Chapter 2
Dr. Aaron Weiss arrived at the estate before midnight.
He had treated Estelle for eleven years.
Cassian trusted him enough to know when the man was angry.
Dr. Weiss examined Estelle privately first.
Then he met Cassian in the library.
“She’s dehydrated.”
“How badly?”
“Enough that I want labs tonight.”
“Malnourished?”
“Not severely, but she’s lost almost eight pounds since I saw her six weeks ago.”
Cassian looked toward the ceiling as though he could see through it to his mother’s room.
Dr. Weiss continued.
“Her blood pressure is low. She’s tired. That can affect concentration.”
“Dementia?”
“I’m not diagnosing anything tonight.”
“Do you suspect it?”
Dr. Weiss gave him a hard look.
“She knew my name, the date, where she was, who you are, and exactly why she’s angry at your brother.”
Cassian nodded.
“There was a nurse here.”
“I heard.”
“Did you send one?”
“No.”
“Did you order a restricted diet?”
“No.”
“Did you tell anyone to test her memory?”
“No.”
That settled one part.
Someone had been creating a medical process outside Estelle’s actual doctor.
Greta joined them with her own notes.
She had kept household schedules for years.
Three days earlier, Lavinia ordered most of the regular staff moved to the guest wing because Estelle supposedly had a stomach virus.
Meals were to be delivered only through Lavinia or Brennan.
Greta ignored the instruction twice.
The first time, Brennan caught her bringing toast upstairs.
He told her Estelle was undergoing “medical observation.”
The second time, Lavinia threatened to fire her.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Greta looked ashamed.
“I tried.”
Cassian frowned.
“When?”
“Wednesday afternoon. Your assistant said you were in meetings.”
“My assistant would still give me an emergency message.”
“I didn’t call your office.”
“What did you call?”
“The number Mrs. Lavinia gave staff for your New York security team.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed.
“That number doesn’t exist.”
Greta went quiet.
Another layer.
Lavinia had not merely isolated Estelle.
She had controlled the route by which staff could reach Cassian.
He asked Marcus Hale, his security chief, to check every household communication related to his trip.
Then he went upstairs.
Estelle was awake.
An IV bag hung beside the bed.
She looked annoyed about it.
“Your doctor says I’m dry.”
“Dehydrated.”
“Same thing.”
Cassian sat beside her.
“Mom, why did they think you were confused?”
She looked toward the window.
“They kept asking me about the company.”
“What about it?”
“Whether I remembered the vote.”
Cassian’s attention sharpened.
Montaro—no, Morretti Holdings—had a major governance vote scheduled in nine days.
Cassian had spent nearly a year pushing a restructuring plan that would move the legitimate family companies under an independent board and permanently reduce informal family control.
Brennan opposed it.
Lavinia hated it because the family foundation she chaired would lose several discretionary spending privileges.
Estelle supported Cassian.
Her vote mattered.
But Cassian still did not understand why anyone would starve her over it.
“Did they ask you how you planned to vote?”
Estelle shook her head.
“No.”
“What did they ask?”
May you like
“If I remembered that I had one.”
That answer bothered him more.
