Chapter 6 - THE DOCTOR WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
Dr. Thomas Reeves had worked with the Moretti family for almost twenty years.
He was sixty-one, soft-spoken, and wore reading glasses on a chain around his neck.
He was the sort of physician who remembered birthdays and kept candy in his desk drawer for frightened children.
I'd met him twice.
Once when Mrs. Bennett injured her knee.
And once when Alessandro asked whether I wanted my bruised eye examined.
I'd declined that first day.
Later, I visited an independent clinic and had the injury documented.
Now his name appeared in Mom's notebook.
It made no sense.
He was a doctor.
Not an accountant.
Not a construction supplier.
Why would he have invoices?
Alessandro arranged for his attorney to contact Dr. Reeves.
The physician agreed to speak with investigators.
A week later, we learned the explanation.
Thomas Reeves had once been married to Helen Reeves, a certified public accountant who reviewed nonprofit medical supply purchases.
Helen died four years earlier.
Before her death, she'd been involved in examining transactions between construction firms and healthcare charities.
Some of the same companies appeared in Mom's notebook.
Dr. Reeves had preserved certain records from his wife's work.
Not because he understood the financial details.
Because she'd asked him to.
When he met with the investigators, he brought two sealed folders.
They contained historical invoice copies, correspondence, and notes about discrepancies.
His wife had suspected that a network of companies was billing nonprofit organizations for equipment and supplies that had not been delivered as represented.
Several entities were connected through Daniel Bellamy.
Others had ties to Vittorio Moretti's businesses.
The records didn't prove every allegation.
But they provided a basis for further examination.
When Alessandro heard the findings, he sat in silence.
Then asked Dr. Reeves one question.
"Did Lucia know?"
The physician looked down.
"Yes."
Alessandro closed his eyes.
Thomas continued.
"Your sister helped Helen obtain some of the records."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
The doctor hesitated.
"Lucia said she tried."
Silence.
Alessandro looked toward the window.
He remembered their last argument.
Lucia insisting the foundation's accounts were wrong.
Alessandro accusing her of interfering in matters she didn't understand.
He'd told her to stay out of the business.
Three days later, she was dead.
Now he understood something painful.
Lucia hadn't been reckless.
She'd been trying to tell him the truth.
And he'd refused to listen.
Dr. Reeves continued.
"After Lucia died, Helen became frightened. She believed someone was monitoring her work."
Alessandro swallowed.
"And Margaret Carter?"
"She later found related discrepancies independently."
I sat very still.
Mom.
Lucia.
Helen.
Three women.
Different lives.
Different careers.
All asking questions about the same financial network.
Two were dead.
One had died after leaving professional records with her husband.
And my mother had hidden a notebook in storage before her own death.
I looked toward Alessandro.
His face was pale.
For the first time, the man who controlled the Moretti empire looked almost powerless.
Then Dr. Reeves said something that changed the direction of the investigation.
"Lucia didn't die immediately after the collision."
Alessandro went still.
"What?"
"She survived long enough to speak briefly to the first responders."
His voice broke.
"What did she say?"
Thomas looked down.
"That someone had been following her."
A terrible silence filled the room.
Alessandro covered his mouth.
For six years, he'd believed his sister's death was an accident caused by bad weather.
Now he was hearing that she'd feared someone was pursuing her.
It did not establish that the collision was intentionally caused.
But it raised questions he could no longer ignore.
He looked toward Detective Olivia Grant, who had joined the review.
"Can the case be reopened?"
She nodded.
"We can examine the new information and determine what investigative steps are justified."
Alessandro closed his eyes.
Then whispered, "Please."
It was the first time I'd heard him plead.
Not command.
Not threaten.
Plead.
And something inside me shifted.
I'd spent eleven months seeing him as a dangerous employer.
A man whose money and reputation frightened everyone around him.
Now I saw someone grieving.
Someone who'd made terrible mistakes.
Someone who wanted answers but could not force them into existence.
For the first time, I understood that power had limits.
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And that a person could be feared by an entire city while still feeling helpless about the people he'd lost.
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