Vincent didn't shout when he saw Dr. Blake's name on the access card.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
He simply placed the card on his desk and stared at it.
Then he said, "Marco, find Daniel Price. Quietly."
Marco nodded.
"And Harrison?"
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"Don't let him know we're looking."
The following morning, an independent environmental specialist arrived at the mansion.
Her name was Dr. Evelyn Carter.
She was a licensed environmental toxicologist with twenty years of experience investigating indoor chemical exposure.
Vincent had contacted her through a hospital administrator in Boston.
She arrived carrying several equipment cases and an expression that suggested she was not easily impressed by wealth.
"Mr. Moretti," she said, shaking his hand. "I understand your children have been experiencing unexplained symptoms."
"Yes."
"And you suspect an environmental cause?"
"Claire does."
Dr. Carter turned toward me.
"What have you noticed?"
I explained everything.
The unusual odor.
The worsening symptoms indoors.
The boys' temporary improvement outside.
The ventilation system.
The anonymous note.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she nodded.
"An environmental exposure is worth investigating. But we need evidence before drawing conclusions."
"I understand."
"Good. Let's begin."
She inspected the twins' bedrooms first.
The moment she entered Lucas's room, she paused.
"Do you smell that?" I asked.
"Yes."
Vincent looked between us.
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure yet," Dr. Carter said.
She opened her equipment case.
For the next three hours, she collected air samples, inspected ventilation components, and documented conditions throughout the east wing.
She also examined the guest bedrooms where the boys had slept.
By noon, she had discovered something unusual.
"The east wing is connected to a separate air-handling unit," she explained.
Vincent frowned.
"Why?"
"According to the building plans, it was installed during renovations five years ago."
"That was Isabella's project," Vincent said quietly.
Dr. Carter looked up.
"Your wife?"
"She wanted the boys' bedrooms to have independent temperature control."
I glanced toward the hallway.
"Could someone introduce a substance into that system without affecting the rest of the house?"
"Potentially. We need to inspect the equipment."
Vincent called Marco.
"Open the utility room."
Five minutes later, we stood before a reinforced door.
Marco entered the access code.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
A red light flashed.
"Someone changed the code," he said.
Vincent's expression hardened.
"Open it."
Marco called a security technician.
Twenty minutes later, the lock was disabled.
The door swung inward.
Inside stood an industrial ventilation unit, several filtration cabinets, and a wall-mounted control panel.
Everything appeared clean.
Too clean.
Dr. Carter examined the equipment.
Then she stopped beside a narrow service cabinet.
"Mr. Moretti, has this cabinet always been here?"
Vincent shook his head.
"I've never seen it."
She opened it.
Inside was a small unmarked reservoir connected to the air-handling equipment.
A transparent tube ran from the reservoir into a sealed compartment.
The reservoir contained a pale liquid.
Dr. Carter stepped back.
"Nobody touch anything."
Vincent moved closer.
"What is that?"
"I don't know."
She photographed the cabinet.
Then she called her laboratory.
"We need a controlled collection and analysis."
I stared at the reservoir.
The sweet smell was stronger here.
"Could that be making the boys sick?"
"It's possible," she said. "But we need to identify the substance and establish whether the children were exposed."
Vincent looked at Marco.
"Seal this room."
Then he turned toward me.
"Get my sons out of this house."
Within an hour, Lucas and Leo were on their way to a private pediatric hospital in New York.
I accompanied them.
Vincent followed in a separate vehicle.
The boys were frightened.
Lucas held my hand throughout the drive.
"Claire?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are we dying?"
The question struck me so hard that I nearly forgot how to speak.
I looked into his eyes.
"We're going to a hospital where people can help us understand what's happening."
Leo leaned against my shoulder.
"Will Daddy come?"
"He's right behind us."
Lucas squeezed my hand.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
At the hospital, a pediatric team began a comprehensive evaluation.
Dr. Carter contacted the physicians and shared her environmental findings.
The doctors ordered additional testing based on the possibility of prolonged chemical exposure.
Vincent remained beside the boys until they fell asleep.
Then he joined me in the hallway.
"Tell me what you think."
I hesitated.
"I think someone may have been exposing your sons to something through the ventilation system."
His jaw tightened.
"On purpose?"
"I don't know."
He stared through the glass at the two small hospital beds.
"If someone did this to them..."
He stopped.
I placed a hand on his arm.
"Right now, they need their father."
He looked at me.
For a moment, the feared mafia boss disappeared.
There was only a man terrified of losing his children.
"I already buried their mother," he whispered.
"I know."
"I can't bury them too."
"You don't know that you will."
He closed his eyes.
"I don't know how to save them."
"Then let the doctors help them. And let the investigators find out what happened."
He nodded slowly.
That evening, Dr. Carter called.
"The preliminary laboratory findings are concerning."
Vincent put the phone on speaker.
"What did you find?"
"The reservoir contains a mixture of volatile organic compounds. Some components may cause neurological and systemic symptoms with sufficient exposure."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Could that explain the boys' weakness?"
"It could be consistent with some of their symptoms, but the medical team needs to evaluate the results alongside their clinical findings."
Vincent leaned forward.
"Who put it there?"
"We can't determine that from the sample."
"Can you tell how long it's been there?"
"Not yet."
The call ended.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then Vincent's phone rang.
Marco.
"We found Daniel Price."
Vincent stood.
"Where?"
"In a motel outside Hartford."
"Bring him in."
"There's a problem."
Vincent's expression changed.
"What problem?"
"Daniel says he won't speak unless Claire Morgan is present."
I looked up.
"Me?"
Marco's voice became quieter.
"He says she needs to hear what happened to Isabella."