Chương 5
“You approved that?”
“You approved the governance document seven years ago.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I advised against several amendments after your accident.”
“Did Isabella make them?”
“She proposed them.”
“And I approved?”
Rebecca’s silence lengthened.
Dante’s chest tightened.
“What?”
“Your electronic signature approved two.”
“I didn’t sign anything.”
Rebecca set the tablet down.
Marcus moved closer.
Elena, who had remained near the window, turned away slightly. Medical curiosity had taken her into a family and corporate disaster she clearly did not want to inhabit.
Rebecca spoke carefully.
“One was executed through your secure signature account.”
“I haven’t used that account since the accident.”
“Someone did.”
Dante’s hand tightened around the blanket.
The anger arrived cleanly now.
Almost a relief.
Anger was familiar.
He knew what to do with it.
“Freeze everything.”
Rebecca shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“I own the company.”
“You control a large portion of it. That is not the same thing, especially while the incapacity certification is active.”
“Then remove it.”
“You need doctors.”
He looked at Elena.
She shook her head immediately.
“No.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were about to.”
“Can you certify me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I met you two weeks ago and examined your leg in a penthouse after a fundraiser.”
Rebecca’s mouth twitched.
Dante noticed.
“Something funny?”
“Not even slightly.”
“It looked like it.”
“It was the sentence.”
“Rebecca.”
She lifted both hands.
“Nothing. Continue.”
Elena stepped closer to the bed.
“Your physical impairment and your cognitive capacity are separate questions. If the corporate document says executive incapacity, your attorney needs to determine what standards apply.”
Rebecca nodded.
“That part I can handle.”
Dante looked between them.
“How long?”
Rebecca did not answer quickly enough.
His temper rose.
“How long?”
“Longer than this morning.”
He pushed the blanket away.
“Then start.”
The movement jarred his left leg.
His foot shifted.
Everyone saw it.
No one spoke.
Dante looked down.
For the first time since the night began, hope entered the room.
He hated it immediately.
Hope was dangerous.
Suspicion expected disappointment.
Hope offered something that could be taken away twice.
He pulled the blanket back over his legs.
“Start,” he repeated.
The hospital kept him for two days.
The laboratory analysis of the pill did not produce the clean answer Dante wanted.
It produced something worse.
The capsule contained baclofen, a muscle relaxant he had been prescribed years earlier, and clonazepam, which did not appear on his current medication list. The amount in the capsule was higher than the charted evening dose of either drug should have produced.
His blood levels suggested repeated exposure.
Not lethal.
Not enough to create paralysis by itself.
Enough, according to Dr. Shah, to contribute to sedation, weakness, impaired coordination, reduced muscle tone, and the fog Dante had treated as part of his injury.
The finding did not prove Isabella had done anything.
Bellweather Compounding could have made an error.
Dr. Hale could have changed the prescription without updating the chart.
A nurse could have substituted the wrong capsule.
There were too many possibilities.
Dante despised possibilities.
He liked facts that could be put on a table and made to stay there.
On the second afternoon, Isabella came to the hospital.
She wore gray slacks, a cream sweater, and no jewelry except her wedding ring.
She looked younger without the diamonds.
More tired too.
Marcus stayed outside.
Elena had gone home to sleep.
Dante and Isabella faced each other alone.
She did not kiss him.
That felt more significant than it should have.
“I talked to Rebecca,” she said.
“I assumed you would.”
“She told me you’re questioning the company documents.”
“I’m questioning everything.”
“I figured.”
She sat in the chair beside the window.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Traffic moved far below.
A helicopter crossed the river.
Isabella pulled at a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater and finally broke it off.
Dante watched her.
“You knew.”
“About what?”
“My leg.”
“No.”
“You knew something.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
The answer struck harder because it came without resistance.
“What?”
“That Hale had increased the medication.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why isn’t it on the chart?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bad start.”
“I’m not trying to give you a good start.”
He leaned back.
“Then give me the truth.”
She rubbed the broken thread between two fingers.
“You were having episodes.”
“What episodes?”
“Pain. Spasms. Agitation.”
“I don’t remember spasms.”
“You don’t remember a lot from that period.”
“Because you were drugging me?”
Her eyes flashed.
“Because you were taking seven different medications, barely sleeping, drinking whiskey with them, firing nurses, refusing therapy, and throwing things whenever someone told you no.”
Dante stared at her.
She looked away.
The accusations were not all false.
That was inconvenient.
After the crash, there had been months when he measured his life by humiliation. Catheters. Bowel programs. Pressure checks. People asking permission before touching him while touching him anyway.
He had learned quickly that money could buy privacy but not dignity.
He had also learned that whiskey made the evenings shorter.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“No. I’m telling you why Hale changed the dosage.”
“Did you ask him to?”
“Yes.”
Dante’s breathing slowed.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
“Several.”
“What does several mean?”
“I don’t know, Dante. Three. Four.”
“Ten?”
“No.”
“Twenty?”
“No.”
“Did you ever ask him to keep me weak?”
Her head came up.
“No.”
“To keep me in the chair?”
“No.”
“To keep me from therapy?”
“I asked him to stop therapists from forcing you when you were screaming at them.”
“I wasn’t screaming.”
“You threw a lamp.”
“That was once.”
“You broke a nurse’s wrist.”
The room went still.
Dante looked at her.
“I knocked a tray.”
“You knocked a tray into her. She fell.”
He remembered a crash.
A woman crying.
Marcus restraining him.
He had not remembered the wrist.
May you like
Isabella’s eyes were wet now, but she did not cry.
“You want to make these three years clean,” she said. “They weren’t.”
