Chapter 4 - HOLLOWAY LEFT ONE BODY BEHIND
Holloway’s apartment was empty.
His car was found beneath Lower Wacker Drive.
Engine running.
Driver’s door open.
Blood on the steering wheel.
But no Holloway.
Police found another man in the trunk.
Dr. Malcolm Reed.
Mrs. Ruth’s neurologist.
Dead.
Dileia stared at Julian across the conference room.
“He was running with the doctor?”
“Or from him.”
The cause of death changed everything.
Reed had not been shot.
He had overdosed on the same experimental sedative prescribed to Ruth in microdoses for eighteen months.
Dileia felt physically sick.
“What has she been taking?”
A private toxicology panel answered.
Ruth did have genuine cognitive decline.
But her medications had worsened it.
Significantly.
Memory loss.
Confusion.
Disorientation.
Someone wanted Ruth unreliable.
Why?
Because she remembered Harbor 17.
Tommy discovered it.
Then died.
Now Reed was dead.
Dileia stopped being afraid of the mystery.
She became angry.
Julian arranged independent care for Ruth.
Dileia nearly refused.
Then asked:
“Can I choose the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see every bill?”
“Yes.”
“Can I fire them?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Fine.”
Julian almost smiled.
Then Salenzo entered carrying a recovered flash drive from Reed’s office.
Medical records.
Payments.
Audio.
One recording was between Reed and a man.
Voice distorted.
But the words were clear:
“She remembers in fragments. Keep her stable enough to function, confused enough not to testify.”
Dileia gripped the table.
Then another line:
“And the daughter-in-law?”
“Harmless.”
Dileia laughed without humor.
Wrong.
Then Reed asked:
“What about Thomas?”
The unknown man answered:
“He’s already handled.”
The recording was dated two days after Tommy died.
Proof someone connected to Ruth’s treatment knew Tommy’s death was not accidental.
Julian sent the audio for analysis.
Then Dileia noticed a phrase.
The unknown speaker called Tommy “Thomas.”
Almost everyone called him Tommy.
One person always insisted on Thomas.
Mrs. Ruth.
And Salenzo.
Dileia looked at him.
Salenzo’s face tightened.
“You think that’s me?”
“I think I don’t trust people because they stand near Julian.”
Fair.
Then voice analysis returned.
Not Salenzo.
Male.
Older.
Estimated age sixty-five to seventy-five.
Julian went silent.
“Who fits?”
Only one living family member.
His uncle Raymond Thorne.
Augustus and Vincent’s younger brother.
Retired.
Respected.
Chairman of the Thorne Foundation.
The man who publicly hated organized crime and had spent twenty years cleaning the family name.
Then Julian’s assistant entered.
“Boss, Raymond is downstairs.”
No appointment.
May you like
No warning.
And he had brought Holloway with him.
