Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN IN THE BLUE UNIFORM
Nobody left the room.
I locked the door.
Anthony was downstairs within six minutes.
Hospital security reviewed cameras.
Nothing obvious.
Nurses.
Orderlies.
Doctors.
Visitors.
Too many uniforms.
Too many faces.
Grace slept through all of it.
Julian sat on the edge of the bed looking murderous.
“You’re not leaving this room,” I told him.
He laughed.
“You quit being CEO for twelve hours and became dictator full-time?”
“You can barely walk.”
“I can shoot.”
“No gun in a pediatric-adjacent hospital wing.”
“We’re not pediatric.”
“Hannah.”
She looked at Julian.
“Stay.”
He stared at her.
Then lay back.
“Unfair alliance.”
Anthony entered.
“We traced the message.”
“Burner?”
“Yes.”
“Location?”
“Inside the building when sent.”
Julian sat up again.
Anthony continued.
“Bought yesterday in Brooklyn.”
“Camera?”
“Working on it.”
Hannah suddenly whispered, “Blue uniform.”
We looked at her.
“What?”
“The photograph.”
She zoomed in.
In the reflection of the hospital window, barely visible behind the crib, was a patch of blue fabric.
“Hospital staff,” Anthony said.
Hannah shook her head.
“Not this hospital.”
She had spent enough time there over the last day to know.
“Nurses wear navy or white.”
Anthony looked closer.
“Housekeeping wears green.”
Julian’s face changed.
“Private security.”
I understood.
Several firms used blue tactical uniforms.
One in particular.
Merrick Protective Services.
Elizabeth Kane had recommended them for Caruso Holdings eighteen months earlier.
After Julian supposedly died.
Anthony immediately made calls.
Within an hour, we had a name.
Darren Cole.
Former military police.
Former Merrick supervisor.
No relation to the fake name Julian had used.
He had entered the hospital using a contractor badge.
Left eight minutes after sending the photograph.
“Who employs him now?” I asked.
Anthony stared at the report.
“Nobody officially.”
“Unofficially?”
“We found deposits from a shell company.”
Julian groaned.
“Another one?”
“Meridian Strategy.”
I knew the name.
Vincent had used it years ago for political consulting.
I looked at Anthony.
“Vincent?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Maybe.”
I went to his hospital room.
He was awake.
Handcuffed to the bed despite the bullet wound.
He saw my face.
“Something happened.”
“Meridian Strategy.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“Darren Cole.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Damn.”
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Who controls Meridian?”
“I did.”
“Past tense?”
“After Julian disappeared, Leonard took over several shell companies.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Had access.”
“Anyone else?”
Vincent looked at me.
“Yes.”
I waited.
He looked suddenly older.
“Your mother.”
The word made no sense.
“My mother hasn’t left her medical suite in three years.”
“No.”
“But she controlled Meridian?”
“Your father created it in her name.”
“Why?”
“To keep certain assets away from investigations.”
I laughed bitterly.
Of course.
“Who has power of attorney?”
Vincent said nothing.
I knew.
Leonard Shaw.
But Leonard was in custody.
Could still have arranged contingencies.
Or someone else could use those accounts.
Then Vincent said, “Marco, your mother knew more than you think.”
I stared.
“About Julian?”
“No.”
“About Dad?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“She knew he was poisoned?”
“She suspected.”
“And said nothing?”
“She was afraid.”
“My mother was never afraid.”
Vincent looked at me.
“You only knew her as your mother.”
It was an irritatingly wise sentence for a man handcuffed to a bed.
I left.
My mother lived in the north wing of the estate.
Teresa Caruso was seventy-four.
Arthritis had twisted her hands.
A mild stroke three years earlier weakened her right side.
But her mind remained sharp.
I had underestimated that too.
She sat by the window when I entered.
“You found Julian.”
Not a question.
I stopped.
“How do you know?”
She looked at me.
“I am old, Marco. Not dead.”
“Did you know before?”
“No.”
“Did you know Dad was poisoned?”
Her eyes closed.
There.
“Yes.”
Anger surged.
“For how long?”
“Since before Julian’s funeral.”
“You let me believe—”
“I had no proof.”
“You had suspicion.”
“I had two sons.”
“You had one son buried.”
Her face broke.
“And I thought the other would join him if I spoke.”
I stopped.
She was crying now.
Quietly.
“I received a letter after your father died.”
“What letter?”
She opened the drawer beside her chair.
Took out an envelope wrapped in cloth.
I recognized my father’s handwriting.
Teresa—
If I die suddenly, do not let Marco avenge me.
He will burn the world and call the ashes justice.
Protect the boys.
Trust no adviser who asks you to choose between them.
I read it twice.
Then looked at her.
“Why didn’t you show me?”
“Because he was right.”
I hated that.
“He knew someone was after him.”
“Yes.”
“Did he name Leonard?”
“No.”
“Vincent?”
“No.”
“What does Meridian have to do with you?”
She frowned.
“Meridian?”
“A company in your name.”
Her face went blank.
Genuine.
“I don’t know that name.”
“Dad created it.”
“Your father created dozens of companies.”
“Leonard controlled it.”
She looked toward the window.
Then slowly said, “Not Leonard.”
“What?”
“After my stroke, I changed my power of attorney.”
My pulse shifted.
“To whom?”
She looked at me.
“Your cousin Michael.”
Michael Caruso.
My father’s sister’s son.
Forty-six.
Board member.
Family.
Quiet.
Always smiling.
Never ambitious enough to worry me.
Invisible in a different way.
“Why Michael?”
“He visited.”
The shame in those two words hurt.
“You didn’t.”
I had been busy.
Deals.
Security.
Wars.
The same excuse every powerful man uses when love becomes inconvenient.
“He helped me after the stroke.”
She continued.
“I trusted him.”
My phone rang.
Anthony.
I answered.
“We found Darren Cole.”
“Where?”
“Dead.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course.”
“Shot in a parking garage.”
“Camera?”
“One vehicle.”
“Registered?”
“A Caruso Holdings fleet account.”
“To whom?”
Anthony paused.
“Michael Caruso.”
I looked at my mother.
She knew from my face.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“No.”
I ended the call.
She shook her head.
“Michael loved Julian.”
“So did Leonard.”
“He was family.”
“So was Julian.”
That ended it.
Michael had access to Meridian.
To company vehicles.
To board information.
To my mother.
To my office.
And if Elizabeth was arrested, he had every reason to eliminate loose ends.
“Where is he?”
My mother’s lips trembled.
“He was here this morning.”
“What?”
“He brought flowers.”
My blood turned cold.
“When?”
“About an hour before you came.”
“Did he ask anything?”
She looked confused.
“About Grace.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What did you tell him?”
“Only that I hoped to meet her soon.”
I called Anthony.
“Hospital. Now.”
“What?”
“Michael knows about Grace.”
Silence.
Then Anthony said, “Marco.”
“What?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
My stomach dropped.
“And?”
“Hannah and Grace are gone.”
The phone nearly slipped from my hand.
“Julian?”
“Found unconscious in the bathroom.”
My vision went red.
“Cameras.”
“We’re pulling them.”
Then Anthony went quiet.
“What?”
“A woman in blue scrubs wheeled Grace out.”
“Hannah?”
“Walking beside her.”
“Voluntarily?”
“No.”
I heard him inhale.
“There’s a gun under Hannah’s coat.”
My mother covered her mouth.
I turned toward the door.
“Michael has them.”
And suddenly the entire eighteen-month conspiracy became simple.
Leonard wanted money.
Elizabeth wanted control.
Vincent wanted survival.
Michael wanted something worse.
May you like
He wanted the Caruso name.
And Grace was the only child standing between him and everything.
