Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
I called Isabella three times.
She answered on the fourth.
“Dominic?”
“Where is Anthony?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I am not lying. He called, told me to say he lost the watch, and then hung up. I haven't seen him since he left your house.”
“Why would he tell you that?”
“I don't know.”
Her voice cracked. I heard something fall in the background.
“Isabella, listen carefully. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Lock your doors. Don't answer them for anyone. I'm sending Frank to you.”
“No. Please don't send your men to my house.”
“Someone tried to kill Ethan.”
“I know.”
“Then you understand why I can't take chances.”
She began to cry. “Anthony wouldn't do that.”
I wanted to believe her. She was my sister. She had been the person who sat beside me after our father died, who held my hand at his funeral, who promised we would never become the kind of family that turned on itself.
But the footage was real.
“Did Anthony know about Ethan's allergy?”
“Of course. Everyone in the family knows.”
“Did he ever ask about the emergency medication?”
“No.”
“Did he ask about the cake?”
“I don't remember.”
“Think.”
A long silence followed.
“He asked me last week whether Ethan still had the same reaction to hazelnuts,” she said finally. “I thought it was strange, but he said he was planning a surprise dessert for his birthday.”
My blood went cold.
“Did you tell him anything?”
“I said the doctor had warned us never to take chances. Dominic, I swear, I didn't think—”
“It's all right. You didn't know.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have.”
I ended the call and handed the phone to Frank.
“Get a team to Isabella's house. Quietly. No uniforms. Keep her safe, but don't frighten her.”
Frank nodded.
“What about Anthony?”
“Find him. Don't approach him alone.”
We spent the next two hours reviewing every camera angle from the estate. The man in the black jacket entered through the service entrance at 7:39 and left at 7:43. The watch was visible in three frames. His face remained hidden, but his build and gait were familiar.
At 7:42, Anthony appeared in the east gallery on a separate camera.
He was standing beside the mayor, holding a glass of champagne.
The time stamp was clear.
If the footage was genuine, Anthony had been in two places at once.
“Could the camera clock be wrong?” I asked.
Frank shook his head. “The system synchronizes with the external server. We checked the time against the event photographer's camera.”
“Could the man be wearing a duplicate watch?”
“Certainly.”
“Could it be a different man with the same watch?”
“Also possible.”
I stared at the screen. “Then we need his face.”
Frank zoomed in on the kitchen footage. The man turned slightly toward the pantry camera. A strip of his cheek appeared beneath the cap, along with a small scar near the jaw.
Frank froze the frame.
“I know that scar.”
“Who?”
“Peter Sloane. He worked security here three years ago.”
I looked at him.
“Why was he dismissed?”
“Not officially dismissed. He resigned after a dispute over access logs. He'd been assigned to the west gate.”
“Where is he now?”
“We're checking.”
Frank's phone rang. He listened, then turned pale.
“Sir, Peter Sloane's vehicle was found abandoned outside White Plains an hour ago.”
“Was he inside?”
“No. The car was empty. The driver's seat was covered in blood.”
I stood.
“Get the police involved.”
“We already have.”
“Good. And get me the full personnel file.”
Frank left.
I walked upstairs to Ethan's room. He was sitting on his bed with his stuffed dinosaur beside him. A nurse was checking his pulse and asking him questions. He looked up when I entered.
“Dad?”
“Hey, buddy.”
“Can I still have cake?”
I sat beside him.
“Absolutely.”
“Can Lily come?”
I looked at him.
“You want Lily at your new birthday cake?”
He nodded. “She saved me.”
I swallowed.
“Yes. Lily can come.”
He smiled, then lowered his voice. “Is the bad man coming back?”
“No.”
“You promise?”
I took his small hand.
“I promise we'll do everything we can to keep you safe.”
He looked at me with the seriousness only a child could manage.
“Can you tell the guards to watch the kitchen?”
“I will.”
“And the cake?”
“Especially the cake.”
He seemed satisfied. I stayed until he fell asleep.
When I returned downstairs, Frank had found Peter's file. Sloane had worked for the estate's security contractor, then for a private protection firm owned by Anthony Vale's investment company. He had been dismissed after an incident involving unauthorized access to a guest residence.
The file also contained a note: Employee demonstrated unusual familiarity with household medical protocols.
“Why would security staff need medical protocols?” I asked.
“Because we maintain emergency plans for Ethan,” Frank replied. “Only a small number of people have access.”
“Who approved his transfer to Anthony's company?”
“Malcolm Pierce.”
Malcolm was my chief operating officer. He had managed my New York properties for fifteen years and had been responsible for hiring the security contractor.
“Get Malcolm here.”
Frank hesitated. “He is currently in the main house.”
“Then bring him to the study.”
Malcolm arrived ten minutes later. He was in his early sixties, with silver hair and a smooth voice. He had been my father's right hand before becoming mine. I had trusted him with contracts, payroll, and every major acquisition.
“Dominic,” he said. “I heard about Ethan. Terrible business.”
“Do you know Peter Sloane?”
Malcolm's expression barely shifted.
“Of course. He was a security contractor.”
“Why did he leave?”
“An internal disagreement. I don't recall the details.”
“Who hired him afterward?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Your signature is on his transfer approval.”
Malcolm looked at the file.
“That was years ago.”
“His face is on the kitchen footage tonight.”
Malcolm studied the still image.
“Are you certain?”
“Frank identified him.”
Malcolm set the file down. “Then we should notify the police.”
“We have.”
“Good. Is Anthony involved?”
I leaned forward.
“Why did you ask that?”
Malcolm's eyes narrowed slightly. “Because I know the watch. You gave it to him.”
“Everyone knows the watch. But you seem very interested in Anthony.”
“I am interested in anyone who might have endangered Ethan.”
I watched him carefully.
“Where were you at 7:42?”
“In the library.”
“Who saw you?”
“Your attorney, Naomi, for part of the evening. Then I was on a call.”
“With whom?”
“An investor.”
“Name?”
Malcolm's mouth tightened. “Are you questioning me as well?”
“I'm questioning everyone.”
He stood.
“Then I suggest you start with the people who had direct access to the kitchen.”
He left before I could answer.
Frank looked at me.
“You think he knows something?”
“I think he knows more than he wants to say.”
My phone rang again. This time it was Naomi Brooks, my attorney.
“Dominic, I need you to come to the study. I found something in the event vendor records.”
“What?”
“The cake company received a last-minute instruction to change the frosting supplier. The request came from someone using your household manager's credentials.”
“Who?”
“Margaret Bell.”
I looked toward the stairs.
Margaret was the senior housekeeper. She had worked for my family since Ethan was born. She had been the one who insisted on checking every ingredient label because of his allergy.
“Bring her to the study,” I said.
Naomi's voice lowered.
“There's something else. The supplier she selected is owned by a company registered to Anthony Vale.”
I asked Frank to check whether the scar in the footage matched Sloane's personnel photograph. The comparison was not conclusive, but the ear shape, jawline, and height were consistent. The police would need more than my security chief's recognition, so we sent the original footage for forensic enhancement.
While we waited, I reviewed the security roster. Sloane had been assigned to the west gate when Ethan was a toddler. He had completed the medical emergency training required for anyone who might respond to an allergic reaction. He knew where the emergency medication was stored and which staff members were authorized to administer it.
That knowledge made his presence in the kitchen more disturbing.
A former employee from the security contractor called Frank and said Sloane had not simply resigned. He had been removed from a sensitive assignment after a missing access card was found in his locker. The matter had been closed quietly because the contractor did not want a public dispute with the Moretti family.
I asked why I had never been told.
Frank looked uncomfortable. “The contractor classified it as an internal personnel matter. They said there was no evidence of a breach.”
“And you accepted that?”
“I should have asked for the report.”
We looked at each other. Frank had served me faithfully, but even he had trusted a system that was designed to keep inconvenient information away from me.
I told him to obtain every closed personnel file connected to the estate. No one was to decide that an incident was too minor to report. Not anymore.
Then I asked Naomi to review the ownership of the security contractor. Its parent company had received a large investment two years earlier from Vale Capital.
May you like
Anthony's company.
The watch might have been a decoy, but the business connection was real.
