Chapter 5: What She Didn't Know She Was Carrying
I sent Grace one message through the private line Sal had established: *Don't come to the floor tomorrow.
Call in sick.
Don't explain.*
Her reply came back in under a minute: *Already done.
But there's something I need to tell you first.*
I typed: *Tell me.*
A pause.
Then: *I didn't just hear Veronica in your room.
I have it recorded.
I didn't know if it would matter.
I recorded it on my phone the second day, when she came in and I was behind the curtain restocking the cabinet.
I didn't plan it.
I just — I knew something was wrong and I didn't know what else to do.*
I read the message three times.
*Send it to this number only.
Not email.
Not anywhere else.
This number.*
*Already sent,* she replied.
*Dominic — is she going to come after me?*
I looked at the ceiling for a moment.
Then I typed back: *Not if I move first.*
The recording arrived eleven seconds later.
I pressed play and held the phone close.
Veronica's voice filled the small speaker.
Crisp.
Unhurried.
Completely certain she was alone.
*"The doctor says he could stabilize.
We can't wait for nature."*
Then a second voice — male, careful, professional.
Carver.
*"You want it to look like a complication."*
*"I want it to look like whatever keeps my name off a document."*
A pause.
*"That costs more than the original arrangement."*
*"Then charge more,"* Veronica said.
*"He's worth considerably more than what you've seen so far."*
I stopped the recording.
I had Sal's USB drive.
I had Grace's recording.
I had five days of witnessed behavior from every person who had walked through that door believing I was unconscious.
What I didn't have yet was a way to move without triggering Carver before I was ready.
The moment I surfaced — the moment the hospital announced I was awake — Veronica would know.
Anthony would know.
And if Carver was still active on this floor, Grace was still exposed.
I needed one more piece.
I needed Marco.
My consigliere had been with me for nineteen years.
He had stood at my father's funeral.
He had negotiated my first major acquisition.
He had wept, genuinely wept, at Nico's memorial three years ago when we thought we'd l0st him in a different accident entirely.
And now, according to Sal, he had been meeting with Anthony for three weeks.
I picked up the private phone and dialed Marco's personal number.
It rang four times.
Then:
"Yes?" His voice was guarded.
He didn't recognize the number.
"It's Dominic."
Silence.
A long silence.
Then a sound I wasn't expecting — something between a breath and a word that didn't make it out.
"Dominic." His voice had changed completely.
"You're—"
"Awake.
Yes.
I need you to listen to me and not speak until I'm finished."
"Of course." He was whispering now.
"I know about the meetings with Anthony.
I know about the board vote.
I know about the arrangement." I kept my voice level.
"I'm not calling to accuse you.
I'm calling because I need to know one thing, and I need the truth.
Are you with him, Marco?
Or were you gathering information?"
The silence this time was different.
Heavier.
"The second one," Marco said finally.
"God help me, Dominic, the second one.
He approached me five weeks ago.
I didn't know how deep it went until last week." His voice cracked slightly.
"I have everything.
Every meeting.
Every proposal he made.
I've been keeping records."
"Where are the records?"
"Encrypted.
On a server only I can access."
"Can you get them to Sal Benedetti by tomorrow morning?"
"Yes."
"Then do it.
And Marco — tell no one I called.
Not your assistant.
Not your wife.
No one."
"Understood." A pause.
"Dominic.
Nico—"
"I know," I said.
"We'll talk about Nico when this is over."
I ended the call.
Set the phone down.
Outside the window, Manhattan was doing what it always did — moving, bright, indifferent.
Thursday was thirty-one hours away.
I had enough to end this.
May you like
What I didn't know yet was whether Veronica had enough to end it first.
Her next visit was scheduled for tomorrow morning.
