Chapter 3 - The Missing Forty-Seven Minutes
My wife's death had been called a medical tragedy.
Now I was wondering whether it had been a crime.
"Who disconnected the cameras?" I demanded.
Margaret shook her head.
"We never found out."
"We?"
She swallowed.
"Your father knew."
My father, Vincent Romano, had been dead for eighteen months.
A heart attack, according to his doctors.
He had taken more secrets to the grave than any man I had ever known.
"Why wasn't I told?"
"Because you were already falling apart. You barely slept. You held Noah for hours without speaking. Your father said reopening the investigation would destroy you."
I stood.
"And you believed him?"
Margaret couldn't answer.
I called my security chief, Marcus Bell.
"Get me everything from St. Catherine's Hospital on August seventeenth, three years ago. Security logs, visitor records, archived footage. Everything."
Marcus hesitated.
"Sir, those records may be difficult to access."
"Use our attorneys. And Marcus?"
"Yes?"
"Find out whether someone on our payroll interfered with the cameras."
I ended the call and headed upstairs.
Grace was sitting beside Noah's bed.
My son slept with his gray stuffed elephant tucked beneath his chin.
She stood when I entered.
"Mr. Romano, I'm sorry about tonight."
I stared at her.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"Because Noah saw everything."
"Vanessa assaulted you. None of this was your fault."
Grace looked down.
"Your mother called me downstairs. She said we needed to discuss my position."
"What did she want?"
"She offered me two hundred thousand dollars to leave."
My jaw tightened.
"Tonight?"
Grace nodded.
"She said Noah was becoming too attached."
"And Vanessa?"
"She told me the money came with conditions. I was supposed to sign papers agreeing never to contact Noah again."
I felt sick.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because your mother said you approved it."
I shook my head.
"Grace, I would never—"
"I know."
Her answer came so quickly that I stopped.
She knew.
Despite everything I represented, despite the dangerous world surrounding us, she believed me.
I sat beside Noah.
"There's something I need to ask you."
Grace's face changed.
"Adrian, please."
It was the first time she had used my first name.
"Did you know Claire before she died?"
She looked toward the sleeping child.
Then she whispered, "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because Claire made me promise."
Before I could speak, Grace reached into the pocket of her cardigan.
She withdrew a small brass key attached to a faded blue ribbon.
"Your wife gave me this six days before Noah was born."
"What does it open?"
Grace's voice trembled.
"A safety-deposit box."
"What's inside?"
May you like
She looked directly into my eyes.
"Evidence that someone inside your family wanted Claire dead."
