CHAPTER 5 — THE SECRET HIDDEN IN BETH'S PAST
CHAPTER 5 — THE SECRET HIDDEN IN BETH'S PAST
Beth had not slept.
Not even for a minute.
The hospital had converted an empty administrative office into a temporary safe room, posting two armed Chicago police officers outside the door and another pair of Moretti's men at the opposite end of the hallway.
It was an uneasy alliance.
Neither side trusted the other.
Beth sat wrapped in a gray hospital blanket, staring into a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
She kept replaying Eleanor's final words.
"They wanted... the nurse."
It made no sense.
She had never met Eleanor Moretti before tonight.
She wasn't wealthy.
She wasn't connected.
She wasn't important enough for an international crime syndicate to hunt.
Or so she believed.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.
Dominic stepped inside carrying a thick manila folder.
His expression was unreadable.
"I need to ask you something."
Beth looked up.
"If it's about last night, I've already told the police everything."
"It isn't."
He placed the folder on the table.
"Tell me about your father."
Beth frowned.
"My father?"
"Yes."
"There isn't much to tell."
She looked away.
"He died when I was eight."
"How?"
"My mother said it was a construction accident."
"And you believed her?"
Beth gave a tired shrug.
"What else was I supposed to believe?"
Dominic slowly opened the folder.
"I had my people look into your background."
Her face tightened.
"You investigated me?"
"I investigated the woman someone just tried to assassinate."
He slid a yellowed newspaper clipping across the table.
Beth stared.
The headline read:
LOCAL PARAMEDIC KILLED IN BRIDGE COLLAPSE
Her father's photograph filled half the page.
She had seen that picture only once before.
Then Dominic laid another document beside it.
This one wasn't a newspaper.
It was an official coroner's report.
Beth's eyes narrowed.
"This..."
She looked closer.
"...this says cause of death is undetermined."
"Exactly."
"My mother always said—"
"Your mother lied."
The room became painfully quiet.
Beth's breathing slowed.
"No."
Dominic pointed to a paragraph highlighted in red.
"There were no crush injuries."
"No broken spine."
"No trauma consistent with a bridge collapse."
Beth's hands trembled as she continued reading.
Instead, the report described traces of an unidentified toxin in her father's bloodstream.
A toxin...
That had never been identified.
Until now.
"Cyanide..." she whispered.
Dominic nodded once.
"The same poison used on my mother."
Beth looked as though the floor had disappeared beneath her.
"My father was murdered."
"I believe so."
Across the city...
Inside an abandoned cathedral converted into a command center...
A man in his late sixties stood before a stained-glass window.
His silver hair was neatly combed.
His tailored black suit looked almost priestly.
He smiled as one of his men approached.
"The sniper missed."
"I know."
"The nurse survived."
"I know."
"The Moretti woman survived too."
The older man's smile widened.
"Excellent."
His lieutenant blinked.
"...Excellent?"
"We never wanted Eleanor Moretti."
Confusion spread across the room.
"Then why poison her?"
"To draw out the nurse."
He tapped a faded photograph resting on the table.
A much younger paramedic stood beside a smiling little girl.
Beth.
At six years old.
The old man traced the child's face with one finger.
"You've grown up beautifully."
Back at the hospital...
Detective Collins entered carrying another file.
"You two need to see this."
He spread several surveillance photographs across the desk.
One showed the alley.
Another showed the hospital entrance.
A third...
Made Beth's blood run cold.
It showed someone watching her apartment building.
Taken only three hours earlier.
"My apartment..."
Collins nodded.
"We've already evacuated the building."
"My neighbors?"
"They're safe."
Beth leaned back in disbelief.
"They know where I live."
Dominic answered quietly.
"They've known for years."
Collins looked at him sharply.
"What do you mean?"
Dominic hesitated.
Then he spoke.
"Twelve years ago, my organization dismantled what remained of the Falcone Syndicate."
"Most of their leadership died."
"Some disappeared."
"But one courier escaped."
He looked directly at Beth.
"A paramedic."
Beth's pulse quickened.
"My father..."
Dominic nodded.
"I think your father stole something from them."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"But he died before they recovered it."
Collins slowly pieced it together.
"And now..."
"They think Beth has it."
Beth laughed.
It wasn't amusement.
It was disbelief.
"I live in a one-bedroom apartment."
"I drive a twelve-year-old Honda."
"I still have student loans."
"If I'm hiding some priceless secret, I'm doing a terrible job."
Nobody smiled.
Because no one in the room believed the secret had to be money.
That afternoon...
Beth insisted on returning home.
Only briefly.
She needed clothes.
Her medications.
A few personal belongings.
Against Dominic's advice, Detective Collins agreed—provided a police escort accompanied her.
Three patrol cars.
Two unmarked SUVs.
Four Moretti bodyguards.
It felt absurd.
Until they reached her apartment.
The front door stood open.
Splintered.
The officers immediately drew their weapons.
"Clear!"
They swept the rooms.
No intruders.
But everything had been destroyed.
Furniture overturned.
Mattress slashed.
Kitchen cabinets ripped from the walls.
Every drawer emptied.
Someone had searched every inch of the apartment.
Looking for something.
Beth stood speechless.
"They tore my whole life apart..."
Then she noticed one thing untouched.
An old cedar chest beneath her bed.
The only item left exactly where it belonged.
May you like
She frowned.
"That's strange..."
