Chương 10
Hale looked as though he had bitten into glass.
He turned away.
“I didn’t mean—”
“What happens after the wedding?”
“I don’t know.”
“You altered my treatment.”
“I followed instructions.”
“Whose?”
Silence.
Massimo waited.
Hale’s shoulders sagged.
“You think he saved you,” the doctor whispered. “That is the only reason any of this worked.”
The sentence carried more weight than confession.
“Call him,” Massimo said.
Hale rubbed his face.
“He’ll hear it in my voice.”
“Then be afraid. It will sound natural.”
Hale picked up the phone.
Dean answered quickly.
“Julian?”
“There’s a problem.”
“What kind?”
“One of the tablets. The compounded ones. One was found.”
A pause.
“By whom?”
“The housekeeper’s child.”
“She’s gone.”
“I know, but she gave it to him first.”
Another pause, longer.
Dean’s voice changed.
“Does he know what it is?”
“He asked about the dispensary.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That it was for spasms.”
“Did he believe you?”
Hale looked at Massimo.
“I don’t know.”
“You never know. That is your most consistent quality.”
Hale shut his eyes.
Dean continued.
“Give him the evening dose early.”
“That could be dangerous.”
“That is the point of dosage, Julian. Too little is useless. Too much is noticeable. You have managed the line for six months.”
Hale’s face went gray.
Massimo did not move.
“Saturday remains cleaner,” Hale said.
“Then make sure he reaches Saturday without becoming curious.”
The call ended.
Hale lowered the phone.
“You recorded that.”
Massimo did not answer.
Hale stumbled toward the door.
“If Dean finds out—”
“He will kill you?”
“He will kill my son.”
Massimo had not known Hale had a son.
“Where is he?”
“Boston. Medical school.”
“Does Dean have access to him?”
“He sent photographs. His apartment. His hospital rotation.”
Fear could be genuine without innocence.
Hale sat again.
“I made one mistake,” he said. “Three years ago. A patient died under anesthesia. The hospital review cleared me, but I had falsified part of the chart afterward. Dean found out. He said he could make it disappear.”
“So you poisoned me.”
“I adjusted medication. I delayed therapy. You were already injured.”
“You told me I would never walk.”
“I believed it at first.”
“And later?”
Hale looked at Massimo’s foot.
“Later I stopped asking.”
The honesty was ugly enough to be true.
Massimo wanted to kill him.
The desire arrived cleanly. No speech. No rage. Just the image of Hale’s body on the carpet and the relief that might follow.
Then Nina’s voice returned.
Angry doesn’t get to be mean.
A child’s rule did not fit the world Massimo had built. Perhaps that was why it hurt.
“You will contact Agent Brooks,” he said.
Hale stared.
“You will provide records, testify, and help prepare a harmless substitute for whatever Dean expects you to give me Saturday.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“He will know.”
“Yes.”
Hale began to shake.
Massimo pushed the phone toward him again.
“This is the part where you decide whether fear made you someone else, or whether it only revealed you.”
Hale’s mouth opened, but no answer came.
The plan changed before sunset.
Dean canceled outside security contractors and replaced them with men loyal to him. He moved the ceremony from the garden to the ballroom, citing rain despite a clear forecast. He ordered the cellular signal jammer tested. He asked for Massimo’s wheelchair battery to be replaced, then had the old one taken away.
Sal found a tracking device beneath the chair.
“He knows you’re talking to someone,” Sal said.
“Not who.”
“Maybe not.”
They met with Brooks through an encrypted video link routed from a bakery delivery tablet Sal had hidden in the tunnel. Brooks appeared in a plain conference room with two prosecutors whose names Massimo did not retain.
They explained cooperation terms carefully and without promises. Massimo would surrender documents, accounts, communications, and testimony. The government would consider his assistance. Protection for Carla and Nina could be arranged if the threat were substantiated. Nothing guaranteed Massimo’s freedom.
“After Saturday,” one prosecutor said, “assuming you survive, you will enter federal custody.”
Massimo looked at Sal.
Sal stared at the wall.
“Agreed,” Massimo said.
Brooks leaned closer to the screen.
“You need to say it with counsel present.”
“My counsel reports to Dean.”
“We can provide independent counsel.”
“Then provide one.”
The prosecutor shuffled papers.
“There is another issue. We cannot authorize you to participate in a staged poisoning without medical oversight.”
“Hale will substitute saline.”
“If Foster administers something else?”
“Then you arrest him before he does.”
“We may not have tactical access. Your estate is secured, armed, and filled with civilians.”
“I can open the gates.”
“How?”
“The security system has a manual release in the basement operations room.”
“Controlled by Foster’s men.”
“Yes.”
Brooks’s expression hardened.
“You are not twenty-five and invincible. You are recovering from a spinal injury. This cannot become a revenge performance where you stand up at the dramatic moment and start shooting.”
Sal looked at Massimo.
Massimo ignored him.
“I had not planned that.”
Brooks did not believe him.
Neither did Sal.
Camille came to the library after midnight.
She wore a robe over her nightdress and carried no phone. Massimo had seen her without makeup many times, but never without preparation. Her face looked younger and more tired.
She shut the door.
“The bracelet was never missing.”
Massimo kept reading.
“You found it?”
“In the laundry cart.”
“Then Carla was careless.”
“She did not take it.”
He turned a page.
Camille crossed the room and pulled the book from his hands.
“I know what you are doing.”
“Do you?”
“You sent her away because of Nina.”
Massimo looked up.
“What did Nina see?”
Camille’s eyes moved toward his legs.
“You can feel them.”
He did not answer.
She sat on the edge of the sofa. Her hands twisted together once, then separated.
“Dean said you might be exaggerating your recovery to stop the trust.”
“What recovery?”
May you like
“Don’t.”
Her voice broke on the word, surprising them both.
