Chapter 5 – THE THREAT INSIDE THE FAMILY

“I don’t know.”

Maria’s answer came immediately.

Luca looked at her.

“Anna wrote that Victor threatened Vanessa. You worked here. You saw them together.”

“That doesn’t mean I knew everything.”

He looked away, frustrated.

Maria stood a little straighter.

“Your wife didn’t tell me because she wanted me to know everything. She told me what she needed help with.”

I watched Luca turn back toward her.

He seemed surprised by the firmness in her voice.

She continued.

“I was a housekeeper, Mr. Moretti. Not her doctor. Not her lawyer. And certainly not somebody Victor Bellini respected.”

Luca lowered his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded.

Then she sat down.

I examined the torn note again.

The phrase bothered me.

What he threatened to do to Vanessa.

We’d been treating Vanessa as one of the people hiding Anna’s illness.

Perhaps she had also been frightened.

That wouldn’t excuse what she’d done to Luca.

But it might explain why someone with medical training had spent sixteen years pretending she knew nothing about medicine.

I put the note beside Anna’s calendar.

“Maria, did Vanessa live with her father then?”

“Yes.”

“Did she want to become a nurse?”

“Very much.”

“What happened?”

Maria thought for a moment.

“She stopped going to school after Anna’s treatments became more frequent.”

“Did she say why?”

“She told me she needed to help her family.”

Luca frowned.

“Vanessa always said she hated hospitals.”

Maria looked at him.

“She didn’t hate them before Anna got sick.”

He sat very still.

We were beginning to see that the story Vanessa had told Luca about herself wasn’t simply missing a few details.

She’d removed an entire period of her life.

Later that afternoon, Dr. Harris came to the mansion for a scheduled meeting Luca had requested through his office.

He arrived wearing a gray suit and carrying a leather medical bag.

He was in his late sixties, with silver hair and the practiced warmth of a physician accustomed to wealthy patients.

“Luca.”

He stepped forward as though expecting an embrace.

Luca remained seated.

“Harris.”

The doctor glanced at me.

“You must be the nurse who caused the disturbance last night.”

“Emma Reed.”

He didn’t offer his hand.

“I understand you interrupted a treatment.”

“I stopped an unidentified injection while Mr. Moretti was experiencing severe hypoglycemia.”

Harris smiled thinly.

“Private medicine can be unfamiliar to agency nurses.”

“Medication labeling isn’t unfamiliar.”

His expression changed.

Luca gestured toward the chair.

“Sit down.”

Harris sat.

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I am.”

“Good. Vanessa told me there was a misunderstanding.”

I looked at Luca.

He had gone very still.

“When did she tell you?” he asked.

“Earlier today.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Luca studied him.

Then he placed the photograph on the table.

“Tell me about this.”

Harris glanced at it.

“Anna.”

His voice softened.

“Poor girl.”

“Why is Vanessa wearing a clinical identification badge?”

“She assisted with administrative work.”

“Did she administer medication?”

“Occasionally, under supervision.”

Luca leaned forward.

“You told me she never participated in Anna’s treatment.”

Harris looked surprised.

“I don’t recall saying that.”

“I do.”

The doctor folded his hands.

“Luca, you’re dealing with memories from sixteen years ago. Grief can distort them.”

I disliked that answer.

Not because it was impossible.

Because Harris used it before addressing the evidence.

“Dr. Harris,” I said, “was Anna ever prescribed insulin?”

He looked at me.

“What makes you ask?”

“The same type of delivery device appears in her photograph and in the recent medication case. Mr. Moretti also had unexplained hypoglycemia.”

“Appearance doesn’t establish contents.”

“Correct. That’s why I’m asking about the prescription.”

Harris paused.

“Anna’s metabolic condition was complicated by her cancer.”

“Was she diabetic?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Did you prescribe insulin for another indication?”

“No.”

I wrote down the answer.

He noticed.

“Are you recording this?”

“I’m taking notes.”

“On whose authority?”

“Mr. Moretti’s, concerning his own current treatment.”

Luca spoke before Harris could continue.

“Why did you cancel an endocrinology consultation during Anna’s hospitalization?”

The doctor’s face changed.

“Where did you get that information?”

“Her hospital records.”

“That was a clinical decision.”

“Explain it.”

“She was critically ill. Additional testing would have burdened her.”

“Then why was she repeatedly experiencing low blood sugar?”

Harris leaned back.

“Poor oral intake. Advanced disease. Multiple medications. There are several possibilities.”

“Did you investigate them?”

“I managed her care according to my professional judgment.”

Luca looked at him.

“That’s not an answer.”

For the first time, the doctor’s composure cracked.

“You’ve known me twenty-five years. I treated your father. I treated Anna. I was there when you couldn’t bear to walk into her room.”

Luca’s face hardened.

“Yes. You were.”

Harris leaned forward.

“I understand you’re grieving again. But allowing a new nurse to reinterpret every decision made during a terminal illness is dangerous.”

I closed my notebook.

“Dr. Harris, I haven’t diagnosed anything concerning Anna. I’m asking whether her documented low glucose was investigated.”

He ignored me.

“Luca, this woman physically assaulted your fiancée.”

“She stopped an injection while I was becoming unconscious.”

“Vanessa was trying to help.”

“Then why couldn’t either of you identify what she was giving me?”

Harris said nothing.

Luca stood.

“I want my complete medical records, the documentation supporting every injection you’ve recommended, and the identities of the clinicians involved.”

“You’ll have to submit a formal request.”

“I already have.”

Harris rose.

“I think it would be wise to end this conversation.”

Luca stepped aside.

“You’re free to leave.”

The doctor picked up his bag.

Then he looked at me.

“You should be careful, Ms. Reed. Making accusations against a physician without evidence can damage a nursing career.”

I met his eyes.

“Asking for medication records isn’t an accusation.”

He left without another word.

Afterward, Luca remained beside the window.

“He didn’t answer a single question.”

“He answered one,” I said.

Luca turned.

“He said he never prescribed insulin to Anna.”

“And?”

“If the current pens contain insulin, someone needs to explain where it came from.”

Marco entered with an update from the hospital’s investigation.

The recent injection devices were being examined. Full findings would require additional testing.

But the hospital had verified something else.

All the pens in Vanessa’s possession were old reusable devices, fitted with newer medication cartridges.

The engraved initials belonged to the outer mechanisms.

The medication inside was not thirteen years old.

Luca stared at the report.

“Someone kept Anna’s equipment.”

“Yes,” I said. “And someone made it usable again.”

He lowered himself into a chair.

I thought the discovery had frightened him.

Then he told me something I hadn’t known.

“Seven months ago, I asked Harris for Anna’s records.”

I looked up.

“Before your symptoms started?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I found an old medical bill that didn’t make sense. I wanted to know what happened during her final year.”

“Did Harris provide the records?”

“No. He said the clinic had been reorganized.”

“What did Vanessa say?”

“She told me reopening Anna’s medical history would only hurt everyone.”

I studied him.

“When did you start receiving injections?”

“Six months ago.”

The room fell silent.

Luca looked at Anna’s photograph.

Then back at me.

“Emma, I started getting sick one month after I told Harris I wanted to know how my wife died.”

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