Chapter 2 - THE SIGNATURE HE REFUSED TO GIVE
Tessa finished washing Vincent’s back, changed the towel beneath his shoulders, and eased him carefully against the pillows.
Then she reached for his morning medication.
Vincent watched her place the tablets into a small paper cup.
“Twenty-five an hour,” he said.
Tessa handed him water.
“Yes.”
“Your agency charges me sixty.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“That sounds like a problem between rich people.”
Something moved at the corner of Vincent’s mouth.
Almost a smile.
He swallowed the pills.
“How old is your sister?”
Tessa paused.
“Twenty-two.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
The warmth disappeared from her face.
“That’s personal.”
Vincent looked at her.
Most people answered whatever he asked.
Tessa did not.
Interesting.
“You told me she has medical bills.”
“I told you why I work here. I didn’t invite an investigation.”
Vincent stared for a second longer.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
Tessa looked almost surprised.
Before either could say more, footsteps approached.
Dominic Corvino entered without knocking.
Vincent’s younger cousin had been his acting lieutenant since the shooting six months earlier.
Thirty-eight.
Perfect suit.
Perfect haircut.
Always smelled faintly of expensive tobacco even though he claimed he had quit.
He carried a leather folder.
Arya followed him.
Now dressed in cream trousers and a fitted black coat.
Ready for whatever fitting, lunch, or private meeting mattered more than Vincent’s morning.
Dominic’s eyes flicked toward Tessa.
“You can go.”
Tessa looked at Vincent.
Not Dominic.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Then glanced at the pressure mattress display.
“Your left heel stays elevated.”
Dominic sighed.
“He heard you.”
Tessa turned toward him.
“I was speaking to Mr. Corvino.”
Dominic smiled without humor.
“Everybody in this house seems to forget who they work for.”
Vincent’s voice came quietly.
“She works for me.”
Dominic looked toward the bed.
A pause.
Then:
“Of course.”
Tessa left.
Vincent watched the door close.
Dominic set the folder on the bedside table.
“Harbor Point.”
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“You haven’t read it.”
“I said bring the papers. I didn’t say I’d sign them.”
Arya crossed her arms.
“This is exactly what I mean.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“You delay everything.”
Dominic sat.
“Vince, listen. The city approval window closes Friday.”
“Then show me the financials.”
“They’re in there.”
“Full ownership structure.”
Dominic hesitated.
Small.
But Vincent saw it.
“Who’s backing the purchase?”
“Three private partners.”
“Names.”
“Why does that matter?”
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Because I asked.”
Dominic exhaled.
“Rossi Capital.”
“Who else?”
“North Shore Development.”
“And?”
Dominic looked at Arya.
Vincent noticed.
“Who else?”
Arya spoke.
“A holding company.”
“Name.”
“Bellmont Ventures.”
Vincent went still.
He knew Bellmont.
Not officially.
Shell company used three years earlier by Joseph Serrano.
Serrano.
A man Vincent had thrown out of the Corvino docks after discovering he was skimming union pension contributions.
“What percentage?”
Dominic said:
“Twelve.”
“Deal’s dead.”
Arya’s face tightened.
“Vincent.”
“No.”
“You can’t reject seventy million dollars because of some old grudge.”
“It isn’t a grudge.”
He looked at Dominic.
“Serrano steals from men who earn with their backs.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“He’s not directly involved.”
“You just spent thirty seconds hiding his company name.”
Silence.
Vincent pushed the folder away.
“No signature.”
Dominic stood.
“You’re being paranoid.”
That word landed badly.
Vincent’s eyes changed.
Dominic immediately recalibrated.
“I mean cautious.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice stayed low.
“You meant incapable.”
Arya stepped closer to the bed.
“Nobody thinks that.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You won’t eat in this room.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“You stopped sleeping here after the second week.”
“This bed has medical equipment.”
“You stopped touching me after the hospital.”
“Vincent—”
“You won’t push my chair when Frank’s not around because you say people stare.”
Her eyes flashed.
“That is unfair.”
“Maybe.”
He stared.
“But don’t tell me nobody thinks I’m incapable.”
Dominic cut in.
“This isn’t about your condition.”
“Then leave the papers.”
“I need an answer.”
“You have one.”
Dominic picked up the folder.
Then Vincent said:
“Leave it.”
Dominic stopped.
“You just said no.”
“I want to read it.”
“Why?”
Vincent looked at him.
Another wrong question.
“Because it has my name on it.”
Dominic slowly put the folder back.
Then left.
Arya remained.
She looked toward the door.
Then at Vincent.
“You embarrassed him.”
“He’ll survive.”
“You can’t run everything like before.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice became quieter.
“But apparently everyone decided that means they can run it for me.”
Arya’s expression softened slightly.
Pity.
He hated pity most.
She touched the engagement ring.
“Dominic is trying to keep everything together.”
“Then he should stop selling pieces of it.”
She stared.
“Do you know how hard these months have been?”
Vincent almost laughed.
“For you?”
Her face hardened.
“Yes. For me too.”
He looked away.
That part was probably true.
Paralysis had not only happened to him.
But there were different ways to suffer.
Arya had responded by leaving the room.
Tessa responded by lifting a dead leg as if it still belonged to a man.
Arya picked up her purse.
“I’ll be back late.”
“Where?”
“Dinner.”
“With?”
“Friends.”
He looked at her.
“Dominic?”
She froze.
Only for a fraction.
“No.”
Vincent turned back to the window.
“Enjoy dinner.”
She left.
At three that afternoon, Tessa returned.
This time with his lunch.
Chicken.
Rice.
Steamed vegetables.
Vincent looked at the plate.
“Prison food.”
“Eat.”
He stared.
“You command everybody?”
“Only stubborn men with pressure-injury risk.”
She rolled his bedside table closer.
Vincent took one bite.
Then:
“Does Dominic ever come upstairs when I’m asleep?”
Tessa’s hand stopped.
“Why?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“You’re asking me to report on your family.”
“I’m asking what you’ve seen.”
Tessa looked toward the door.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tessa.”
She sighed.
“Yes.”
His grip tightened around the fork.
“When?”
“Late.”
“How often?”
“Three times that I know of.”
“Alone?”
Silence.
“Tessa.”
“With Ms. Arya.”
Vincent’s face became still.
“In this room?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Your office.”
“My office is locked.”
“I know.”
“Who opened it?”
“I assumed they had keys.”
They didn’t.
Only Vincent.
Frank.
And his accountant, Samuel Pierce.
His pulse changed.
“What were they doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Tessa looked uncomfortable.
“One night.”
“What?”
“I was bringing towels upstairs.”
“And?”
“I heard Ms. Arya say they needed something before your next neurological evaluation.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“What thing?”
“She said…”
Tessa stopped.
“Say it.”
“She said, ‘If he gets too much stronger, he’ll start asking questions again.’”
Vincent stared.
Tessa immediately added:
“I don’t know what she meant.”
He did.
Maybe.
Or feared he did.
His rehabilitation had improved recently.
Transfers.
Upper-body strength.
Wheelchair endurance.
No sensation below T12, but independence was increasing.
If Vincent could move himself—
he needed fewer people.
Needed less filtering.
Saw more.
“What else?”
Tessa shook her head.
“That’s all I heard.”
Vincent looked toward the Harbor Point folder.
Then at Tessa.
“Open the drawer.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Bottom drawer beside you.”
She opened it.
Vincent kept a phone there.
Old.
Encrypted.
Not connected to family systems.
“Give it to me.”
She did.
He called Frank.
“Boss?”
“Get upstairs.”
Five minutes later, Frank entered.
Vincent handed him the Harbor Point folder.
“Copy everything.”
Frank looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because Dominic wants my signature.”
“That’s usually why papers exist.”
“Bellmont Ventures is inside.”
Frank’s face changed.
“Serrano?”
“Yes.”
Then Vincent said:
“And I want the access logs for my office.”
Frank stared.
“Problem?”
“Maybe.”
Vincent glanced at Tessa.
“And pull camera history from the west hall.”
Arya and Dominic.
Frank’s eyes narrowed.
“Vince.”
“Do it.”
Frank nodded.
Then Tessa spoke.
“Mr. Corvino.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You have therapy in ten minutes.”
Frank almost laughed.
Vincent stared.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I’m dealing with a conspiracy.”
“And if you skip range-of-motion again, you’re dealing with contractures.”
Frank coughed into his fist.
Vincent pointed at the door.
“Get out.”
Frank left smiling.
Tessa wheeled the transfer chair closer.
“Ready?”
Vincent glared.
“No.”
“Good.”
She locked the wheels.
“We’ll start angry.”
And for the first time since the bullet entered his spine, Vincent Corvino realized something that frightened him more than his useless legs.
May you like
There were still people in his house who did not fear him.
But only one of them seemed to be on his side.
