanted evidence strong enough to separate Blake’s operation from the rest.”
“And then?”
“She planned to take the boys and leave.”
Vincent went still.
“What?”
Anthony closed his eyes.
“She was going to leave you.”
I watched the words hit.
Vincent’s face became blank.
Sometimes people show pain by showing nothing at all.
“When?”
“The night she died.”
Vincent looked away.
“She told me she needed time.”
“She was afraid you’d stop her.”
“I would have.”
That honesty surprised Anthony.
Vincent continued.
“Not physically.”
“No?”
“No.”
He stared toward the bedroom where his sons slept.
“I would have begged.”
Anthony softened.
“You weren’t good at begging.”
“No.”
Vincent looked at me.
“I was good at making people stay.”
That sentence contained more truth than he probably intended.
Rafael’s phone rang.
Daniel had been detained at the marina by state police.
Alive.
He claimed he was not fleeing.
He claimed he was trying to meet an FBI agent.
Detective Vargas arrived with him at the station that afternoon.
Vincent wanted to attend the interview.
Vargas refused.
He threatened lawyers.
She threatened to remove him from the building.
I sat with him in a separate observation room.
Through glass, Daniel Mercer looked nothing like the villain the mansion staff had described.
Late thirties.
Unshaven.
Exhausted.
Hands shaking.
Vargas sat across from him.
“Why were you leaving Connecticut?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were boarding a boat with cash.”
“I was meeting someone.”
“Who?”
“Agent Cole.”
Vincent leaned forward.
No relation.
FBI Special Agent Rebecca Cole.
Daniel claimed he had contacted her months earlier.
Why?
Because he believed Blake was trying to kill the twins.
My stomach twisted.
“Then why didn’t he tell us?” Vincent snapped.
We could not be heard.
Daniel answered the question anyway.
“I couldn’t go to Vincent.”
Vargas asked, “Why?”
“Because Blake told me Vincent was involved.”
Of course.
Divide.
Threaten.
Control.
Daniel continued.
“He said Isabella discovered Vincent had been funding the operation.”
Vincent swore.
“I believed him.”
Daniel looked ashamed.
“After Isabella died, Blake showed me documents. Transfers. Emails.”
Forged?
Probably.
“He told me Anthony caused the crash.”
Vincent looked toward his brother.
Anthony closed his eyes.
Again.
Every member of this family had been given a different villain.
Daniel said he left the Moretti organization for almost two years.
Then Blake found him.
“He knew my wife had cancer.”
Vargas looked up.
“What did he do?”
“Offered treatment.”
Of course.
Blake had access to exactly the kind of desperation he needed.
“He kept her alive for fourteen months.”
Daniel started crying.
“I don’t know whether the treatment worked or whether he only made me believe it did.”
“What did he ask in return?”
“Access.”
“To the estate?”
“Yes.”
Daniel explained.
Blake said the boys needed exposure monitoring because Vincent’s enemies might use chemical attacks.
He ordered Daniel to install a concealed sampler in the ventilation system.
Daniel believed it was collecting air.
It was actually delivering chemicals.
“Didn’t you smell it?”
“No. The reservoir was sealed.”
“What about the refills?”
“Blake handled them.”
“Did you ever suspect?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“What did you do?”
“I removed one cartridge.”
My pulse changed.
“What happened?”
“My wife got worse.”
Silence.
Blake had tied Daniel’s obedience to his wife’s medical care.
“Then?”
“I put it back.”
Daniel cried harder.
“I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t know what.”
Vargas asked about the vitamin drinks.
Daniel shook his head.
“Never touched them.”
The marina?
Daniel had arranged to meet Agent Cole because he had finally collected copies of Blake’s messages and financial records.
Someone sent him a warning that Vincent knew about the vent.
He panicked.
The shell company connected to Anthony had owned the boat for years, but Daniel claimed Blake told him to use it because it would be “off the books.”
Framing Anthony again.
Vargas asked the most important question.
“Why poison the boys?”
Daniel’s face changed.
“I thought you knew.”
Vincent leaned closer to the glass.
Vargas said, “Tell me.”
Daniel looked toward the one-way mirror.
Maybe he knew Vincent was behind it.
“Because of what Isabella hid.”
Vincent whispered, “What?”
Vargas asked.
“What did she hide?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Evidence.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how does poisoning her children help Blake find it?”
Daniel looked down.
“Because she left instructions for them.”
Silence.
“They were three.”
“How could three-year-olds understand evidence?”
“They couldn’t then.”
Daniel looked up.
“But Blake believed Isabella built something into their memories.”
I frowned.
Vincent did too.
Vargas leaned forward.
“What memories?”
Daniel’s answer sent a chill through the room.
“A song.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Because apparently he knew exactly what Daniel meant.
I turned.
“What song?”
His eyes were fixed on his sons through the wall in his mind.
“Isabella sang them the same song every night.”
“What song?”
May you like
Vincent whispered,
“Blue Moon.”
