Chương 4
A child who had begged for permission to eat was now being accused of manipulation.
“Do you believe that?”
Daniel did not answer.
That was enough.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“You need to ask yourself why defending Elena feels easier than defending your daughter.”
“That is not fair.”
“Fair?”
Stallone almost laughed.
“You want to talk about fair?”
Daniel’s voice became sharper.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make everyone feel like they failed you.”
The accusation landed differently because some part of Stallone feared it was true.
He had always been better at judging others than admitting his own failures.
“You think this is about me?”
“I think you walked into my house, embarrassed my wife, hit me, and took my daughter.”
“I did not take her.”
“You brought her away.”
“She asked for me.”
Daniel became quiet.
That was the first honest moment of the conversation.
Because both men knew it.
A child did not scream for someone unless she had already learned who would come.
“I need time,” Daniel said.
Stallone looked down at the folder.
“You have had time.”
The call ended.
For several minutes, he sat alone.
The old anger inside him wanted action.
Call someone.
Threaten someone.
Force answers.
That was the version of himself people expected.
But Mia was sleeping upstairs.
And for once, he wondered what kind of lesson she would learn from watching him.
Power was easy.
Patience was harder.
The next morning, Marcus brought more information.
Victor Hale was not just a name from an old family connection.
He was Elena’s former business partner.
Their company had collapsed two years earlier after financial disputes.
“She never mentioned him,” Marcus said.
“No.”
“She told Daniel she had no contact with him.”
Stallone flipped through the documents.
There were messages between them.
Not many.
Enough.
The newest one was three weeks old.
We need to finish this before Anthony notices.
Stallone stared at the sentence.
Marcus watched him carefully.
“What do you think it means?”
“I do not know yet.”
That answer surprised Marcus.
Years ago, Stallone would have already decided.
He would have already acted.
But age had changed something.
Not softened him.
Sharpened him differently.
He had learned that anger could make a person move quickly in the wrong direction.
Rosa entered the room holding Mia’s jacket.
“She wants to go outside.”
Stallone looked up.
“Outside?”
“She says the garden needs checking.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“The garden needs checking?”
Rosa shrugged.
“She is three.”
That was the first time Stallone laughed in two days.
It was quiet.
Almost unfamiliar.
He followed Mia into the backyard.
She walked between the flowers with serious concentration, stopping every few steps to inspect leaves and small insects.
No one watching her would have guessed she had spent the previous day crying on a patio floor.
Children had a strange ability to keep moving while adults remained trapped in yesterday.
Mia picked up a fallen flower.
“Is it broken?”
Stallone looked at it.
“The stem is.”
“Can it grow again?”
He thought about the question.
About Elena.
About Daniel.
About himself.
“Sometimes things grow differently after they break.”
Mia accepted that answer.
Children did not always need perfect explanations.
Sometimes they only needed someone willing to stay.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, it was not Marcus.
It was an unknown number.
A message appeared.
I know what Elena did.
Stallone looked at the screen.
Then at Mia.
The past was opening another door.
And this time, he was ready to see what was behind it.
Stallone stared at the message for several seconds before pressing the call button.
The number rang once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Whoever had sent it did not want a conversation.
They wanted to be noticed.
He looked around the garden.
Mia was kneeling near a row of flowers, carefully moving a small rock away from a plant as if she had been assigned an important job.
The ordinary innocence of the moment made the message feel heavier.
“Grandpa,” she called.
He put the phone away.
“What?”
“Look.”
She held up the rock.
“There was a bug under it.”
Stallone walked closer.
“A very important discovery.”
Mia nodded seriously.
“I think he lives here.”
“Then we should probably put his house back.”
She smiled.
It was small.
But it was real.
They placed the rock back together.
A few minutes later, Stallone returned inside and called the number again.
This time, someone answered.
A woman’s voice came through.
“You took longer than I expected.”
Stallone leaned against the kitchen counter.
“You know who I am.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know I do not enjoy games.”
A pause followed.
“I am not playing one.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Claire Benson.”
The name meant nothing immediately.
Stallone waited.
“I worked for Elena.”
“What kind of work?”
“Accounting.”
His expression changed slightly.
“Where?”
“At her company before it closed.”
“Why contact me now?”
Another pause.
Because people rarely called powerful men without fear.
Claire sounded afraid.
“Because I saw what happened yesterday.”
Stallone looked toward the backyard.
“You were there?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“I saw the video.”
The answer unsettled him.
“What video?”
“Someone recorded the patio.”
Stallone went quiet.
He had assumed the witnesses were limited.
He had assumed the story would become one person’s accusation against another.
Modern life rarely allowed private disasters to remain private anymore.
“Who has it?”
“I do not know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to understand that if I wanted money, I would have asked for it already.”
The honesty caught him off guard.
“What do you want?”
“Not to be involved.”
“That is impossible now.”
“I know.”
Her voice became quieter.
“That is why I called.”
Stallone waited.
“Elena was not just being cruel to Mia.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“What are you saying?”
“She was trying to create a record.”
“A record of what?”
“That Mia was difficult.”
May you like
Stallone’s hand tightened around the phone.
“For what purpose?”
