Chapter 6 - A House Full of Ears
I stopped swallowing anything I didn't recognize.
That decision may have saved more than my recovery.
The next morning, I asked Melissa to leave every medication in its packaging until I personally approved it.
She looked uncomfortable.
“Mr. Corvino, the chart says—”
“The chart doesn't own my body.”
“No, of course not.”
“Then we're clear.”
She nodded.
Melissa wasn't the enemy.
That mattered.
Paranoia could become as dangerous as trust.
I needed facts.
Not shadows.
At ten, Arya appeared wearing cream trousers and a silk blouse.
“You didn't take your medication.”
“Which medication?”
“The new muscle relaxant.”
“How do you know?”
A fraction too late, she answered.
“Melissa told me.”
I smiled.
“Did she?”
Arya's eyes narrowed.
“You need to cooperate with your doctors.”
“I've never met the doctor who prescribed it.”
“Dr. Benton consulted on your case.”
“When?”
“At the hospital.”
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“You can't possibly remember every physician.”
“I remember everyone who touched my spine.”
Silence.
“I'm trying to help you,” she said.
“Then arrange a consultation with Dr. Benton.”
“He's busy.”
“So am I.”
“You're sitting in a wheelchair all day.”
The sentence escaped before she could stop it.
Her face immediately changed.
I stared at her.
There are moments when relationships die without ceremony.
No screaming.
No slammed doors.
No dramatic goodbye.
Just one sentence revealing something that cannot be unseen.
Arya knew it too.
“Vincent, I didn't mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
“I’m stressed.”
“So am I.”
“I've given up everything for six months.”
“What exactly did you give up?”
Her eyes filled.
And for a moment, I believed the tears.
“My life.”
The answer cut deeper than I expected.
Because once, I had believed I was part of that life.
She left without another word.
At noon, Uncle Sal arrived pretending to argue with security.
I could hear him before he reached the stairs.
“You tell that blonde lunatic I own fifteen percent of this damn company!”
Perfect.
Arya rushed into the foyer.
“What are you doing here?”
“Seeing my nephew.”
“He doesn't want visitors.”
From upstairs, I shouted:
“Get him out!”
Sal shouted back:
“Screw you!”
A security guard tried very hard not to smile.
Our performance worked beautifully.
Ten minutes later, Sal was escorted outside.
Twenty minutes after that, Melissa took me into the garden for fresh air.
We passed the western hedge.
Sal sat inside a maintenance van.
I transferred into it with help from a trusted driver who had worked for my father.
The van moved.
For the first time in six months, I left the estate without Arya knowing.
Arthur waited at an old family warehouse three miles away.
So did Tessa.
When I entered, she smiled.
“You look terrible.”
“Nice to see you too.”
“You need sunlight.”
“I've been outside twelve minutes.”
“Try twelve more.”
Arthur spread documents across a folding table.
The warehouse smelled like dust, coffee, and motor oil.
It was perfect.
No mansion cameras.
No staff.
No Arya.
“First,” Arthur said, “Dr. Benton.”
He turned a laptop toward me.
“Not a neurologist.”
“What is he?”
“A private concierge physician.”
“For whom?”
“Dominic.”
My jaw tightened.
“He prescribed medication without examining me?”
“Apparently based on records provided by Arya.”
“Legal?”
“Questionable. Possibly actionable.”
Tessa leaned over the table.
“What does the medication do?”
Arthur looked at Daniel, who stepped from behind a shelving unit.
“You invited everybody?”
Sal shrugged.
“Kid needed a team.”
Daniel took the bottle.
“At this dosage? Sedation, muscle weakness, dizziness. Not necessarily dangerous by itself, but it could make therapy harder and motor testing less reliable.”
“Could it hide improvement?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not proof of intent.
But another piece.
Arthur opened another folder.
“Now Northstar.”
Bank records weren't available.
Corporate filings were.
Enough to establish beneficial ownership.
Arya thirty percent.
Dominic seventy.
But the bigger discovery was a loan agreement filed as collateral in Delaware.
Marlowe Capital had lent Northstar forty million dollars.
The loan matured in nineteen days.
If Pier Seven wasn't acquired, Dominic faced crushing penalties and loss of pledged assets.
“How much is he exposed?” I asked.
“Potentially everything,” Arthur said.
“Personal property?”
“Yes.”
“Company shares?”
“Yes.”
Sal whistled.
“So our boy got greedy.”
“Looks that way.”
I studied the document.
Dominic had always been ambitious.
But he had also been patient.
What had changed?
“Why would he borrow forty million before knowing he could buy Pier Seven?”
Arthur answered quietly.
“Maybe he thought he already knew.”
The room fell silent.
Tessa said what everyone was thinking.
“Before Vincent was shot?”
Arthur nodded.
“The loan was signed three weeks before the shooting.”
Cold moved through me.
Three weeks.
Not months.
Three weeks.
I looked at Sal.
He had gone pale.
“Vincent…”
“No.”
“You need police.”
“We need proof.”
“This is proof of fraud.”
“Not the shooting.”
“Maybe that's enough.”
“To arrest him for what? Taking a loan?”
Sal slammed his palm onto the table.
“Stop acting like your father.”
“That's impossible. He had better hair.”
No one laughed.
I leaned back.
“What about the forged signature?”
Arthur opened another document.
“Your firm's internal archive shows the original unsigned draft was accessed digitally four months before the shooting.”
“By whom?”
He hesitated.
“Credentials assigned to Dominic's executive assistant.”
“Who?”
“Lena Ortiz.”
I knew Lena.
Thirty-five.
Efficient.
Worked for Dominic seven years.
“Did you talk to her?”
“She resigned after your shooting.”
“When?”
“Twelve days later.”
“Where is she?”
“We don't know.”
That bothered me.
“Find her.”
“Already trying.”
Tessa raised her hand slightly.
“What about cameras?”
We looked at her.
“The mansion office.”
She placed a small sheet of paper on the table.
“I checked before they removed me.”
There were three camera locations sketched roughly.
“One outside the study. One facing the main hallway. One inside the office near the bookshelf.”
Sal stared at her.
“You memorized all that?”
“I had a boring childhood.”
I looked at the diagram.
“Who has access to recordings?”
“Security director.”
“Frank?”
“Yes.”
Frank Delaney had worked for us nine years.
Former state police.
I trusted him.
Which no longer meant anything.
“Sal, find out whether Frank is loyal to me or Dominic.”
“How?”
“Don't ask him.”
“Helpful.”
“Check payroll. Bonuses. Debts. Anything unusual.”
Arthur frowned.
“This is becoming a private investigation.”
“It became one when someone forged my name.”
Tessa looked at me.
“You're enjoying being back in control.”
The accusation landed.
Because it was partly true.
For months, every choice had been made for me.
When to wake.
When to bathe.
When to exercise.
Where to sit.
What appointment to attend.
Who could visit.
Now I was making decisions again.
It felt intoxicating.
That was dangerous too.
“I want the truth,” I said.
Tessa held my gaze.
“Make sure that's what you keep wanting.”
I understood.
Not revenge.
Truth.
We returned to the mansion separately.
I arrived through the rear service entrance during a scheduled generator inspection.
Arya never knew I left.
That evening, she sat beside me.
“I don't want us fighting.”
“Neither do I.”
She took my hand.
“I'm sorry about what I said.”
I looked at her fingers wrapped around mine.
I remembered buying her engagement ring.
The day she met my mother.
Christmas mornings.
Vacations.
Normal memories contaminated by new knowledge.
“Do you still want to marry me?” she asked.
I forced myself to answer.
“Yes.”
Relief flooded her face.
“Good.”
She kissed me.
I kissed her back.
And hated myself for how convincing I was becoming.
At midnight, my bedroom door opened.
Not Arya.
Frank Delaney entered.
Security director.
Large.
Gray at the temples.
He closed the door.
“Mr. Corvino.”
“Frank.”
“I need thirty seconds.”
I waited.
He walked to the wall television.
Reached behind it.
Pulled out a device the size of a coin.
My stomach tightened.
“What is that?”
“Microphone.”
The room went silent.
“Whose?”
“I don't know.”
“Where?”
“Behind your television.”
“When was it installed?”
“I found it tonight.”
I stared at him.
“Why were you looking?”
“Because your uncle called me a traitor this afternoon.”
Sal.
Clever bastard.
Frank placed the device on the table.
“There are two more.”
“Where?”
“Your study and private sitting room.”
I thought of every conversation.
Every phone call.
Every whispered plan.
“Who has access?”
“We're tracing it.”
“Does Dominic know you found them?”
“No.”
“Arya?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
Frank nodded.
Then hesitated.
“There is something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“The security archive from the night you were shot.”
My heart stopped.
“What about it?”
“A section was deleted.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“By whom?”
He looked me directly in the eyes.
“Someone using Dominic Russo's administrator credentials.”
Suddenly the mansion felt less like my home than a crime scene.
And somewhere inside it, the people who thought I was helpless were listening.
May you like
What they didn't know was that I had finally started listening back.
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