Chapter 3 - THE PILLS THAT MADE HER LOOK CONFUSED
Dr. Samuel Harris arrived at 1:20 in the morning.
He looked furious.
Then he saw Luca.
The anger disappeared.
Interesting.
Luca placed Mrs. Moretti’s medication list on the table.
“Explain the changes.”
Dr. Harris glanced at Vanessa.
That was his first mistake.
Luca noticed.
So did I.
“What changed?” I asked Mrs. Moretti.
She signed three medication names slowly.
I recognized none.
Dr. Harris did.
His face tightened.
“They were prescribed for agitation and sleep disturbance.”
“When?” Luca asked.
“After the accident.”
Mrs. Moretti slammed her hand on the armrest.
Lie.
I translated.
Dr. Harris swallowed.
Luca said:
“Try again.”
The doctor admitted he had prescribed two medications twelve days before the crash.
Powerful sedating agents.
Not necessarily inappropriate for some patients.
Except Mrs. Moretti had never reported severe agitation or insomnia.
“Who told you she needed them?” Luca asked.
Dr. Harris hesitated.
“Her family.”
“Which family?”
Vanessa stood.
“This interrogation is dangerous for her.”
Luca ignored her.
The doctor looked toward the floor.
“Antonio Moretti contacted me.”
Matteo swore.
Luca’s expression became unreadable.
“My uncle told you my mother was unstable?”
“He said she was becoming paranoid.”
“Did you examine her?”
“No.”
The room went cold.
“You prescribed medication to a seventy-six-year-old stroke-risk patient without examining her?”
“She had an appointment scheduled.”
“When?”
“After the prescription began.”
I looked at Mrs. Moretti.
Her hands moved.
Made me slow.
Couldn’t think.
Vanessa told Luca I was worse.
My stomach twisted.
The drugs were not only sedating her.
They were building a story.
A confused elderly woman.
An overwhelmed son.
A compassionate future daughter-in-law arranging professional care.
Luca sat very still.
For weeks, he had probably watched his mother struggle and believed the accident had damaged her mind.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked her.
Mrs. Moretti signed.
I hesitated before translating.
“What?”
Luca looked at me.
I swallowed.
“She says she tried.”
His face changed.
“She says whenever she told you something was wrong, you told her to rest and trust the doctors.”
Luca looked down.
That hurt him.
It should have.
Powerful men often believe protecting people means selecting who they should trust.
Sometimes protection becomes another form of not listening.
Then Dr. Harris said:
“I never intended to hurt her.”
Luca looked at him.
“You prescribed medication without examining her.”
“I was told Antonio was coordinating with the family.”
“Did he pay you?”
“No.”
Too fast.
Luca’s security chief brought in bank records thirty minutes later.
A consulting company connected to Dr. Harris had received $180,000 from Bellini Strategic Health.
Vanessa’s family.
The doctor stopped talking.
Rachel—an independent attorney Luca contacted outside Moretti counsel—told everyone no more questions without lawyers.
Good.
Even Luca listened.
That surprised me.
Then Mrs. Moretti asked for paper.
Her right hand was too unsteady to write well.
So she drew instead.
A rectangle.
Glass walls.
The greenhouse.
Then a flower.
Below it, she wrote one shaky letter.
P.
Patricia.
We went outside at dawn.
Not alone.
Police had been called after the evidence of forged financial documents and possible medication abuse.
That mattered.
Luca did not keep it “inside the family.”
Also surprising.
Inside the greenhouse stood a bronze plaque honoring Patricia Moretti, Teresa’s deaf sister.
Luca removed it.
Behind the plaque was a recessed steel compartment.
Inside:
A flash drive.
A ledger.
Three original trust documents.
And a handwritten letter.
Addressed to Luca.
From his father, Carlo Moretti.
Dated six months before Carlo’s death.
Luca unfolded it.
May you like
The first line read:
If Antonio ever asks you to merge this family with the Bellinis, assume he has already betrayed you.
