Chapter 4 - THE FACE I RECOGNIZED FROM MY MOTHER'S HOSPITAL"Her name is Rebecca Sloan."
My voice sounded strange in Matteo's study.
He looked at the photograph again.
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
I pointed to the woman standing behind Leah.
"She came to my mother's hospital room two days ago."
Matteo frowned.
"What was she doing there?"
"She said she was reviewing financial assistance applications."
"Did you apply for assistance?"
"Of course."
The answer came out sharper than I intended.
I took a breath.
"My mother has been sick for almost three years. We owe thousands of dollars. I've been taking every extra shift I can find."
Matteo's expression softened.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't questioning your decision."
I looked down.
"I know."
He studied the photograph.
"Rebecca was introduced to me as an administrative consultant for Celeste's practice."
I felt a cold sensation move through my stomach.
"Why would a woman working with your daughter's therapist appear at my mother's hospital?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I."
He picked up his phone.
"Gabriel, I need you in my office."
Within minutes, Gabriel appeared.
Matteo showed him the photograph.
"Find out what we can verify about Rebecca Sloan's involvement with Celeste's practice and whether she has any legitimate role at Mercy Harbor Medical Center."
Gabriel nodded.
"Understood."
He looked at me.
"Miss Torres, do you have any documentation from your interaction with her?"
I thought carefully.
"She gave me a card."
I opened my bag and searched through receipts, medication schedules, and folded hospital statements.
Finally, I found it.
Rebecca Sloan.
Patient Resource Liaison.
Mercy Harbor Medical Center.
Gabriel photographed the card.
"May I keep this for our attorney?"
"Yes."
Then I remembered something.
"She asked whether I was still looking for full-time work."
Gabriel paused.
"What?"
"She said she might know someone who needed a caregiver."
Matteo slowly turned toward me.
"How did you hear about this job?"
"An agency called New Horizons Domestic Staffing contacted me yesterday."
"Did you apply there?"
"I'd applied to several agencies."
I swallowed.
"They said my experience with children made me a good fit."
Gabriel and Matteo exchanged a look.
Suddenly, I remembered the unusually high hourly wage.
The urgent request.
The fact that they had offered me a trial shift without an interview with Matteo.
My heart began pounding.
"Mr. Duca."
He looked at me.
"What if someone wanted me here?"
Neither man answered.
I felt foolish almost immediately.
Maybe it was just a coincidence.
Maybe Rebecca worked more than one job.
Maybe I was connecting things that didn't belong together.
But the frightened child in the blue room had taught me something that day.
Sometimes the details people dismiss are the only details that matter.
Gabriel asked me to write down everything Rebecca had said.
I did.
Then Matteo's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His jaw tightened.
"Marianne."
He answered on speaker.
"What?"
A woman's polished voice filled the study.
"Matteo, I understand you've had another unfortunate incident with Leah."
His expression hardened.
"How did you hear that?"
"Celeste called me. She's terribly upset."
"Good."
"There's no need to be hostile."
"You need to withdraw your guardianship petition."
Silence.
Then Marianne laughed softly.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Your therapist locked Leah in a room."
"She was following an approved treatment protocol."
"There's a recording."
Another pause.
"What recording?"
Matteo looked directly at me.
"The one where you told Celeste you needed another incident before Friday."
The silence this time lasted so long that I wondered whether the call had disconnected.
Finally, Marianne spoke.
"Matteo, listen carefully."
He said nothing.
"You have spent eighteen months grieving your wife, avoiding your daughter, and allowing strangers to raise her."
His face tightened.
"Don't."
"Someone has to say it."
"I said don't."
"Leah needs stability. The courts will agree."
He gripped the phone.
"You're not taking my daughter."
Her voice became colder.
"Then you'd better be prepared to explain why fourteen professional caregivers have documented the same frightening behavior."
Matteo looked toward the office door.
"Those reports may have been manufactured."
"Careful, little brother. Accusing people without proof can be expensive."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's family advice."
She paused.
Then added something that made my blood turn cold.
"And tell your new nanny that Mercy Harbor's billing department has been trying to reach her."
I stopped breathing.
Matteo slowly looked at me.
"How do you know about Maya's mother?"
Marianne ignored the question.
"Good night, Matteo."
The line disconnected.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Gabriel spoke.
"Sir, this needs to go directly to your attorney and the investigating authorities."
Matteo nodded.
"And Maya's family?"
Gabriel looked at me.
"Miss Torres, are you comfortable telling me whether anyone has threatened you over those bills?"
I shook my head.
"Not directly."
"Then let's not assume what we haven't confirmed. But we should preserve the call details and anything unusual that happens."
My phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I opened the message.
It contained a photograph of my mother sitting alone in her hospital bed.
Below it were six words.
Walk away from Leah Duca. Tonight.
My fingers went numb.
Matteo saw my expression.
"What happened?"
I handed him the phone.
He read the message once.
Then again.
His face darkened.
Gabriel immediately asked me not to delete it.
I sat down slowly.
My mother was sixty-one years old.
Her name was Carmen Torres.
She had spent twenty-nine years cleaning offices before arthritis and complications from diabetes forced her to stop working.
She had raised me alone after my father abandoned us.
When I was little, she worked double shifts and still found time to make pancakes shaped like hearts on Sunday mornings.
She never missed a school play.
Never forgot my birthday.
Never let me believe that poverty made me less important than anyone else.
And now someone was using her to frighten me into abandoning a child.
I pressed my hands together to stop them trembling.
"I can't stay," I whispered.
Matteo's expression changed.
"I understand."
He looked genuinely devastated.
But he didn't argue.
"You need to protect your mother."
I stood.
Leah was asleep in the next room.
A little girl who had finally begun to trust me.
And I was already preparing to become the fifteenth woman who disappeared from her life.
I hated myself for it.
But fear for my mother was stronger than anything else.
Matteo walked me toward the living room.
Leah stirred beneath her yellow blanket.
When she saw me holding my bag, she immediately sat up.
"Maya?"
I froze.
She looked at the bag.
Then at my face.
Her expression crumpled.
"No."
I swallowed.
"Sweetheart..."
She scrambled off the couch.
"No go!"
Marisol reached toward her, but Leah ran past.
She wrapped both arms around my legs.
"Please."
I closed my eyes.
Matteo stood several feet away, looking helpless.
Leah began crying.
Not screaming.
Not kicking.
Just crying with the terrible desperation of a child who had learned that people always left.
I knelt and gathered her gently into my arms when she reached for me.
"Leah, listen."
She shook her head.
"Please, Maya."
I felt tears burn behind my eyes.
"I have to make sure my mommy is safe."
Leah lifted her face.
"Your mommy?"
"Yes."
She considered that.
Then she wiped her nose against her sleeve.
"Bad lady?"
I went still.
"What?"
She looked toward the hallway.
"Bad lady take mommies."
A chill swept through me.
Matteo stepped closer.
"Leah, what do you mean?"
She ignored him.
Instead, she reached into the pocket of her little pink cardigan.
She pulled out something small.
A folded piece of paper.
She pushed it into my hand.
"Lady hide."
I opened it carefully.
It was a hospital visitor sticker.
Mercy Harbor Medical Center.
Rebecca Sloan.
Yesterday's date.
My breathing stopped.
Leah pointed toward the sticker.
May you like
"Blue lady said your mommy next."
And suddenly I understood that the people behind the blue door knew exactly who I was before I ever entered the penthouse.
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