Chapter 4 - THE DOCTOR WHO SIGNED THE LIE|
Dr. Samuel Whitaker arrived at the Moretti estate at eight the following morning.
He wore a navy overcoat, carried a leather medical bag, and greeted Lorenzo with the reassuring smile of a man who had spent decades convincing wealthy patients that their lives were in competent hands.
Abigail waited beside the wheelchair.
“Good morning, Doctor.”
“Miss Hayes. I understand there was an unfortunate incident yesterday.”
“An incident involving a paperweight and a bleeding patient?”
Whitaker's smile tightened.
“I understand emotions ran high.”
“Then perhaps we should discuss the medical report claiming Mr. Moretti has progressive cognitive incapacity.”
The doctor set his bag on the desk.
“That diagnosis was preliminary.”
“Who performed the examination?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Several months ago.”
“Where are the assessment results?”
Whitaker looked at Lorenzo.
“Your nurse seems unusually interested in administrative matters.”
“Answer her,” Lorenzo said.
The physician exhaled.
“Mr. Moretti was experiencing confusion, emotional instability, and difficulty recalling events following his traumatic brain injury.”
“Those symptoms are not documented in the nursing notes,” Abigail replied. “Nor have I observed them.”
“Your observations cover twelve days. Mine cover three years.”
“Then you should have no difficulty providing the test results.”
Whitaker's expression became unpleasant.
“Perhaps you should remember your position.”
Abigail had heard that warning before. It no longer frightened her.
“My position is to protect my patient's health, dignity, and safety. If someone has falsely declared him incompetent, that is a medical concern.”
The doctor turned toward Lorenzo.
“You should dismiss her.”
“No.”
“She is interfering with your treatment.”
“She is the first person who has asked me what treatment I want.”
Whitaker's composure slipped.
For the next forty minutes, Abigail observed the physician's examination. Lorenzo answered orientation questions correctly, recalled recent conversations, and demonstrated clear reasoning. His physical limitations were significant, but nothing in the examination established that he lacked the capacity to make decisions.
Whitaker attempted to steer the questions toward the accident.
“Do you remember the precise sequence of events before your vehicle struck the barrier?”
“Some of it.”
“Do you remember your brother attempting to save you?”
“I remember him standing beside the car.”
“Did he help you?”
Lorenzo looked directly at him.
“He told the paramedics to wait.”
Whitaker paused.
“That is a serious allegation.”
“It's a memory.”
Abigail wrote down the exchange.
When the examination ended, Whitaker closed his bag.
“I will review my records and return with the appropriate documentation.”
“Please do,” Abigail replied. “And provide copies to an independent neurologist.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Then you won't mind explaining why.”
The doctor stared at her.
Finally, he left.
Rosa appeared in the doorway a few minutes later.
“I checked the clinic's electronic records,” she said. “Whitaker submitted the incapacity assessment two days after the accident. But the hospital discharged Lorenzo with instructions for further neurological evaluation. There is no evidence that the evaluation ever occurred.”
Lorenzo's face darkened.
“Who stopped it?”
“Someone canceled the appointment.”
“Who?”
Rosa turned her laptop around.
The cancellation had been authorized using Lorenzo's own account.
Abigail leaned closer.
“That isn't possible. He was unconscious.”
“Exactly.”
Rosa enlarged the record.
The cancellation was entered from a computer registered to Matteo's private office. The user credentials belonged to Lorenzo, but the access pattern suggested someone else had used them.
It was not proof of a crime by itself.
It was enough to justify a deeper investigation.
Lorenzo asked Rosa to preserve the records and contact an attorney outside the family's network. Abigail insisted that the next medical assessment take place at an independent hospital, with a specialist selected without interference from Vanessa or Matteo.
Lorenzo agreed.
For the first time in years, the decisions concerning his body would be made with his consent.
That afternoon, Abigail accompanied him to the estate's conservatory. The rain had stopped, leaving the glass roof covered in droplets that caught the late sunlight.
“Why did you become a nurse?” Lorenzo asked.
“My mother spent years caring for everyone except herself. When she became ill, I realized how frightening it was to depend on people who didn't always listen.”
He considered that.
“Is that why you keep arguing with me?”
“Partly.”
“And the other part?”
“You're stubborn.”
A quiet smile crossed his face.
“You have no idea.”
They shared a rare moment of peace.
Then Lorenzo noticed a sealed envelope on the table near the entrance. His name had been written across it in his father's distinctive handwriting.
He recognized the slanted letters immediately.
“My father died before the accident,” he whispered. “He never sent me anything like this.”
Abigail handed him the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph of the old family chapel and a short note.
If Matteo ever attempts to take control of your affairs, trust no document bearing my name until you have found the original will.
Lorenzo turned the photograph over.
A date had been written on the back.
It was the date of the accident.
May you like
Below it were five words that made his blood run cold.
Your brother was not alone.
