Chapter 7 - The Doctor Who Wouldn’t Confirm
Dr. Lauren Keene’s office occupied three immaculate floors of a private women’s health center on Madison Avenue.
Marcello had heard the name before.
Camille had mentioned her repeatedly.
He had simply never met her.
When Marcello requested to speak with Dr. Keene regarding Camille’s pregnancy, the receptionist responded exactly as federal privacy law required.
“We cannot confirm whether any individual is a patient without authorization.”
Marcello looked at Camille.
“Authorize it.”
She crossed her arms.
“I’m not discussing my private medical care in a waiting room.”
“Then we’ll discuss it in an examination room.”
“This is coercive.”
Teresa, who had insisted on joining them, spoke quietly.
“Camille, no one can force you to disclose your medical records.”
Camille looked relieved.
Teresa continued.
“But Marcello is equally free to postpone a marriage if he believes you have lied to him.”
Camille stared at her.
“You too?”
“This is not sides.”
Camille laughed bitterly.
“That’s what rich families say right before they close ranks.”
Marcello nearly replied, then stopped.
It was a clever line because it contained enough truth to make resistance sound cruel.
Dr. Keene finally appeared.
Early forties, controlled, elegant, unreadable.
“Ms. Avery?”
Camille stood.
“I need to speak to you privately.”
The two women disappeared through a secured door.
Marcello sat beside his mother.
Teresa folded her gloves in her lap.
“You missed something.”
“What?”
“When she said she was bleeding.”
Marcello looked at her.
“Her first instinct was not fear.”
“What was it?”
“Relief.”
Twenty minutes later, Camille returned alone.
“Dr. Keene has advised me to avoid stress.”
Marcello stood.
“Is there a baby?”
Camille’s face went rigid.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Answer me.”
“I don’t have to.”
“No. You don’t.”
He removed his engagement ring from the chain he wore inside his shirt—a family habit his father had started when traveling.
Camille watched.
Marcello placed the ring in his pocket.
“The wedding is postponed.”
Her face collapsed.
“You can’t.”
“I just did.”
“What about the press? The guests?”
“I don’t care.”
“What about our baby?”
“That is exactly what I am trying to determine.”
Camille slapped him.
The waiting room went silent.
Marcello did not touch his cheek.
Teresa rose.
“Enough.”
Camille grabbed her coat and walked out.
Dr. Keene stood at the far end of the corridor.
For one second, her eyes met Marcello’s.
There was guilt there.
Not surprise.
Guilt.
That evening Marcus Chen called with another discovery.
Aurora Family Services had paid Dr. Keene’s clinic $180,000 over eighteen months.
“For what?” Marcello asked.
“Consulting.”
“On what?”
“The invoices say maternal-access strategy.”
“Did the foundation board approve that?”
“Not directly. It was bundled into the Aurora contract.”
Marcello closed his eyes.
“Who authorized the payments?”
“Owen.”
“Anyone else?”
“Julian approved the umbrella contract.”
Marcello was quiet.
Marcus continued.
“There’s something stranger. Dr. Keene’s clinic refunded seventy-five thousand dollars to Aurora three months later.”
“Why?”
“No explanation.”
Money moved out.
Money moved back.
A loop.
Marcello suddenly remembered a conversation six months earlier.
Camille had been furious because the foundation’s new audit software would require vendor-level documentation.
She had called it bureaucratic.
Julian had supported her.
Owen had delayed implementation.
At the time, Marcello had cared more about acquiring a Denver logistics company.
He had delegated.
Delegation, he was beginning to understand, was simply trust with paperwork.
His phone buzzed.
Elena.
He answered.
“What happened?”
“Someone followed us.”
Marcello stood.
“Where are you?”
“Inside a grocery store on Lexington. A black SUV has been behind us since the precinct.”
“Stay inside. I’m calling Detective Patel.”
“Marcello.”
“What?”
“I saw the driver.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Describe him.”
“He was at the gala.”
Marcello waited.
May you like
Elena’s voice trembled.
“He was standing behind your brother.”
