Chapter 7 - THE HOSPITAL WITH NO PATIENT RECORDS
Rosie had expected to find her father hiding in a cabin, a forgotten neighborhood, or perhaps another country.
She had not expected a private medical facility.
And she certainly hadn't expected Lorenzo Bianca to look frightened when Mateo said its name.
"St. Catherine's Medical Center," Mateo explained. "Outside Milwaukee."
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"That hospital closed eight years ago."
"Officially," Mateo replied.
Rosie stared.
"What does that mean?"
Mateo placed several photographs on the table.
The building looked abandoned from the street.
Broken windows.
Overgrown parking lots.
A rusted sign.
But satellite images showed recent vehicle activity near a secured rear entrance.
"Someone has been using the property," Mateo said.
Rosie's pulse raced.
"My father could be there."
Lorenzo nodded.
"Possibly."
"Then we're going."
"No."
Rosie stared at him.
"Excuse me?"
"It's dangerous."
"My father is inside."
"We don't know that."
"Then let's find out."
Lorenzo studied her.
"Rosie, I can't let you walk into a trap."
She stepped closer.
"You're not my father. You're not my husband. You don't get to decide what I can do."
Mateo looked toward the ceiling.
Lorenzo almost smiled.
Almost.
"You're right," he said.
Rosie blinked.
She hadn't expected that.
"But I can tell you what we know," Lorenzo continued. "And I can ask you not to put yourself in unnecessary danger."
Rosie looked down.
He sounded so different from the terrifying man at the dinner table.
"Fine."
Lorenzo called a trusted attorney who had been assisting with an investigation into Dante's financial dealings.
Within hours, state investigators had enough information to obtain a warrant to inspect the property.
Rosie stayed at the Drake while the operation unfolded.
She hated every second.
At four fifteen, her phone rang.
Lorenzo.
She answered instantly.
"Did you find him?"
There was a pause.
"We found evidence someone was living there."
"Michael?"
"We're checking."
Rosie gripped the phone.
"What evidence?"
"Medical records. Personal belongings. And a locked room containing photographs."
"Photographs of what?"
Lorenzo hesitated.
"Of you."
Rosie's eyes filled.
"Me?"
"School pictures. Birthday photographs. Even your college graduation."
She sat down heavily.
Her father had been watching her life from a distance.
For years.
"Was he there?" she whispered.
"No."
Rosie closed her eyes.
Then Lorenzo spoke again.
"Rosie, there's something else."
"What?"
"The medical records show Michael wasn't being treated for an ordinary illness."
She frowned.
"What was wrong with him?"
Lorenzo's voice became very quiet.
"Someone was keeping him sedated."
Rosie felt sick.
"Why?"
"We don't know yet."
A message arrived on her phone.
Unknown sender.
She opened it.
A photograph appeared.
Michael Hastings sat in a wheelchair beside a window.
A newspaper dated that morning rested in his lap.
May you like
Beneath the image were five words.
Stop looking, or he dies.
