Chapter 3 - Whispers in the ShadowsBack in the present, inside the heavily guarded VIP suite of Manhattan General, Grace Miller stood frozen with her hand on the heavy oak door. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared down at the man everyone assumed was a vegetable.
“Mr... Mr. Moretti?” she breathed, her voice trembling so badly it was barely audible above the hum of the heart monitor.
Dominic didn't blink. His gaze was an anchor holding her in place. With agonizing slowness, he lifted his right hand—the one not trapped beneath intravenous drips—and motioned toward the door latch again.
“Lock it,” he rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. “And keep your voice down. If they know I’m awake, you won't live to see sunrise.”
Grace swallowed hard, her knees shaking as she turned the brass deadbolt. She hurried back to the bedside, falling to her knees so her face was level with his. “I heard her, Mr. Moretti. Yesterday, when she thought the room was empty. She was talking on her phone in the corner by the window. She said... she said the brakes on the car were just the beta test. She said if you didn't sign the transfer papers before Friday, the hospital pull-the-plug option was her backup plan.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek. Veronica hadn't just sabotaged his car; she had already bribed or compromised members of his medical team.
“Who else was on the call?” Dominic asked, his breath hitching slightly as a sharp pain lanced through his ribs.
“I didn't hear the name on the other end,” Grace whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But she called him ‘Uncle.’ And she mentioned a lawyer named Marcus.”
Marcus Vance. Veronica’s uncle and Dominic’s own chief corporate legal counsel. The web of betrayal was tighter than Dominic had ever imagined. His own blood and his future wife had formed a syndicate to execute a corporate coup disguised as a tragic accident.
“Grace,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register that commanded absolute obedience, even from a hospital bed. “Listen to me very carefully. You are the only person in this city I can trust right now. Everyone else—my doctors, my security detail, my family—is either bought or compromised.”
“I’ll do whatever you need, sir,” Grace replied instantly, her fear dissolving into fierce loyalty. “My brother works in the hospital basement data archives. He has access to all security logs.”
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“Good,” Dominic murmured, closing his eyes for a brief second to gather his failing strength. “We have four days until Friday. Bring me a burner phone from the supply closet, erase the hallway camera footage for the last ten minutes, and tell no one you saw me open my eyes. Can you do that?”
Grace nodded firmly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her maid uniform. “Consider it done, Mr. Moretti. Just... don't die on me. New York needs you back.”
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