Chapter 3 - The Pills That Made Her Forget
The next morning, Damian entered his mother's hospital room carrying a small bouquet of white roses.
Eleanor was awake.
She looked exhausted, but her breathing was steady.
When she saw him, her eyes filled.
“Damian.”
He crossed the room.
“Hey, Mom.”
She raised one trembling hand.
He took it carefully.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Eleanor whispered, “You came.”
Damian felt something tighten in his chest.
“Of course I came.”
She looked at him.
“You've been gone so much.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought…”
She stopped.
Damian sat beside her.
“What?”
Eleanor looked toward the door.
Then back at him.
“I thought she told you not to come.”
Damian went still.
“Who?”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Victoria.”
He tightened his grip on her hand.
“What did she tell you?”
“She said you couldn't stand seeing me like this.”
Damian stared.
Eleanor's voice trembled.
“She said I embarrassed you.”
“Mom.”
“She said you wanted me to stay upstairs when guests came.”
Damian felt sick.
“I never said that.”
Eleanor opened her eyes.
He leaned closer.
“I never said any of those things.”
She studied his face.
Then began crying.
Damian carefully embraced her.
“I'm sorry.”
Her hands clutched his jacket.
“Damian, I keep forgetting things.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes I wake up and don't know what day it is.”
He swallowed.
“The doctors are checking your medication.”
Eleanor pulled back.
Her expression changed.
“The pills.”
Damian waited.
She looked frightened.
“Don't let her bring them here.”
“Victoria?”
Eleanor nodded.
“She says they're vitamins.”
“What happens when you take them?”
Eleanor pressed a hand against her forehead.
“I sleep.”
Damian waited.
“Sometimes for hours. Sometimes I wake up and can't remember what happened.”
His jaw tightened.
“She tells me I already signed papers.”
“What papers?”
Eleanor looked confused.
“I don't know.”
She began trembling.
“She says I agreed to things.”
Damian leaned closer.
“Mom, listen to me.”
She looked at him.
“You're safe here.”
Eleanor gripped his wrist.
“Don't let her make me sign anything.”
He nodded.
“I won't.”
Then she whispered something that made his blood run cold.
“She said if I didn't cooperate, she'd send Clara away.”
Damian stared.
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“She knows I love that girl.”
Clara Bennett had come to the Moretti mansion eleven months earlier with one suitcase and forty-three dollars in her checking account.
She was twenty-seven.
She had worked as a nursing assistant while attending community college.
Then her father suffered a stroke.
Medical bills accumulated.
Her father needed rehabilitation and long-term support.
Clara left school.
Took two jobs.
Slept four hours a night.
When the Moretti household advertised for a live-in assistant to help care for Eleanor, Clara applied.
The salary was more than she'd ever made.
The room was included.
And the position allowed her to visit her father on weekends.
During her interview, Eleanor had asked one question.
“Do you know how to play gin rummy?”
Clara blinked.
“A little.”
“Wonderful.”
Eleanor smiled.
“Everyone in this family cheats.”
Clara laughed.
And Eleanor hired her that afternoon.
For the first several months, the arrangement had been wonderful.
Clara helped organize Eleanor's medications according to the care plan.
Accompanied her to appointments.
Reminded her to eat.
Read mystery novels aloud when Eleanor's eyesight became tired.
Sometimes they sat by the garden windows discussing Clara's dream of becoming a registered nurse.
“You'll do it,” Eleanor often said.
Clara would smile.
“Maybe someday.”
“No.”
Eleanor would squeeze her hand.
“Not maybe. You will.”
Then Victoria began spending more time at the mansion.
At first, she was charming.
She brought flowers.
Ordered expensive gifts.
Spoke sweetly to Eleanor.
But when Damian traveled for business, everything changed.
Victoria began controlling medical appointments.
Then medications.
Then visitors.
Soon she insisted that no one speak to Eleanor without her approval.
And the woman who had once completed crossword puzzles in ink began forgetting the names of her own grandchildren.
Clara noticed.
She asked questions.
Victoria hated questions.
That was when the cruelty began.
At noon, an independent geriatric specialist joined Damian in the hospital consultation room.
Dr. Hannah Pierce had been recommended by the hospital rather than by the Moretti family.
She spoke directly.
“Your mother's cognitive symptoms may have more than one cause.”
Damian leaned forward.
“Meaning?”
“We've identified discrepancies between the medication history supplied by Dr. Voss and the prescriptions documented by her previous specialists.”
“Are the pills dangerous?”
“Some of the substances identified in the samples and records could contribute to excessive sedation and confusion, particularly in an older patient. We need to establish what she actually received, in what amounts, and why.”
Damian felt his jaw tighten.
“Could someone have been doing this intentionally?”
Dr. Pierce didn't rush to answer.
“That is one possibility investigators may need to examine. A medical review alone cannot establish intent.”
Damian nodded.
Then she placed another document on the table.
“There's something else.”
He looked at it.
“What?”
“Your mother was recently assessed as unable to manage significant financial decisions.”
Damian frowned.
“By whom?”
“Dr. Voss.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Damian went still.
Dr. Pierce continued.
“The assessment is in a private medical file provided to the hospital. It states that Eleanor Moretti cannot understand or execute complex legal documents.”
Damian stared.
His mother had been managing financial affairs only months earlier.
Even after she began feeling unwell, she had insisted on reviewing the foundation's annual reports.
He remembered her calling him about a suspicious property transfer.
He'd told her to leave it to the accountants.
Then he'd forgotten the conversation.
“Why wasn't I told?”
Dr. Pierce studied him.
“According to the note, you were notified.”
Damian's expression changed.
“By whom?”
“The record says the information was delivered through your family office.”
He took the document.
At the bottom was an acknowledgment.
RECEIVED AND APPROVED: DAMIAN MORETTI.
He stared at his signature.
The letters looked correct.
The flourish beneath the final letter was almost perfect.
But Damian knew something the person who copied it didn't.
He had changed the way he signed his name two years earlier after a minor injury to his hand.
The signature on the document was an older version.
A version his staff had used on archived contracts.
Damian looked up.
“I didn't sign this.”
Dr. Pierce remained silent.
He continued.
“And nobody told me my mother was being declared incapable of making her own decisions.”
He looked at the document again.
There was another name at the bottom.
The person designated to handle Eleanor's affairs under the proposed arrangement.
VICTORIA HALE.
Damian slowly lowered the paper.
Then he noticed one final attachment.
A schedule of upcoming legal actions.
One line had been highlighted.
Friday, 11:00 a.m. — Moretti Harbor Trust transfer approval.
Damian stared at the date.
Friday.
May you like
Only three days away.
And the woman who had screamed for his mother to be left to die was preparing to gain control over her financial affairs.
