Chapter 2 - The Man Behind Damien
Paramedics arrived within minutes.
Damien refused to leave either child.
I expected his security to throw me out once the emergency was under control.
Instead, Damien pointed at me.
“She comes.”
One paramedic frowned.
“Family only.”
“She comes.”
Something in his tone ended the discussion.
I rode behind them to the hospital.
Marco did not.
Two Moretti men stayed with him at Bellavita.
The twins were rushed into pediatric emergency care.
Damien stood in the hallway staring through the glass.
I stayed several feet away.
Eventually, he spoke.
“Neurologic music therapy.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“That’s what you studied.”
My stomach tightened.
“How do you know?”
“I asked.”
“You investigated me?”
“You entered an ambulance with my children.”
“That took twelve minutes.”
He glanced at me.
“My people are efficient.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
“You have a master’s degree,” he continued. “Clinical experience. Pediatric neurological rehabilitation.”
“Had.”
“Then three years ago, you disappeared.”
“I didn't disappear.”
“Your license application was withdrawn. You stopped practicing. You took restaurant jobs.”
“That isn't your business.”
“Marco Bellini was outside your clinic the night it happened.”
My eyes snapped toward him.
“You already have a name?”
“I've known Marco fifteen years.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Because I wanted to hear what you remembered.”
Before I could answer, a doctor approached.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Damien crossed the hallway.
“How are they?”
“Stable.”
His shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly.
“Both?”
“Both.”
“What happened?”
“We're still determining that. Their symptoms may have been worsened by environmental overstimulation, but we're running toxicology because of the bottle you brought in.”
Damien glanced at me.
“How long?”
“Initial screening soon. More specific testing may take longer.”
“I want every test available.”
“We'll take appropriate measures.”
Damien stepped closer.
“Doctor.”
I touched his sleeve.
He looked at my hand.
I removed it.
“They’re stable,” I said.
He stared at me.
Then stepped back.
“Fine.”
The doctor disappeared.
Damien turned toward me.
“Now tell me about Marco.”
I wanted to leave.
Instead, I sat.
Three years earlier, I had worked at Lakeshore Neurological Rehabilitation.
My research focused on rhythm-based interventions for children experiencing severe sensory dysregulation.
One evening, I discovered patient data had been altered.
“Altered how?” Damien asked.
“Records were being accessed after hours.”
“By Marco?”
“I never proved it.”
“But you saw him.”
“Twice.”
“Doing what?”
“Meeting my department administrator.”
Damien's expression sharpened.
“Name.”
“Dr. Stephen Keller.”
Damien pulled out his phone.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Don't.”
His eyes dropped to my hand.
“What?”
“You don't get to destroy somebody because I said a name.”
“That's not what I'm doing.”
“It looks exactly like what you're doing.”
His jaw tightened.
I released him.
“My research involved children from wealthy families,” I continued. “Medical histories. Treatment schedules. Home-care information. Valuable information in the wrong hands.”
“What happened when you reported it?”
“Keller accused me of manipulating patient files.”
Damien said nothing.
“The investigation turned toward me. Records appeared under my login. I couldn't prove someone else had used my credentials.”
“And Marco?”
“Gone.”
“You lost your career.”
“Yes.”
“Your debt?”
I stared at him.
“That isn't relevant.”
“Forty-seven thousand dollars.”
My face burned.
“Stop investigating me.”
“Then stop appearing in the middle of things that threaten my family.”
“I didn't appear. I was serving dessert.”
For the first time, something almost human passed across his face.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes?”
Silence.
His expression changed.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Keep him there.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Marco says he knows nothing about your clinic.”
“Maybe he doesn't.”
“He also says he never touched the twins’ bottle.”
“That doesn't prove anything.”
“No.”
Damien looked through the glass at his sleeping sons.
“But the restaurant security footage does.”
I stood.
“What did it show?”
“Someone switched the bottle.”
“Marco?”
Damien shook his head.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then who?”
His eyes met mine.
May you like
“The twins’ nanny.”
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