Chapter 1 - THE MAN WHO OWED HER HIS LIFE
“Someone tried to poison me that night.”
Dominic Romano said it without raising his voice.
Rain tapped against the narrow windows of Chloe Henderson’s apartment. The envelope containing fifty thousand dollars sat between them, untouched. Her chipped coffee mug stood beside it, and the refrigerator hummed loudly enough to fill the silence.
Chloe stared at him. “You think someone put something in your drink?”
“I know they did.”
“Then why are you here?”
Dominic’s gaze moved over the room: the secondhand sofa, the stack of unpaid bills, the framed photograph of Chloe’s mother beside a vase of artificial daisies. He looked strangely out of place in his expensive black coat.
“Because you were the only person in that restaurant who noticed I was dying.”
“I noticed you couldn't breathe. That doesn't make me special.”
“It makes you observant. And it makes you a target.”
Chloe felt her stomach tighten. “A target for whom?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately. His bodyguard, Matteo, stood near the door, listening to the hallway. Another guard waited outside.
“Someone knew what I was drinking,” Dominic finally said. “Someone had access to my table, my glass, and my schedule. The poison was designed to look like a medical emergency. If you hadn't called for help, I would have been dead before the ambulance arrived.”
Chloe remembered the terrible scene: Dominic's rigid fingers, the blue color around his lips, the way his bodyguards had accused her before he could speak. She had spent the night giving statements, only to be fired the next morning.
“I didn't save you for a reward,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then take the money back.”
Dominic folded the envelope and slipped it into his coat. “All right.”
That surprised her.
“But I still need to ask you some questions. What did you smell in the glass?”
“Something bitter. Like almonds, maybe. I wasn't close enough to be sure.”
“Did anyone touch the drink?”
“Your waiter brought it. Then your manager told me to stay away from your table. He looked frightened.”
“Name?”
“Mr. Pritchard. The restaurant manager.”
Dominic exchanged a glance with Matteo.
“Find him,” he said.
Chloe stood. “No. You don't get to turn my apartment into one of your crime scenes.”
Dominic looked back at her. “You're right. I'm sorry.”
The apology sounded unfamiliar in his mouth.
He moved toward the door, then paused beside the photograph of Chloe's mother.
“Your mother?”
“Margaret. She died two years ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
“She was sick for a long time. The doctors couldn't agree on what was wrong. Her muscles weakened. She couldn't swallow properly. Some days she seemed confused. It was awful.”
Dominic's expression sharpened. “What hospital treated her?”
“St. Anne's. Why?”
“Did she work for anyone connected to my family?”
Chloe stared at him. “She was a bookkeeper at a shipping company. Romano Logistics.”
For the first time since entering the apartment, Dominic looked genuinely unsettled.
“Margaret Henderson?”
“You knew her?”
“I knew the name. She worked in our accounts department before I took over.”
Chloe's throat went dry. “You think her illness had something to do with your business?”
“I don't know.” Dominic turned to Matteo. “Get me every personnel and medical-benefit record connected to Margaret Henderson. Quietly.”
“Don't,” Chloe said.
Dominic stopped.
“You don't get to investigate my mother like she was a line in a ledger.”
“Then help me understand what happened.”
“I spent two years trying to understand what happened. I sat beside her while she forgot how to hold a spoon. I watched her die. Don't come here and tell me it might have been a business problem.”
Dominic accepted the anger without defending himself.
“I won't ask you to trust me,” he said. “But I will make sure nobody can hurt you because you helped me.”
He left with Matteo.
Chloe locked the door behind them and leaned against it, shaking.
On the table, beneath the envelope's former place, lay a small black business card. She hadn't seen Dominic put it there.
One number. No name.
On the back, in neat handwriting, were six words:
IF YOU REMEMBER YOUR MOTHER'S LAST NIGHT, CALL.
May you like
Chloe read the message twice.
Then she remembered something she had spent two years trying not to remember: the night before her mother collapsed, Margaret had begged her to throw away a bottle of white tablets.
