Chapter 2 - THE DOCTOR’S COAT
“How do you know it’s a small amount?”
Claire’s voice didn’t shake. She kept her eyes locked on Dr. Henry Calder.
The physician’s face flushed, a mottled red spreading above his starched collar. “Excuse me?”
“You just said a small amount of almond wouldn’t necessarily be fatal,” Claire repeated, her tone dropping, turning colder. “But you haven’t examined the cake. You haven’t asked the caterer. You just looked at a thin layer of white paste and declared it a small amount.”
The silence in the ballroom was absolute.
Dominic Romano did not move. He did not blink. He simply shifted his weight, turning his massive frame slightly so that he was entirely facing the doctor who had treated his family for a decade.
“It was an assumption,” Calder said, his voice tightening. He offered Dominic a placating smile, the kind professionals use to soothe volatile clients. “Dominic, be reasonable. The girl is fine. The maid is overreacting.”
“The maid,” Dominic said softly, “is the only person in this room who noticed my daughter’s medical bracelet was swapped.”
He snapped his fingers.
A man in a charcoal suit—Silvio, Dominic’s shadow—stepped forward instantly.
“Take the plate,” Dominic ordered. “Bag it. Nobody touches it until it reaches the lab.”
“Dominic, this is theatrical nonsense,” Vanessa interrupted, her voice rising in irritation. She smoothed the front of her silk gown. “It’s a birthday party. Mistakes happen with catering.”
“This caterer doesn’t make mistakes,” Claire said.
Vanessa’s eyes flashed with venom. “Keep your mouth shut.”
“Let her speak,” Dominic said. The command cracked like a whip.
Claire didn’t back down from Vanessa’s glare. “The caterer, Julian’s of Manhattan, requires a secondary medical sign-off for any menu served in a home with a severe pediatric allergy. I know, because I submitted the paperwork to them a month ago. They wouldn’t have baked an almond cake unless someone explicitly authorized a menu change.”
Dominic’s jaw set. “Silvio. Get the catering manifest.”
Silvio spoke into his earpiece. Ten seconds later, a terrified catering manager was brought into the room, holding a leather-bound folder. He thrust it toward Dominic with trembling hands.
“Mr. Romano, I swear to you,” the manager stammered. “We were told the nut allergy was a misdiagnosis. We received a signed medical waiver updating the file to a mild dairy sensitivity.”
Dominic opened the folder.
Claire watched his eyes scan the document. She saw the exact moment the ice in his veins froze solid.
Dominic slowly turned the paper around.
At the bottom of the page, beneath the authorization to remove the nut restriction, was a signature.
Dr. Henry Calder.
The doctor took a step back. “That’s a forgery. I never signed that.”
“You didn’t?” Dominic asked. His voice was terrifyingly gentle.
“Never. Someone is setting me up.” Calder looked around, panic setting in. “Dominic, I’ve cared for Lily since she was born. I cared for Rebecca.”
Dominic walked toward Calder. The guests parted like the sea.
“You did,” Dominic agreed. “Which means you know exactly what happens to Lily if she ingests tree nuts. Her throat closes in under two minutes.”
“I know! That’s why I always carry my medical bag to these events.” Calder pointed to the leather satchel resting on a chair near the string quartet. “I have two adult-dose EpiPens and pediatric doses in my coat pocket right now. I would never put her in danger!”
Dominic stared at him. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he lunged forward.
Calder gasped as Dominic seized the lapels of his tailored suit jacket. Dominic reached into the doctor’s inner breast pocket and pulled out a bright yellow plastic cylinder.
A pediatric EpiPen.
“See?” Calder stammered, sweating now. “I’m prepared. I’m always prepared.”
Dominic didn’t let go of the doctor. He held the EpiPen up to the light of the crystal chandelier.
Claire gasped.
The safety cap was missing. The needle guard was deployed.
“Dr. Calder,” Claire whispered, her blood running cold. “That pen is empty.”
Dominic looked at the dosage window. The liquid was gone. The mechanism had been fired.
He dropped Calder’s coat and pulled a second pen from the other pocket.
Fired. Empty.
Both emergency lifelines for an eight-year-old girl had been deliberately deployed into the trash before the party even began.
May you like
Dominic’s eyes met Calder’s.
“You weren’t going to save her,” Dominic whispered. “You were going to watch her die.”
