Chapter 5 - The Favor
Tessa didn't scream, threaten, or try to run. She took one slow step backward until the security camera above the garage pointed directly at her face and the stranger's.
“Tell Dominic,” she said, “if he has a question about Vincent's care, he can put it in writing through the agency.”
The man's smile vanished. “You think cameras mean something here?”
“I think they mean something to my lawyer.”
He looked up, then walked away. She stayed where she was until he reached the service gate. Only when he disappeared did she realize she had been holding her keys so tightly they'd left small crescents in her palm.
Vincent's house manager, an older woman named Mrs. Alvarez, was coming down the service stairs when Tessa hurried back inside. She listened to the account without interrupting.
“I've worked here eighteen years,” Mrs. Alvarez said finally. “I've watched men mistake this house for a place where the rules don't apply. Don't make that mistake yourself.”
Tessa was uncertain whether it was a warning or support until the woman retrieved a copy of the driveway security recording and handed it to her.
“Take this to your lawyer. Then tell Mr. Corvino his dinner is getting cold.”
At the hospital that night, Ellie took one look at her sister and switched off the television.
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I need you to stay with Aunt Rosa for a few days.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody involved with my client has decided to act like he owns the entire city.”
Ellie stared at her. “You work for the actual mob?”
“I work for a man recovering from an injury.”
“Both things can be true, Tess.”
They sat together until the oncology nurse came to check Ellie's temperature. Ellie was frightened, but she insisted on hearing the whole story, not an edited version designed to make her feel like a child. When Tessa finished, her sister squeezed her hand.
“Don't help that man because you feel sorry for him,” Ellie said. “Help him only if he helps you stay safe.”
The distinction followed Tessa back to the estate.
Vincent listened to the account of the stranger without once interrupting. Then he made two calls: one to Daniel and one to Salvatore. He offered to pay for a security arrangement that Tessa could choose and direct herself.
“I won't have somebody watching my sister without her permission,” she said.
“Then ask her. And if she refuses, we find another plan.”
She'd expected orders. Being given a choice disarmed her more completely than any expensive gesture could have.
Their investigation advanced the following Tuesday. Daniel delivered copies of the forged delegation papers. A handwriting specialist would need to examine the signatures, but even Tessa could see something wrong. Vincent's name sprawled across the final page in the large, flourished style he'd used before the shooting. Daniel's medical records placed him unconscious when the document was supposedly signed.
More troubling was the witness: Arya Bellini.
“Perhaps she didn't know,” Tessa offered, though she didn't believe it.
Vincent's response was gentle and devastating. “When I woke up after surgery, I asked her whether I was dying. She said she'd never lie to me.”
He set the paper down as if it weighed too much to hold.
Salvatore arrived that evening with a bodyguard Vincent recognized from childhood and a small bag of oranges from their old neighborhood. He stopped just inside the study, seeing Vincent in person for the first time since the shooting.
Vincent waited for the awkward pause. It didn't come.
“You look terrible,” Salvatore announced. “The beard makes you look like a philosophical goat.”
“You're fatter.”
“I'm prosperous. There's a difference.”
They embraced carefully. Tessa quietly excused herself, but Vincent caught her eye before she reached the door. His gratitude was so naked that she looked away to give him privacy.
An hour later, Salvatore asked Tessa to return. There was something she needed to know, he said, because she'd already put herself at risk.
“Arya and Dominic have been meeting at a hotel in Midtown. Several times. People assumed family business. I don't.”
Vincent looked at the photographs Salvatore laid on the desk. Arya wore the red coat he'd bought her for Christmas. In one image Dominic kissed her at the hotel entrance.
For a long moment nobody spoke.
“I wanted her to be happy,” Vincent said finally. “Even after everything. I just didn't realize she'd decided happiness required me to disappear.”
Tessa stepped forward instinctively, then stopped. Comfort wasn't a debt he owed her or a service she was paid to provide. He looked up, saw her hesitation, and extended his hand. She took it.
“You don't have to find a speech,” he said.
“Good. I'd probably swear.”
He gave a short, broken laugh.
As the mansion settled for the night, Vincent asked Mrs. Alvarez whether Arya had ever interviewed the workers personally. The older woman told him Arya had gradually replaced most of the staff who'd known his family before the shooting, claiming that unfamiliar faces would give him privacy. Two employees had quit after being asked to report what Vincent said during medical appointments. Others had kept their jobs and their silence because they needed the income. Mrs. Alvarez admitted that she'd recognized something wrong too late and had been ashamed to confront it without evidence.
“You kept the house functioning,” Vincent said. “Now help me make it a place where nobody has to choose between speaking up and paying the rent.”
They discussed a confidential reporting channel independent of the family office and the immediate need to protect workers who might become witnesses. Vincent couldn't undo every demand he'd ignored in the past, but he could begin by listening to the people who knew where his home had developed cracks.
At midnight Daniel called again. He'd found a withdrawal from Vincent's personal account made during his hospital stay. It wasn't a small transfer. It was the first installment of a larger sum routed through the harbor development.
“Where did it go?” Vincent asked.
“To a security contractor,” Daniel said. “But there's something else. The payment instructions were sent from an account registered in Arya's maiden name.”
Vincent stared at the photographs. His cousin's betrayal explained greed. Arya's involvement suggested something colder.
May you like
He'd believed he knew which of them was the follower.
Now he wasn't sure.
