Page 42 of Claimed By the Ruthless King
“What was the cause of death?”
“It says here that he died from his injuries. The blood thinners, along with some underlying health issues, caused him to go into cardiac arrest. Nothing is adding up, Phee,” says Sapphire, her voice full of concern. “A thirty-two-year-old male stands a pretty good chance of being resuscitated, but the resus team were unable to save him. I’ll investigate, find out who was working on him. But I have to say, all of this seems too… convenient.”
“You think somebody killed him?”
“Perhaps,” says Sapphire. “The person who did must be stinking rich because the doctor confirmed their death in writing.”
“Could his body be sent to a coroner?"
“There’s no information written down about this.”
“What about the family?”
“Uncontactable,” says Sapphire. “A friend is down at the next of kin, but the number goes straight through to voicemail.”
“And nobody has contacted the hospital?”
“According to these logs in my hand, no,” says Sapphire, her tone turning serious. “Nobody has reached out or expressed any concern…” Silence extends between us for a beat. “The only person who expressed some interest in Lenny was Salvatore Moretti.”
My stomach churns. “You don’t think he—?”
“Think about this logically, Phee,” says Sapphire, her tone dropping. The beeping disappears as she shuts herself away in a private room. “The guy is not only stinking rich but was involved in organized crime when he was a teenager. We both know those groups do more than commit petty crimes.”
“Mr. Moretti wouldn’t—”
“Salvatore,” corrects Sapphire. “Why should we say his name respectfully when he murders people?”
“We don’t know that for sure.” I sigh down the phone. “Besides, how would he even kill a patient?”
“When you pay the right people enough money, you can get away with anything.”
I scratch my head. This weekend is kicking off to a great start.
“Look, I’m not saying he definitely did this, but he paid Lenny a visit in the hospital the other day. As we discussed the other day, that is very out of character for him.”
“True,” I say, interrupted by a notification on my phone.
I take the phone away from my ear, reading the notification that has just come through,
“Holy shit.”
“What is it?”
“A memorial service is being held next week.”
“For Lenny?”
“No. For a man in sales who passed away.”
“You know this person?”
“No, Moretti Global is a big company…”
Silence rings between us as I open the email, scrolling through three very heartfelt paragraphs, detailing Wilson’s life and how valued he was in the team.
“How did he die?”
“It says here from a heart attack.”
