Chapter 4 - The Night the House Turned Against Her
The fire wasn't large.
That was the first thing that frightened me.
It had been designed to create panic, not destroy the estate.
Victor and two guards evacuated Massimo through the service elevator while I followed.
The smoke originated from a storage room.
By the time the private fire crew arrived, it was already contained.
Nothing valuable had burned.
Except the security server.
The footage identifying Lorenzo's watch disappeared.
Massimo watched firefighters carry ruined equipment outside.
“Coincidence?” I asked.
“No.”
Lorenzo arrived forty minutes later.
It was the first time I met him.
He looked enough like Massimo that the relationship was obvious.
Same dark hair.
Same strong features.
But Lorenzo smiled easily.
That made him more unsettling.
He embraced his brother.
“I came as soon as Victor called.”
Massimo didn't return the embrace.
“Where were you?”
“Dinner.”
“With?”
Lorenzo stepped back.
“What is this?”
Massimo held his gaze.
“An opportunity to answer.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“So this is the famous therapist.”
“I'm not famous.”
“You are in this house.”
His smile lingered.
“Three nurses run away, and then a twenty-seven-year-old graduate student somehow gets my brother cooperating.”
I disliked him instantly.
“Maybe they asked him too nicely.”
Lorenzo laughed.
Massimo didn't.
The investigation began privately.
Then, two mornings later, Massimo collapsed during therapy.
His blood pressure dropped.
His skin turned pale.
His speech slowed.
I called emergency services while Victor summoned the estate physician.
The medication bottle beside Massimo contained twice the prescribed concentration.
I hadn't prepared it.
But my initials were on the administration sheet.
Someone had forged them.
At the hospital, Massimo stabilized.
Back at the estate, Lorenzo was waiting.
So were two lawyers.
“This arrangement is finished,” Lorenzo said.
I looked at Massimo.
He sat silently.
Lorenzo continued.
“You administered the medication.”
“No.”
“Your initials are there.”
“Forged.”
“Convenient.”
Camila stepped between us.
“My client will not answer further questions without—”
“Your client nearly killed my brother.”
I ignored Lorenzo.
“Massimo.”
He looked at me.
“Do you believe I did this?”
The room became silent.
He had one decision to make.
Not as a boss.
As my patient.
Massimo looked at the medication sheet.
Then at me.
“No.”
Lorenzo's face tightened.
“You can't be serious.”
Massimo wheeled forward.
“She noticed the first substitution.”
“She could have staged it.”
“She saved my life today.”
“After poisoning you.”
Massimo's voice dropped.
“If Tessa wanted me dead, she'd have let me destroy myself during the first week.”
I almost smiled despite everything.
Lorenzo didn't.
“This woman has been here less than a month.”
“And I trust her more than I trust whoever altered my medication.”
The words landed hard.
Especially on Lorenzo.
He left.
That night, I packed.
Massimo found me putting clothes into my suitcase.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“I told Lorenzo you're staying.”
“You don't get to decide that.”
His jaw tightened.
“Someone forged my initials.”
“I know.”
“Someone entered my room. Someone stole evidence from my medical case. Someone is sabotaging your recovery.”
“I know.”
“And you're surprised I don't want to sleep down the hall?”
Silence.
“I can protect you.”
“That isn't the point.”
“Then what is?”
I zipped my suitcase.
“I came here as a therapist, Massimo. Not as a hostage protected by armed men.”
His expression changed.
“I would never keep you here.”
“I know.”
That mattered.
More than I wanted it to.
He moved closer.
“Stay until morning.”
“Why?”
“Camila found something.”
We returned to the study.
Camila had recovered archived emails from Massimo's corporate counsel.
One was dated three weeks before the crash.
Massimo had instructed his lawyers to restructure the Pascale companies.
Lorenzo would lose operational control.
Another document changed everything.
A life insurance policy?
No.
A voting trust.
If Massimo became permanently incapacitated, Lorenzo gained control.
But if Massimo recovered sufficient physical and cognitive capacity, authority automatically returned to him.
The sabotage made sense.
Someone didn't need Massimo dead.
They needed him disabled.
Camila placed another page on the desk.
“This was filed two days after the accident.”
A medical petition requesting permanent incapacity status.
Signed by Lorenzo Pascale.
Massimo stared at his brother's signature.
Then he whispered, “He knew.”
“Knew what?” I asked.
“That I might recover.”
His hands tightened.
“And he couldn't afford to let that happen.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed me leaving the rehabilitation clinic six months earlier.
Before I had ever heard Massimo Pascale's name.
Below it:
YOU WERE CHOSEN BEFORE THE ACCIDENT.
I looked at Camila.
Then Massimo.
Because suddenly Lorenzo wasn't the only person I needed to question.
May you like
Camila was.
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