Chapter 2 - THE BOY DANTE ALMOST THREW OUTDante took the notebook but did not open it.
Not yet.
His attention remained on Moretti.
“You know her.”
Moretti adjusted his cuffs.
“She worked at St. Catherine Rehabilitation Institute briefly.”
“Briefly?”
“Perhaps six months.”
Eli looked at him.
“Fourteen.”
Moretti’s face tightened.
Dante’s eyes moved between them.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“And you know how long your mother worked there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when she got fired, she wrote the date down.”
Rosalie looked at Eli.
“Your mom got fired?”
Eli nodded.
Moretti stepped forward.
“Dante, this is becoming inappropriate.”
Dante turned.
“Be careful.”
Moretti stopped.
There were many ways to be powerful.
Adrian Moretti’s power came from credentials.
Degrees.
Boards.
Medical journals.
The reputation of being the physician families called after everyone else failed.
Dante’s power was less formal.
People did not need explanations.
“Tell me what happened,” Dante said.
Moretti sighed.
“Hannah Mercer was a physical therapist with unconventional ideas.”
Eli immediately said:
“She was a doctor.”
Moretti looked annoyed.
“She held a doctorate in physical therapy.”
“That means doctor.”
“Not a physician.”
Dante glanced at Eli.
The boy looked ready to fight.
Rosalie reached toward him.
“Eli.”
He stopped.
Dante noticed that too.
His daughter had known this boy ten minutes and could calm him more easily than most adults.
Moretti continued.
“Hannah became overly invested in several patients.”
“Rosalie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She disagreed with the neurological team.”
“About what?”
Moretti looked at Rosalie.
Dante’s voice hardened.
“Look at me.”
Moretti did.
“What did she disagree about?”
“She believed Rosalie retained more voluntary motor capacity than testing suggested.”
Dante’s chest tightened.
“And?”
“She was wrong.”
Rosalie whispered:
“I stood.”
Moretti’s expression softened professionally.
“Rosalie, spontaneous functional movement can occur under stress or—”
“Don’t.”
Dante’s voice cut through.
Moretti looked at him.
“Do not explain away what I just watched before you examine her.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Good.”
Dante opened the notebook.
The first page contained Hannah Mercer’s name, license numbers, and an emergency contact.
Later pages were packed with dates.
Exercises.
Observations.
Diagrams.
Notes.
Rosalie V.
Right toe flexion observed during dual-task distraction.
Patient reports sensation of pressure in both feet.
Repeated inconsistencies between formal motor testing and spontaneous response.
Recommend second multidisciplinary evaluation.
Dante stopped reading.
“When was this?”
Eli pointed.
“Three years ago.”
Dante looked at Moretti.
“That was when Rosalie started at St. Catherine.”
“Yes.”
“You told me there had been no meaningful voluntary movement.”
“There had been no reproducible clinical finding.”
“That is not the same sentence.”
Moretti’s face hardened.
“Dante, medicine is not built on hopeful interpretation.”
“No.”
Dante closed the notebook.
“It is built on records.”
He held it up.
“This looks like one.”
Moretti stared at Eli.
“How did you get here?”
Eli’s shoulders tightened.
“Bus.”
“From where?”
“Yonkers.”
“That’s nearly an hour.”
“More.”
“Where are your parents?”
Eli said nothing.
Dante noticed.
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
Rosalie looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
Eli shrugged.
It was not indifference.
It was the exhausted movement of a child who had heard condolences too often.
Dante asked:
“Father?”
“Don’t know.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“My aunt did.”
“Did?”
Eli looked toward the ground.
Moretti intervened.
“This is absurd. You have a vulnerable child, another child in a wheelchair, and a dead therapist’s notebook being treated as medical evidence.”
Dante slowly turned.
“Did Hannah Mercer ever try to contact me?”
Moretti paused.
“That would have been handled administratively.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t know.”
Eli looked up.
“She did.”
Moretti’s jaw tightened.
Eli continued.
“She called you six times.”
Dante stared.
“How would you know?”
“She wrote it down.”
He took the notebook back and flipped near the rear.
There.
CALL LOG — D. VESCARI
March 8 — office transferred me to care coordinator.
March 11 — message left.
March 12 — no return.
March 17 — asked administration to forward concern directly.
March 21 — access restricted.
March 29 — contract terminated.
Dante’s eyes went still.
Rosalie watched her father.
She knew that expression.
Someone was about to have a very bad day.
Dante looked at Moretti.
“Why was her access restricted?”
“I would need records.”
“You have ten minutes.”
“Dante—”
“Ten.”
Moretti turned toward the house.
Dante spoke again.
“And Adrian?”
The doctor stopped.
“If I discover anyone blocked information about my daughter from reaching me…”
Moretti looked back.
Dante’s voice became quieter.
“…you will wish this were only about money.”
Rosalie reached for her father.
“Dad.”
He looked at her.
She shook her head slightly.
Not here.
Not like that.
Dante exhaled.
Then nodded.
Eli had been watching.
His face unreadable.
Dante turned to him.
“Your mother tried to warn me?”
Eli nodded.
“What did she say?”
The boy looked at Rosalie.
Then at Dante.
“She said they were wrong.”
Dante’s stomach tightened.
“About what?”
Eli swallowed.
“About her never standing.”
May you like
Then, after a pause:
“My mom tried to tell you before she died.”
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