Chương 8
“I think the medication and the care decisions need investigation. I think someone may have failed you badly. I also think your injury was real.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
“You’re starting to behave like the wheelchair was a trick.”
Dante’s hand rested on the black armrest.
For three years, this chair had been the most hated object in his life.
Custom leather.
Carbon fiber.
Silently engineered bearings.
It had cost more than the first car he bought after becoming a millionaire.
He had once ordered Marcus to throw an earlier chair off the balcony.
Marcus had refused.
Dante had not spoken to him for two days.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“If somebody took months from me—”
“We don’t know.”
“If.”
She waited.
His voice lowered.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared.
She shrugged.
“I’m not going to hand you a wise answer because I have a medical degree.”
“You’re bad at comforting people.”
“I know.”
“That might be why I like you.”
She gave him a look.
“I’m also not sleeping with you.”
He blinked.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“You were developing a tone.”
Dante laughed.
It surprised him enough that he stopped.
Elena stood.
“Good. Now stop flirting and move your leg.”
Noah returned a minute later.
Dante hated both of them by lunch.
He came back the next day anyway.
Rebecca’s forensic review of the company took three weeks.
The first surprise was that Isabella had not stolen eight million dollars in the simple way Dante expected.
The money had moved into an entity she controlled, but much of it had then been used to cover obligations Dante’s holding company had refused to address during the first year after his injury: private nursing, security restructuring, debt service on a troubled property, legal expenses, and emergency capital for a hotel project that might otherwise have defaulted.
Some payments were legitimate.
Some were questionable.
Two million remained unaccounted for.
Dante sat across from Rebecca in the library while she explained.
“So she stole two.”
“I said unaccounted for.”
“Same language rich people use before handcuffs.”
“It is absolutely not the same.”
“Where did it go?”
“We’re tracing it.”
“What about my signature?”
“Used eleven times.”
His eyes lifted.
“Eleven?”
“Four documents appear administrative. Three related to committee authority. Two approved transfers. One amended the company’s internal reporting requirements.”
“And the last?”
Rebecca hesitated.
Dante hated when people around him developed that habit.
“The last authorized a payment agreement with Hale Medical Consulting.”
“How much?”
“Six hundred thousand dollars over two years.”
The room went silent.
Marcus stood by the door.
Dante looked toward him.
“The envelope.”
Marcus nodded once.
Rebecca continued.
“The company paid Hale for executive wellness consulting.”
Dante laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“I never met him for executive wellness.”
“I know.”
“What did he do for six hundred thousand?”
“We don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“We are.”
“Faster.”
Rebecca shut her tablet.
“You keep saying that like there’s a speed setting.”
“There is. It’s called billing me more.”
“That isn’t how subpoenas work.”
“Then make it how subpoenas work.”
“No.”
Dante stared at her.
Rebecca stood.
“You know something? This thing where everyone used to jump because you were angry? It was probably terrible for you.”
He glanced at Marcus.
“Is there a meeting I wasn’t invited to?”
Marcus looked innocent.
Rebecca walked toward the door.
“Your world is full of people who learned to manage you instead of telling you no.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
She stopped.
“That may be part of how this happened.”
Then she left.
Dante said nothing for nearly a minute.
Marcus finally cleared his throat.
“She’s not wrong.”
“Get out.”
Marcus left.
Dante remained in the library.
On the shelf beside him stood a photograph from eleven years earlier.
He and Isabella on a beach in Puerto Rico.
He was thinner. Clean-shaven. She wore one of his shirts over a swimsuit and looked irritated at whoever had taken the picture.
They had spent that entire afternoon arguing because Dante answered work calls during lunch.
That night she had told him he treated everyone like employees.
He had told her employees listened better.
She had slept on the hotel balcony.
In the morning he bought her a bracelet.
He had considered that an apology.
Sitting beneath the photograph now, Dante felt something unpleasant settle into place.
Rebecca’s sentence.
People learned to manage you instead of telling you no.
That did not absolve Isabella.
It made the betrayal more complicated.
Dante had spent years creating relationships in which honesty was expensive.
Then one day he had become dependent on those same relationships.
He wheeled himself toward the desk.
The motion had become automatic.
Push.
Recover.
Push.
He stopped halfway.
His left foot had slipped slightly from its position.
He looked down.
Then tried to lift his knee.
Nothing.
Again.
A contraction.
Weak.
Small.
Real.
Dante closed his eyes.
For once, he did not call anyone to witness it.
A week later, Hale disappeared.
Not literally.
His lawyer informed Rebecca that Dr. Lawrence Hale was taking an indefinite leave from practice for “personal medical reasons” and would communicate only through counsel.
His office cancelled appointments.
His website removed the booking page.
The state medical board confirmed that an investigation had begun but provided no details.
Dante read the letter twice.
Then he called Marcus.
“Find him.”
Marcus stood in the doorway.
“No.”
Dante looked up.
Marcus leaned against the frame.
“We’ve been here.”
“He’s hiding.”
“He has counsel.”
“I’m not asking you to kill him.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I want to know where he is.”
“Rebecca can find out through legal channels if it matters.”
“It matters.”
“Then tell Rebecca.”
Dante’s hand struck the desk.
The sound was sharp.
Marcus did not move.
Dante stared at him.
“Do you know what he took from me?”
“No.”
“That’s the point.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Marcus straightened.
“You think I don’t know what three years looked like?”
May you like
Dante’s mouth closed.
Marcus stepped into the room.
