Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT ARYA FORGOT THE CAMERA
Frank returned after midnight.
Vincent was awake.
He slept badly now.
Pain above the injury.
Muscle spasms.
Nightmares of standing up only to discover his legs stayed behind.
Frank closed the bedroom door.
“Camera logs were altered.”
Vincent’s expression didn’t change.
“By who?”
“System administrator account.”
“Whose?”
“Dominic has one.”
“Anyone else?”
“Me. Security office. IT director.”
“Check physical access.”
“Already did.”
Frank placed a tablet in Vincent’s hands.
The west hallway camera had gone offline four times in six weeks.
Each period:
Between 1:00 and 3:00 a.m.
Each lasted less than twenty minutes.
On one night, a backup elevator camera remained active.
Dominic.
Arya.
Entering Vincent’s office.
Together.
At 1:43 a.m.
Leaving seventeen minutes later.
Arya carried a folder she had not entered with.
Vincent watched twice.
“Zoom.”
Frank did.
Black folder.
Gold corner tabs.
Vincent recognized it.
“The red portfolio.”
Frank looked at him.
“What’s in that?”
“My private ownership documents.”
“Which?”
“Corvino Maritime voting shares.”
Frank swore.
Vincent controlled forty-one percent directly.
Several cousins held smaller blocks.
But the red portfolio contained signed proxy agreements that allowed Vincent to consolidate control during major votes.
Without them—
Dominic could potentially build his own coalition.
“Did she take originals?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent looked toward his office.
“Get them.”
Frank returned ten minutes later.
Empty-handed.
“Gone.”
Vincent felt anger move through him like heat.
No place for it to go.
He used to pace when furious.
Now his legs lay beneath blankets.
Tessa had once told him:
“Your body changed. Anger didn’t.”
She was right.
“Dominic.”
Frank nodded.
“Probably.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“No.”
“What?”
“Not probably.”
He looked at Frank.
“Evidence.”
Frank almost smiled.
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“I sound like a man everybody thinks is dead.”
The next morning, Vincent said nothing to Arya.
She came in wearing workout clothes.
Kissed the air near his cheek.
Didn’t touch skin.
“Morning.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You sleep well?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Last night.”
“My room.”
She had moved into a guest suite months ago.
“Alone?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What is this?”
“Conversation.”
“No, this is interrogation.”
He smiled faintly.
“Then you still remember me.”
Arya crossed her arms.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Letting your condition turn you suspicious of everyone.”
There it was again.
Condition.
As if paralysis infected judgment.
Vincent said:
“Bring me the red portfolio.”
She froze.
Not long.
Enough.
“What portfolio?”
He almost smiled.
Bad lie.
“My office.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine.”
He turned toward the window.
“You can go.”
Arya stared.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
She left too fast.
Frank, listening through a concealed earpiece, called immediately.
“That was ugly.”
“Tail her.”
“She’ll notice.”
“Then be better.”
Tessa arrived thirty minutes later with a basin.
She studied Vincent’s face.
“You look homicidal.”
“Medical term?”
“No.”
She pulled the curtains open.
He looked away.
“Tessa.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever stolen anything?”
She stopped.
“That’s a strange question.”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“Groceries.”
He blinked.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why?”
“My sister needed medication. Rent was due. I had twenty dollars.”
She shrugged.
“I stole chicken and cereal.”
Vincent stared.
“Why tell me?”
“You asked.”
“Most people lie when the truth makes them look bad.”
Tessa began arranging towels.
“Most people are exhausting.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Then:
“Would you steal from me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d know.”
That surprised a laugh out of him.
Tessa looked pleased.
“Also because it’s wrong.”
“Nice recovery.”
She rolled him slightly to inspect skin along his hip.
No redness.
Good.
Vincent said:
“My fiancée stole documents.”
Tessa’s hands stopped.
“You know that?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Find out why.”
“Not hurt her?”
He looked at her.
Tessa held his gaze.
She knew what he was.
Not newspaper businessman.
Not sanitized myth.
Mafia boss.
“I don’t know.”
Her expression cooled.
“Then maybe find out why before you decide.”
Vincent almost snapped.
Then stopped.
It was essentially what Isabella used to say.
Facts first.
Funerals later.
“You sound like my dead wife.”
Tessa resumed working.
“That seems inconvenient for both of us.”
Vincent smiled despite himself.
By afternoon, Frank had information.
Arya met Dominic.
Not secretly.
At a Midtown restaurant owned by Dominic’s friend.
Then afterward—
they drove separately to an office in Jersey City.
Bellmont Ventures.
Serrano’s company.
Frank showed photographs.
Arya entering first.
Dominic five minutes later.
Joseph Serrano thirty minutes later.
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“They’re selling Harbor Point without me.”
“Looks like they’re trying.”
“Why need my proxy documents?”
“To force board approval?”
“Maybe.”
Frank continued.
“There’s more.”
Always.
“Your rehabilitation physician.”
Vincent looked up.
“Dr. Lemmon?”
“Dominic met him twice.”
“When?”
“Past month.”
Vincent went still.
“Why?”
“Unknown.”
“Check payments.”
Frank nodded.
Then Tessa entered carrying clean linens.
Frank stopped speaking.
Vincent said:
“Stay.”
Tessa frowned.
“I’m changing sheets.”
“Do that.”
Frank looked at Vincent.
Then Tessa.
“Boss.”
“Say it.”
Frank exhaled.
“Dominic’s company paid Lemmon’s consulting firm fifty thousand dollars.”
Tessa stopped.
Vincent stared.
“For what?”
“Medical advisory.”
“I never approved that.”
“No.”
Tessa looked troubled.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Tessa.”
“Dr. Lemmon changed your therapy schedule last month.”
“Yes.”
“Reduced standing-frame sessions.”
Frank frowned.
“Standing frame?”
Tessa explained.
“Helps circulation, bone health, pressure management. Mr. Corvino tolerated it well.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You argued with him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he said your blood pressure was too unstable.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
Frank’s face darkened.
Tessa continued.
“He also changed your muscle-relaxant dose.”
Vincent stared.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What does that do?”
“Can increase sedation.”
Vincent thought of afternoons lost.
Fog.
Head heavy.
Struggling to focus on documents.
He had assumed depression.
Medication.
Recovery.
“What dose?”
Tessa told Frank.
Vincent said:
“Was it medically necessary?”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Your opinion.”
“No.”
That was enough.
Frank swore.
Vincent’s chest tightened.
“They weren’t waiting for me to stay paralyzed.”
He looked at Frank.
“They were making sure I stayed foggy.”
Tessa’s face changed.
“Don’t jump there yet.”
Vincent turned.
“They paid my doctor.”
“Yes.”
“Medication increased.”
“Yes.”
“My business documents disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“They’re dealing with Serrano.”
“Yes.”
“And I should assume coincidence?”
“No.”
Tessa’s voice stayed calm.
“I said don’t jump yet.”
Vincent stared.
She continued.
“Get another doctor.”
That simple.
Independent medical review happened the next morning.
Dr. Nina Patel.
Rehabilitation specialist from NYU.
No Corvino connection.
No family money.
She reviewed medications.
Blood-pressure charts.
Therapy notes.
Her expression became increasingly concerned.
“Your baclofen increase was aggressive.”
Vincent asked:
“Dangerous?”
“Not necessarily, but the documentation doesn’t justify it.”
“And the standing frame?”
“I see no reason it was discontinued.”
“Could this slow rehabilitation?”
“It could reduce conditioning and independence.”
Vincent felt cold.
“Can medication make me mentally slower?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to affect business judgment?”
“At high doses with other sedatives, potentially.”
Dr. Patel looked directly at him.
“Mr. Corvino, has someone been making decisions for you while you felt sedated?”
Vincent thought of Dominic.
Arya.
Harbor Point.
“Yes.”
Dr. Patel’s expression hardened.
“Then we correct this medically and document everything.”
Vincent almost laughed.
Another person who wanted evidence instead of vengeance.
Tessa stood by the window.
Watching.
When the doctor left, Vincent said:
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You suspected.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tessa looked at him.
“I did.”
“What?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Vincent frowned.
“You complained I was being insubordinate.”
He remembered.
Tessa saying:
You’re sleeping too much after noon medication.
Vincent answering:
I pay doctors to think about dosage.
She had gone silent.
He felt ashamed.
“You were right.”
Tessa nodded.
“That happens.”
No satisfaction.
No punishment.
Just fact.
Vincent looked at her.
“Why didn’t you quit?”
She adjusted his blanket.
“Because people who can’t move easily shouldn’t be left alone with people making them weaker.”
Vincent’s throat tightened.
Tessa realized what she had said and looked away.
Then:
“And I need the money.”
He smiled.
“There she is.”
That evening, Frank entered carrying a sealed envelope.
“Dr. Lemmon resigned.”
Vincent laughed.
“Fast.”
“Too fast.”
“What else?”
“Security found a second set of medication records.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Whose?”
“Arya’s private assistant kept them.”
“Why?”
“Because Arya was receiving copies.”
Tessa went still.
Vincent’s chest turned to ice.
May you like
Arya wasn’t merely ignoring him.
She had been monitoring exactly how sedated he was.
