Chapter 3 - The Doctor With A Secret Note
The silence in the dining room felt heavy enough to shatter the crystal glasses.
Nico stared at Victoria.
His fiancée took a step backward, her beautiful face drained of color.
“Nico, she’s lying,” Victoria stammered. “Rosa is just trying to cause trouble because I asked her to retire.”
Nico didn’t even blink.
“Stay here,” he told her.
The command wasn't loud, but it carried the absolute authority of a man who ran one of the most powerful organizations on the East Coast.
He turned and strode out of the dining room.
I followed him. I couldn't help it. I had brought Mr. Santoro his tea every afternoon for eight months.
He wasn't just my employer's father; he was a kind, sharp-witted man who always asked about my family.
We hurried up the grand sweeping staircase.
The heavy oak door to the master suite was open.
Inside, two men in dark scrubs were standing beside an empty wheelchair.
Sitting on the edge of the bed was Antonio Santoro.
Seventy-four years old.
Silver hair.
A woolen blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
He was gripping his walking cane with both hands, his knuckles entirely white.
And standing next to the bed, holding a manila folder, was Dr. Charles Evans.
The Santoro family’s private physician.
Nico stopped in the doorway.
“What the hell is going on here?”
The two orderlies stepped back immediately, recognizing the man who paid their facility's premium fees.
Dr. Evans adjusted his glasses. He looked nervous.
“Nico. I was told you were occupied downstairs with your guests.”
“You were told wrong,” Nico said, walking into the room.
He looked at the wheelchair. Then at the orderlies.
“Get out of my house.”
One of the men swallowed hard. “Mr. Santoro, we have a signed medical directive—”
“I said, get out.”
The orderlies didn't wait for a second warning. They practically ran past me, leaving the empty wheelchair behind.
Nico walked over to his father.
The older man looked up. His hands were trembling, but his eyes were completely clear.
“Nicky,” he rasped.
“I'm here, Papa,” Nico said softly. “Nobody is taking you anywhere.”
Dr. Evans cleared his throat. “Nico, please try to understand. Your father’s condition has deteriorated. Victoria brought it to my attention last week.”
Nico turned to the doctor.
“My father’s condition is fine. We played chess three days ago. He beat me.”
“Dementia can have moments of lucidity,” Dr. Evans insisted, tapping the manila folder. “I have the evaluation right here. Victoria signed the transfer papers as his appointed healthcare proxy.”
Nico froze.
“Proxy?”
“Yes,” Dr. Evans said. “Your father signed over medical power of attorney to her last month.”
I watched Mr. Santoro shake his head.
“I never signed anything,” the old man whispered.
Dr. Evans opened the folder. “Antonio, we have the document right here. It’s notarized.”
He pulled out a single sheet of paper and handed it to Nico.
Nico stared at the signature at the bottom of the page.
It was shaky. It looked exactly like his father’s handwriting.
But my heart started pounding against my ribs.
“Mr. Santoro,” I blurted out.
Nico turned his head. He hadn't realized I was standing in the corner of the room.
“Sophie?”
I stepped forward. My hands were shaking. I was risking my job, maybe my life, but I couldn't stay quiet.
“That signature,” I said, pointing at the paper.
Nico frowned. “What about it?”
“It's forged.”
Dr. Evans scoffed. “Young woman, this is a legal document. Do not make accusations you can't support.”
“I can support it,” I said, my voice trembling but loud enough for everyone to hear.
Nico stepped closer to me. “How, Sophie?”
I looked him straight in the eyes.
“Because three days ago, I was cleaning Miss Ashford's private sitting room. She left a yellow legal pad on her desk.”
I took a deep breath.
“She had written your father's name down fifty times. She was tracing his signature from an old Christmas card.”
The room went dead silent.
Dr. Evans went pale.
Nico looked at the doctor. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Charles,” Nico said slowly. “Did Victoria pay you to declare my father unfit?”
The doctor backed away. “Nico, be reasonable. The woman is your future wife.”
“Answer the question.”
“She didn't pay me!” Dr. Evans shouted, suddenly panicking. “I didn't want to do this, Nico! I swear to God!”
Nico grabbed the doctor by the collar of his expensive suit.
“Then why are you trying to drag my father out of his own home?”
“Because she made me!”
Dr. Evans fumbled with the folder in his hands.
“She found out about a mistake I made at the hospital two years ago. She said if I didn't help her get your father out of the house tonight, she would destroy my career.”
Nico let go of the doctor.
He looked at his father.
Mr. Santoro was staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped.
“Why, Papa?” Nico asked softly. “Why tonight? Why during the party?”
The old man finally looked up.
His eyes were filled with tears.
“Because tonight, the house is distracted,” Mr. Santoro whispered. “And she needed me out of this room so she could find it.”
Nico frowned. “Find what?”
Mr. Santoro slowly raised his walking cane.
He pointed to his heavy mahogany desk in the corner of the room.
The bottom drawer was pulled open.
May you like
The wood around the lock was splintered and broken.
“She was looking for your mother’s antique rosary,” the old man said, his voice cracking. “And she took it.”
