Chapter 4 - THE SIGNATURE IN BLUE INK
Luca stared at the boarding pass.
"Agnes?" he murmured, his voice laced with absolute confusion. "Why would Vanessa buy a one-way ticket to Switzerland for Agnes?"
It made no sense.
Agnes was seventy-six years old. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold a fork. She had never been out of the country in her entire life.
"Mr. Moretti," I said hesitantly, remembering the encounter at the front door. "When Mrs. Miller left... she looked completely devastated. But earlier tonight, she told you that Vanessa visited her last week."
Luca looked up from the ticket.
"Vanessa told Agnes I didn't want her at the wedding."
"Yes, sir. But... what if she told her something else?"
Luca’s jaw clenched.
Without another word, he bypassed me and marched straight out the front door.
He didn't wait for his driver. He didn't put on a coat.
He walked out into the freezing Chicago wind, heading directly down the long, private driveway toward the small caretaker’s cottage at the edge of the estate.
I grabbed my jacket and ran after him.
I couldn't help it. Agnes had been kinder to me than anyone else in this house.
When we reached the cottage, all the lights were on.
Luca pounded on the door.
"Agnes! Open the door!"
A moment later, the door creaked open.
Agnes stood there, still wearing her lavender dress.
But behind her, sitting in the middle of her tiny living room, were three large suitcases.
They were fully packed.
Luca stopped dead in his tracks.
"Agnes... what is this?"
The old woman looked down at her shaking hands.
"I was going to leave in the morning, sweetheart. I didn't want to make a fuss."
Luca stepped inside, bringing the cold air with him. I stayed quietly by the doorway.
He held up the airline ticket.
"Vanessa bought this for you."
Agnes nodded slowly. A tear slipped down her wrinkled cheek.
"She said it was a specialized facility in Zurich. For people with my... condition."
Luca’s voice broke. "A nursing home? She was shipping you to a nursing home in another country?"
"She said you paid for it," Agnes whispered, refusing to look him in the eye. "She said you couldn't bear to watch me deteriorate here. That you wanted me to have the best care, but that you were too heartbroken to say goodbye yourself."
The absolute cruelty of the lie hung in the room.
Luca dropped the ticket onto the small coffee table.
"I never said that. I would never send you away. You are my family."
Agnes finally looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen.
"But I saw the paperwork, Luca. The medical transfer forms. It had the doctor's signature. He recommended I go."
Luca frowned. "What doctor? I never authorized a doctor to evaluate you."
Agnes’s trembling hands reached into her small handbag resting on the chair. She pulled out a folded piece of official-looking paper.
"Miss Bellini brought this to me last week. She said your syndicate doctor reviewed my symptoms and signed off on the transfer."
Luca snatched the paper.
I watched his eyes scan the document. It was a standard medical evaluation form, detailing Agnes’s tremors, her age, and recommending immediate relocation to the Swiss facility for 'advanced neurological care'.
But as Luca read, his expression changed.
The anger faded, replaced by something much darker.
"Answer One, Open Two," he muttered to himself, an old phrase his father used to use when dealing with mafia informants.
He walked over to Agnes's small dining table and laid the paper flat.
"Agnes, look at this signature."
Agnes shuffled over. I moved closer to see.
At the bottom of the page, signed in bright blue ink, was a sprawling, messy signature: Dr. Arthur Vance.
Agnes stared at the name.
Her breath hitched.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and she stumbled backward as if the paper had physically struck her.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
Luca reached out to steady her. "Agnes? Do you know him?"
"Know him?" Agnes choked out. "Luca... Dr. Vance hasn't practiced medicine in Chicago for twenty-five years."
Luca looked confused. "Then how did he sign this last week?"
Agnes looked up at him, her eyes wide with a sudden, overwhelming terror.
"Because Dr. Vance was the man who treated your mother," Agnes said, her voice trembling so violently I could barely hear her. "He was the doctor who signed her death certificate."
The room went dead silent.
Luca’s mother had died of a sudden heart failure when he was eleven. It was a tragedy, but a natural one. Or so everyone had always been told.
"That's impossible," Luca said, his voice dangerously low. "Vance disappeared after my mother died. My father tried to find him to ask questions, but he vanished."
"He didn't vanish," a new voice said from the doorway.
We all spun around.
Standing in the cold night air, shivering and holding a small, worn teddy bear, was a six-year-old boy.
Leo.
He was wearing a thin jacket and pajamas. His dark hair was a mess, and his small face was pale with cold and fear.
"Leo!" Luca shouted, rushing forward and scooping the boy into his arms.
He held him so tight I thought he might crack the boy's ribs.
"Uncle Luca," Leo sobbed into his shoulder. "I ran away. From the clinic downtown."
"I've got you," Luca whispered fiercely. "You're safe. I've got you."
Luca carried Leo inside and set him on the sofa, pulling a thick blanket over his small shoulders.
"Leo, how did you get here? You walked?"
"I took a taxi," Leo sniffled. "I had a twenty-dollar bill hidden in my shoe. The lady at the front desk was asleep."
Luca brushed the hair out of the boy's face.
"What did you mean?" Luca asked gently. "About the doctor?"
Leo rubbed his eyes.
"The lady in the red dress," Leo said, meaning Vanessa. "She took me to that clinic. And the man in the white coat told me I had to stay there until I learned how to be quiet."
Leo looked up at his uncle.
"The man's name tag said Dr. Vance. I heard the lady in the red dress talking to him."
Luca’s face turned to stone.
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"What were they saying, Leo?"
"The lady told him that if he didn't help her get rid of me and Agnes, she was going to tell everyone what he did to your mommy."
