[COMPLETED] The Silence Behind Room 4B at Moretti Hall

Nora made it as far as the basement landing before a hand closed around the banister above her.

“Stop.”

She froze.

Lorenzo stood three steps higher, his jacket gone, sleeves rolled once at the wrist. He was looking at the two potato sacks waiting on the stone floor.

“Who told you to carry those?”

“Mrs. Gable, sir.”

“How much?”

“Fifty pounds each.”

His eyes lifted to hers. “And you told her you had been bleeding.”

Nora stared at him. People like her survived houses like this by never confirming that the master had overheard too much.

“I can manage.”

“That was not my question.”

Her fingers closed over the front of her uniform. “Yes. I told her.”

Lorenzo turned. “Marco.”

A security man appeared from the wine-cellar arch.

“Take those to the kitchen. Tell Dr. Caruso to come to the west sitting room.”

Nora shook her head. “Please, Mr. Moretti. I can’t afford—”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Mrs. Gable was waiting in the foyer when they emerged, color high in her cheeks.

“Mr. Moretti, is there a problem?”

“Yes.” Lorenzo’s voice stayed quiet. “No pregnant employee in this house lifts fifty pounds. No one threatens my staff with false criminal charges. And no one puts hands on them in anger. You will remain in your office until I send for you.”

“Sir, there has been a misunderstanding.”

“There has. I misunderstood what kind of household I left in your care.”

Dr. Caruso arrived twelve minutes later. After examining Nora behind a screen, he told Lorenzo the spotting might be irritation but the swelling and cramping required rest, hydration, and no lifting.

“If the bleeding returns or the contractions become regular, she goes to the hospital. Tonight.”

Lorenzo nodded.

When the doctor left, Nora rose.

“One question,” Lorenzo said. “What happens in Room 4B?”

The warmth left her body.

He saw it.

“Mrs. Gable threatened you because she thought you might tell me. You are not going to jail. You are not being fired.”

Nora looked toward the door.

Lorenzo opened it and called Marco. “Clear the hall. No one comes near this room.”

When they were alone again, Nora whispered, “Your grandfather is awake.”

Lorenzo went still.

“Not all the time,” she hurried on. “Some days he barely knows where he is. But other days he knows the date. He asks about Chicago. He asks whether you still take your coffee without sugar. He keeps asking for you.”

“My grandfather has advanced vascular dementia.”

“That’s what Mrs. Gable says.”

“That’s what Dr. March says.”

“I’m not a nurse. I only change his sheets sometimes when Mrs. Gable says the night nurse costs too much.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.

“Three weeks ago he grabbed my wrist and said my name. Then he told me there was a blue ledger missing from his study. He said I had to tell you before Founders’ Night.”

Founders’ Night was tomorrow.

“What ledger?”

“He said it had a gold stripe on the spine.”

“What else?”

Nora hesitated. “He said not to sign anything Carlo brings you.”

Carlo Vescari had been Lorenzo’s chief financial adviser for eleven years.

“Did he say why?”

“He tried. Mrs. Gable came in. The next day there was a new bottle of medicine by his bed. After that, he slept almost all the time.”

Lorenzo stood.

Nora did too quickly. A cramp pulled low across her abdomen.

He waited until she breathed through it. “You are going upstairs to rest.”

“But Room 4B—”

“I’m going there.”

“She keeps it locked after nine.”

“It is my house.”

He held out his hand to Marco. “Master keys.”

Room 4B sat in the oldest section of the west wing. Nora followed despite Lorenzo telling her not to, one hand beneath her belly.

The master key did not turn.

“That lock was changed,” Lorenzo said.

“Two weeks ago.”

Marco opened it with a tool kit.

Antiseptic and stale air met them.

Salvatore Moretti lay beneath a wool blanket in a narrow hospital bed. The broad man from the photographs downstairs had become hollow-cheeked and thin.

A half-empty bottle stood beside him without a pharmacy label. White tape marked it NIGHT.

“Grandfather.”

No response.

Lorenzo touched his shoulder. “Nonno.”

The old man’s eyelids fluttered. After several cloudy seconds, they focused.

“Lorenzo?”

Lorenzo sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m here.”

Salvatore’s fingers searched the blanket until Lorenzo caught them.

“You came back.”

“I came back.”

The old man saw Nora. Recognition flickered. “The girl. She listened.”

Lorenzo glanced at her. “Tell me about the ledger.”

Fear sharpened Salvatore’s face.

“Not here.”

“Why?”

“Carlo.”

Lorenzo became very still.

Salvatore pulled him closer. “Tomorrow he’ll put papers in front of you. Don’t sign them.”

“What papers?”

“The house. The companies. Everything.”

His eyes began to close.

“Where is the ledger?”

A faint smile touched Salvatore’s mouth.

“Where your grandmother used to pray.”

Then his hand went slack.

Lorenzo stood and looked at the unlabeled bottle, the changed lock, and Nora.

“Call a different doctor,” he told Marco. “Not March. Two men stay at this door. No one enters without my permission.”

Marco nodded.

“And find Carlo Vescari.”

Marco touched his earpiece, listened, and frowned. “Vescari left the estate twenty minutes ago. His driver says he went into town.”

“Did he say why?”

“No.”

Lorenzo looked toward the dark window. Snow had begun to press against the glass in dry white grains.

“Do not stop him from coming back,” he said. “And do not call him. If he thinks nothing has changed, I want him to keep thinking that.”

Marco nodded once and left.

Nora stayed near the doorway.

“You should go,” Lorenzo said.

She did not move.

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Gable will know I told you.”

“She will know I heard her.”

“That won’t matter to her.”

Lorenzo studied the bruise beginning to show through the fabric at Nora’s upper arm.

“How long has she been treating you like this?”

Nora looked down. “Long enough that everyone knows not to notice.”

The answer landed harder than she intended.

Lorenzo crossed to a cabinet, took out a glass bottle of water, and handed it to her.

“Tonight you will sleep in the guest room beside Mrs. Carter’s quarters. Marco will put someone outside the hall.”

“I don’t want anyone punished for helping me.”

“No one is being punished for helping you.”

“I mean the others. If Mrs. Gable thinks someone told me about your grandfather—”

“She won’t be supervising anyone tonight.”

Nora took the water.

Lorenzo looked back at Salvatore, then at the unlabeled medicine.

“When I left for Montreal six weeks ago, Dr. March told me my grandfather could no longer tolerate visitors. He sent reports every three days. He said agitation was accelerating the dementia.”

Nora remembered Salvatore whispering through dry lips, asking why Lorenzo had stopped coming.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Lorenzo’s expression tightened. “Don’t be. You walked into a locked room when everyone else learned to walk around it.”

He picked up the medicine bottle with a handkerchief and placed it inside an empty evidence bag Marco had left behind.

“Go rest, Nora.”

She reached the door, then turned.

“Mr. Moretti?”

“Yes?”

“Your grandmother used to pray in the small chapel by the greenhouse. Mrs. Carter told me. Not the main chapel.”

Lorenzo’s eyes sharpened.

For the first time that night, Nora saw something colder than anger settle into his face.

A plan.