THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE TRIED TO ERASE HIS MOTHER'S MEMORY—BUT THE MAID KNEW WHAT WAS HIDDEN IN THE HOSPITAL FILES

We reached St. Catherine's just after sunset.

The hospital looked different at night. The modern entrance glowed with clean white light, but beyond the parking lot stood the original brick building, its windows dark and boarded. That was where the old records archive had been moved when the new wing opened. Demolition crews were due at seven the next morning.

Miriam had already obtained an emergency preservation agreement from the property manager. A court application was being prepared to stop destruction of relevant records. The archive was not ours to raid, and Marco made sure everyone understood that.

"We wait for the authorized staff," he said. "We document what we find. No shortcuts."

I was grateful. The entire investigation had begun because Vanessa treated other people's rights as obstacles. We couldn't become like her just because we were afraid.

A hospital administrator named Rebecca Shaw met us at the side entrance. She had worked at St. Catherine's for thirty years and remembered Daniel Moretti as the man who brought toys to children during chemotherapy treatments.

"He never came here with cameras," she said as she unlocked the corridor. "He just came."

Marco looked away.

Rebecca led us past peeling paint and rows of empty offices to a records room smelling of dust and damp paper. The shelves held boxes labeled with years and departments. A maintenance worker had been assigned to assist, and Miriam supervised the search.

We found Leonard Price's name on a sealed inventory list. The corresponding box was missing.

Rebecca frowned. "That box was here last month."

"Who signed it out?" Miriam asked.

Rebecca checked the archive log. The signature was an illegible scrawl, but the date was yesterday. Beside it, someone had written: BOARD REVIEW.

"Adrian," Marco said.

"Maybe," Miriam cautioned. "We need to establish who had access."

I noticed a pale rectangle on the shelf where the box had stood. The dust around it was undisturbed except for a narrow line leading toward the back wall. Someone had dragged a heavy container through the room.

Behind a stack of discarded chairs, we found a metal cabinet. Its door was unlocked. Inside were three folders, a small red leather briefcase, and a photograph of Daniel standing with a group of children outside the old wing.

"Elena remembered the briefcase," I whispered.

Marco opened it only after Miriam photographed its condition and Rebecca confirmed the hospital could lawfully release it to the designated custodian. Inside was a sealed statement bearing Leonard Price's signature, together with copies of wire transfers and an unsigned draft of a hospital sale agreement.

The proposed buyer was a development partnership controlled by Thomas Bellini. The price was far below the hospital's appraised value. A separate schedule listed payments to consultants, including a company associated with Vincent Moretti. Another payment was routed through a trust that appeared connected to Celia Bellini.

Leonard's statement described how Daniel had discovered the scheme, demanded a halt, and threatened to bring the evidence to prosecutors. It also claimed that Thomas had tried to pressure Leonard into altering the hospital's financial records.

But the last page stopped me cold.

Leonard had written: I cannot establish the cause of Daniel's death. I can establish that his final meeting was deliberately omitted from the official board record, and that Celia Bellini ordered the destruction of the original minutes.

"We finally have something that can be checked," Miriam said. "Not a theory. A trail."

A sharp smell interrupted her.

Smoke.

Rebecca turned toward the hallway. "That's not possible. This building's utilities were disconnected."

A fire alarm began to ring. Gabriel opened the door and saw gray smoke rolling along the ceiling.

"Everybody out. Now."

Marco reached for the briefcase. Miriam stopped him long enough to secure the statement in a document bag. Then we moved toward the exit, staying low as the smoke thickened.

The maintenance worker guided Rebecca through a side corridor. I followed, but when I glanced back, Marco had stopped.

He was staring at the photograph of his father with the children.

"Marco!" I shouted.

He snatched it from the cabinet and hurried after us. We emerged into the cold night as the first fire engine turned into the parking lot.

Outside, Rebecca counted everyone twice. Nobody was missing. Firefighters took control of the scene, and the police began documenting the circumstances. The fire's cause was unknown. Miriam insisted that nobody describe it publicly as arson without an investigation.

Then my phone rang.

It was my father.

"Claire," he said, his voice shaking, "there's a woman here. She says she knows why the hospital money disappeared."

"Where are you?"

"At home. She won't tell me her name."

A woman spoke in the background. Her voice was calm, educated, and unmistakably familiar.

"Tell your daughter to ask Marco about the night his father died."

I went cold. "Dad, put the phone on speaker."

"Claire?" the woman said. "This is Celia Bellini."

Marco heard her name and stepped closer.

"Stay away from her father," he said.

Celia laughed softly.