Chapter 5 - The Nine Names
Nobody returned home before sunrise.
Roman locked himself inside his study with Vincent and the flash drive.
Harper sat with Beatrice in the kitchen.
Denise sat across from them.
Nobody knew what to say.
Nine children.
The number hung over everything.
At six seventeen, Roman entered.
His face looked exhausted.
Harper stood.
“Well?”
“The files are real.”
Beatrice’s hands trembled.
Roman signed to her first.
Then he spoke.
“My father founded the program.”
Harper’s stomach sank.
“But?”
Roman looked at her.
“He shut it down when he learned Salvatore and the research director were hiding adverse reactions.”
“So Salvatore lied.”
“Partly.”
Roman rubbed one hand across his face.
“My father created something dangerous. He simply recognized it before Salvatore did.”
Beatrice signed.
Did Lorenzo hurt those children?
Roman hesitated.
“Not intentionally.”
Harper thought of Owen.
Intent suddenly seemed like a luxury.
Roman understood her expression.
“I’m not asking you to forgive my father.”
“I know.”
“The files contain evidence Salvatore altered trial reports.”
“And your father?”
“He collected everything because he planned to report his own company.”
Denise spoke quietly.
“Then why didn’t he?”
Roman looked at her.
“He died three days before the meeting.”
Silence.
Vincent entered with another folder.
“We found correspondence with a federal investigator.”
Roman opened it.
Lorenzo had scheduled a private meeting.
He never arrived.
The investigator retired shortly afterward.
The accident report contained irregularities.
A mechanic’s statement disappeared.
A witness changed his story.
None proved murder.
Together, they made coincidence difficult to believe.
Harper looked at Roman.
“What happens now?”
“We turn everything over.”
“To the police?”
“Federal investigators, hospital regulators, attorneys representing the families.”
Roman paused.
“And the press if necessary.”
Denise stared.
“That could destroy your companies.”
“Yes.”
“You’d do that?”
Roman’s expression barely changed.
“Nine families deserve the truth more than I deserve a clean balance sheet.”
Harper felt something shift inside her.
Roman Moretti frightened entire rooms.
Yet when offered the choice between preserving his name and exposing it, he chose exposure without hesitation.
Beatrice watched her son.
Pride filled her face.
Three days later, the story broke.
Moretti Biomedical had ceased operations years earlier, but the scandal spread across Manhattan within hours.
Reporters gathered outside Roman’s office.
Business partners called.
Board members panicked.
Roman released a short statement.
“My family’s name does not entitle us to hide the suffering attached to it.”
He announced an independent compensation fund for affected families.
He opened corporate archives.
He waived confidentiality agreements where legally possible.
And he personally delivered Owen’s evidence to investigators.
Harper watched the press conference from Murphy’s Diner.
Eddie stood beside her.
“That your boyfriend?”
Harper nearly dropped a coffee mug.
“He is absolutely not my boyfriend.”
Eddie nodded slowly.
“Sure.”
“Eddie.”
“I’m old, not blind.”
Harper ignored him.
Her phone buzzed.
BEATRICE.
Dinner tonight?
Harper smiled.
Working.
Another message appeared.
Quit.
Harper laughed.
Then Roman texted.
My mother has instructed me to kidnap you for pasta.
Harper typed back.
Terrible wording considering your reputation.
Three dots appeared.
Fair.
She smiled longer than she intended.
The investigation changed everything.
Dr. Voss formally admitted falsifying records.
Denise surrendered the confidentiality agreements she had kept.
Salvatore denied wrongdoing.
For six weeks, Roman barely slept.
Harper saw him anyway.
At first because Beatrice insisted.
Coffee became dinner.
Dinner became walks.
Roman learned Harper hated olives, slept with the television on when anxious, and had once wanted to become a teacher.
Harper learned Roman secretly fed the same stray cat outside his office every morning.
He hated jazz.
He loved old western movies.
And despite owning an apartment with seventeen rooms, he often ate standing over the kitchen sink.
One evening, Harper asked him why.
“Why what?”
“Why are you different with your mother?”
Roman looked toward Beatrice, who was reading across the room.
“Different how?”
“You’re not Roman Moretti around her.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“She knew me before everyone decided I was frightening.”
“And are you?”
“Frightening?”
“Yes.”
He leaned closer.
“Are you frightened?”
Harper considered it.
“No.”
“That seems unwise.”
She smiled.
“You’ve threatened me approximately zero times.”
“I told you not to enter a warehouse.”
“That was advice.”
“Strong advice.”
“You were right.”
Roman blinked.
“Would you repeat that?”
“Never.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Harper’s heart did something stupid.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a voice.
“Miss Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Laura Bennett.”
Harper frowned.
“I represented one of the families from the Moretti clinical program.”
Harper sat straighter.
“Okay.”
“There’s something you need to know about Owen.”
Roman immediately noticed her expression.
“What?”
Harper put the call on speaker.
Laura continued.
“Your brother contacted my office before he died.”
Harper froze.
“He was ten.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“He sent a letter.”
Harper looked toward Beatrice.
“What did it say?”
“He asked whether someone could go to prison for hiding a medical mistake.”
Harper closed her eyes.
Laura continued.
“I didn’t understand what he was referring to until I saw his name in the recent documents.”
“Why are you calling now?”
“Because Owen included something else.”
“What?”
“A list of nine patient names.”
Harper stood.
The nine children.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“And there was a tenth name.”
Roman’s face changed.
Harper whispered, “Who?”
Laura hesitated.
“Roman Moretti.”
Harper looked at him.
Roman went completely still.
“That’s impossible.”
Laura continued.
“Owen wrote that Roman was the reason Lorenzo discovered what Salvatore was doing.”
Roman grabbed the phone.
“How?”
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“There was a note.”
Laura shuffled papers.
“Your father apparently tested an early version of the treatment on you when you were sixteen.”
Roman’s face drained.
Beatrice stood abruptly.
She signed.
No.
Roman looked at her.
Beatrice’s hands began shaking.
He stared.
“You knew?”
She shook her head desperately.
Then paused.
A memory.
Roman could see it.
“What?”
Beatrice slowly signed.
After your skiing accident.
Roman frowned.
At sixteen, he had suffered internal injuries during a skiing accident in Vermont.
His father had transferred him to a private hospital.
Roman remembered fever.
Needles.
Weeks of weakness.
Then nothing.
Laura continued over the speaker.
“Owen believed your father discovered the trial’s hidden complications because you suffered one too.”
Roman sat.
Harper moved beside him.
“What complication?”
Laura answered.
“Cardiac damage.”
Roman laughed in disbelief.
“My heart is fine.”
Beatrice looked horrified.
Roman turned.
“What?”
She signed.
You have never been tested properly.
“Mother.”
Your father told me never to tell you.
“Tell me what?”
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
After the treatment, Lorenzo said there might be effects years later.
Roman stopped breathing for half a second.
Harper grabbed his hand.
“Roman?”
He looked at their joined hands.
Then at his mother.
“When?”
Beatrice signed.
He said if you ever began experiencing dizziness, chest pressure or fainting, you needed to see a specialist.
Harper remembered something.
Two weeks earlier.
Roman had paused on the penthouse stairs.
Pressed a hand against the wall.
He claimed he had stood too quickly.
Her stomach dropped.
“You’ve been dizzy.”
Roman said nothing.
“Roman.”
Beatrice stood.
His silence answered.
Harper’s fear transformed instantly into anger.
“You knew something was wrong?”
“I didn’t know this.”
“How long?”
“Harper.”
“How long?”
“A few months.”
Beatrice slapped her son’s shoulder.
Roman barely reacted.
She signed furiously.
Doctor. Now.
Roman looked annoyed.
Harper grabbed his coat.
“Your mother has spoken.”
He looked between them.
“You two are becoming unbearable.”
“Move.”
An hour later, Roman lay inside a private cardiology clinic while Harper paced.
The doctor returned after midnight.
His expression was serious but not alarmed.
“There is a problem.”
Harper’s hand found Roman’s.
“What problem?”
The doctor opened the scan.
“You have scar tissue likely associated with an old inflammatory injury.”
Roman looked at the image.
“Can it be treated?”
“Yes.”
Harper exhaled.
Then the doctor hesitated.
“But we found something else.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“What?”
“A congenital defect.”
He pointed toward the scan.
“It has nothing to do with the drug trial.”
Harper frowned.
“Is that good?”
“In a strange way, yes. Because it means the old treatment may actually have saved his life.”
Roman stared.
The doctor continued.
“Without whatever intervention occurred when he was sixteen, Mr. Moretti likely would not have survived into adulthood.”
Harper looked at Roman.
His father had created the program.
His uncle had corrupted it.
The same treatment that harmed Owen may have saved Roman.
And somewhere between those facts was a truth neither of them was prepared to face.
Then Roman’s phone rang.
Vincent.
Roman answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What happened?”
Vincent’s voice was audible even from several feet away.
“Salvatore disappeared.”
Roman sat up.
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Where is Voss?”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
May you like
A pause.
“He disappeared too.”
