Chapter 5 - The Brother Who Died Behind the Same Door.
Salem came to Mattie’s apartment the next morning without a convoy.
That frightened her more than if twelve black SUVs had filled the street.
One sedan.
Nico driving.
Salem in the back.
No visible guards.
He did not come inside until Mattie said he could.
Important.
Kathleen was at dialysis.
Connor at class.
Mattie stood in the doorway wearing jeans and an old navy sweater.
Salem wore a charcoal coat over a black shirt.
He looked less pale.
Still tired.
The wound had not magically disappeared because the plot required him to be intimidating.
Good.
“What are you doing here?”
Mattie asked.
“You said your family was touched by this.”
“Yes.”
“You deserve facts.”
That answer surprised her.
She stepped aside.
“Nico stays?”
“He can wait outside.”
Nico looked unhappy.
Good.
Salem entered alone.
Her apartment suddenly seemed even smaller.
Secondhand couch.
Stack of textbooks Connor had left.
A dialysis transport schedule held to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a tomato.
No marble.
No servants.
Salem looked at none of it with judgment.
He sat only after she pointed.
Mattie remained standing.
“Gabriel.”
His face changed.
Dr. Shah had told him she knew.
“My brother.”
“Yes.”
“Six years younger.”
“How did he die?”
Salem looked toward the window.
“Gunshot wound.”
Mattie’s chest tightened.
“Same kind of situation?”
“No.”
Then:
“Yes.”
There.
“He was attacked leaving a restaurant. We brought him home because the hospital would have created police attention and retaliation before we knew who was responsible.”
Mattie folded her arms.
“Dr. Venn treated him.”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Shah?”
“No. She was out of the country.”
“Frank ordered the compound?”
Salem nodded.
“Gabriel developed a clot in his arm after treatment. Venn requested a compounded medication through a private pharmacy.”
“And the thing found on your dressing?”
“Same active agent.”
Mattie frowned.
“That does not mean same product.”
“No.”
Good.
“Why did Gabriel die?”
Salem’s voice became flatter.
“Internal bleeding forty hours later.”
There.
Mattie felt cold.
“Was that expected?”
“No.”
“Autopsy?”
“No.”
Of course.
“You buried a twenty-nine-year-old man without an autopsy after unexpected bleeding?”
Salem’s eyes hardened.
“You are very comfortable judging choices made before you entered the room.”
“Correct.”
He almost smiled.
Then did not.
“We believed we knew why.”
“What did Venn say?”
“Hidden abdominal injury. Missed on first imaging.”
“Could that be true?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe it?”
A long silence.
“No.”
There.
For six years, Salem had carried doubt.
“Why keep Venn as doctor?”
Mattie asked.
“Because if he lied, keeping him close was safer than making him disappear.”
That answer felt very Salem.
“Did you investigate?”
“Yes.”
“Find anything?”
“No proof.”
“Who benefited from Gabriel dying?”
Salem’s face changed.
“Many people.”
“Family?”
“Yes.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“Succession?”
“Yes.”
Mattie sat.
“Were you boss then?”
“No.”
There.
“Who was?”
“My uncle Vittorio.”
A new branch.
“Your father?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
Good.
Not every death a conspiracy.
“Gabriel was expected to inherit?”
“Possibly.”
“And you?”
“Less likely.”
Mattie stared.
“So his death moved you closer.”
“Yes.”
“You benefited.”
Salem looked at her.
“Yes.”
Good.
No defensiveness.
“Did people suspect you?”
“Yes.”
That hurt more than she expected.
“Frank?”
“No.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Vittorio died two years later.”
“Natural?”
Salem almost smiled.
“Cancer.”
Good.
Again.
“And you took control.”
“Yes.”
There.
“Who else benefited?”
“My cousin Marco.”
Finally.
“Who is Marco?”
“Vittorio’s son.”
Mattie understood.
If Gabriel lived, succession could have gone Gabriel.
If Gabriel died, Salem and Marco moved closer.
Vittorio then died.
Salem took control over Marco.
Motive.
Not proof.
“Does Marco know about the old medical compound?”
“He knew Gabriel was treated in that room.”
“Did he know Frank ordered it?”
“Possibly.”
“Did he know Dr. Venn treated him?”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then Salem said:
“Marco was in the west office the night I was wounded.”
Her skin prickled.
One of six.
Opportunity to take key.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you are not an investigator.”
“Then stop bringing investigations into my apartment.”
Fair.
He accepted.
Mattie asked:
“Why were you shot?”
Salem’s eyes closed for one second.
“Meeting went wrong.”
“Meaning?”
“No.”
Rule one.
Mattie laughed softly.
“Fine.”
Then he said:
“I was meeting a shipping broker who had evidence of theft inside my legitimate freight companies.”
There.
Not criminal details.
Business.
“What kind of theft?”
“Insurance claims, ghost vendors, inflated security invoices.”
“Service contracts.”
“Yes.”
Mattie thought of maids.
Linen.
Contractor badges.
Dorsey.
“Who manages those?”
Salem looked at her.
“Marco.”
There.
Still not proof.
“Did the broker live?”
“Yes.”
“Can he identify shooter?”
“No. Shot came from distance.”
“Who knew meeting location?”
“Seven people.”
“Marco?”
“Yes.”
“Frank?”
“Yes.”
“Nico?”
“Yes.”
“Venn?”
“No.”
“Who else?”
Salem named three senior men Mattie did not know.
She wrote none down.
This was already too much.
Then:
“Why are you telling me?”
His expression changed.
“Because the threat to your family means you are in danger for knowledge you did not ask to have.”
Good.
“And because?”
He looked at her.
“You notice things.”
There.
She laughed.
“That sounds like recruitment.”
“It is not.”
“Good.”
“You are not working for me as an investigator.”
“Excellent.”
“You are also not returning as a maid.”
That irritated her.
“Why?”
“Because the job is compromised.”
“I need the salary.”
“I will pay the contract.”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“We discussed this.”
“We discussed wages for a week. Not unemployment by mafia.”
“It is not charity.”
“It is money for work I am not doing.”
“It is severance because workplace conditions became unsafe.”
Mattie stopped.
That was annoyingly reasonable.
“You have lawyers, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Then:
“I’ll accept one week.”
“Four.”
“One.”
“Three.”
She stared.
“Are you negotiating severance with your maid?”
“Yes.”
“Two.”
“Done.”
She hated herself for smiling.
Good.
Then Salem reached into his coat.
Mattie tensed.
He noticed.
Slowly removed a folded document.
Not cash.
A printed employment letter.
“Two weeks, medical coverage through month end, and no nondisclosure beyond ordinary household privacy.”
Mattie stared.
“You had this prepared.”
“Frank did.”
Of course.
“What about my mother’s hospital bills?”
His expression sharpened.
“What about them?”
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Background check.”
She hated that.
“But I am not paying them.”
Good.
She looked up.
“Why not?”
“Because you would interpret it as control.”
There.
He had listened.
Something shifted.
“Correct.”
“However, Frank found a hospital financial-assistance program your mother may qualify for.”
Mattie stared.
“That is different.”
“Yes.”
“He can send the public application link.”
No private favor.
No debt.
No charity from Salem.
Just information.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then:
“And your brother’s tuition?”
“No.”
“I was going to say nothing.”
She laughed.
“Good.”
He almost smiled.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked.
Nico.
Salem answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
Mattie asked after he ended.
“The employment comparison Frank ran.”
“The maids.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Every anonymous warning coincided with a service visit from the same contractor.”
“Linen?”
“Not always.”
“Who?”
“Hawthorne Facilities.”
Mattie frowned.
“Never heard.”
“They handle specialty cleaning, security maintenance, and event staffing for several of my properties.”
“Who owns it?”
Salem looked at her.
“On paper, an investment fund.”
“And actually?”
“Marco’s wife owns the controlling interest through a trust.”
There.
Closer.
Not enough.
“Dorsey?”
“Worked for Hawthorne before becoming my driver.”
There.
The pieces formed a shape.
Still not proof of mastermind.
Then Salem said:
“Dr. Venn’s clinic received maintenance contracts from Hawthorne.”
Mattie felt cold.
“Why would a clinic need them?”
“Everyone needs cleaners.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Venn is still missing.”
“Maybe because he is guilty.”
“Maybe because he is dead.”
Good.
Both possibilities.
Mattie looked toward window.
“If Marco did this, why threaten me?”
“Because you noticed the medication.”
“Dr. Shah noticed too.”
“She has security.”
“So do I now.”
“For as long as needed.”
“I did not agree.”
“You agreed to hospital coordination.”
“Not twenty-four-hour guards.”
He paused.
“Then what do you want?”
Again.
She thought.
“Visible escort for my mother’s dialysis. Security check at Connor’s campus only if school agrees. No men outside my apartment door all night.”
“Risky.”
“My decision.”
His jaw tightened.
Then:
“Fine.”
Good.
He could learn.
Then Mattie asked:
“What are you going to do about Marco?”
Salem’s expression became the man she first met.
Cold.
Dangerous.
“Nothing yet.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
“Because suspicion is not proof.”
There.
Mattie smiled slightly.
“Look at you.”
“What?”
“Learning.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Do not become insufferable.”
“Too late.”
For the first time, Salem smiled fully.
It changed his face.
Made him look younger.
Almost human.
Then pain pulled at his side and the smile vanished.
Mattie pointed.
“Dr. Shah today.”
“I know.”
“Not optional.”
He stared.
She stared back.
Then:
“Fine.”
Good.
He left.
At the door, he stopped.
“Mattie.”
“Yes?”
“If you remember anything from that night—anything—you call Frank or me.”
“Not Nico?”
“Also Nico.”
She noticed the hesitation.
Trust being verified.
Good.
After the door closed, Mattie looked at the severance letter.
Two weeks.
Enough for groceries.
Not hospital bills.
Not tuition.
But enough to breathe.
Then she noticed a line at bottom.
Eligible for rehire upon mutual agreement after security review.
She laughed.
May you like
Salem Falcone, apparently, expected the maid who broke his most important rule to come back.
The dangerous part was that some small piece of her wanted to.
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