Chương 8
And questions created problems.
The first problem came from the company.
Marcus arrived at the apartment without warning.
Luca knew before the elevator doors opened.
There was only one person who entered the building like he owned the air around him.
Marcus stepped inside wearing a gray suit and carrying no briefcase.
That was intentional.
Marcus understood appearances.
He knew that arriving with documents made people defensive.
Arriving empty-handed looked personal.
“You could call before coming,” Luca said.
Marcus glanced around.
“The famous hospitality is still alive.”
“It wasn’t hospitality.”
Marcus smiled slightly.
“There he is.”
Luca hated that.
The way Marcus spoke as if the old Luca was returning.
As if he could simply step back into the person he had been.
“Why are you here?”
Marcus looked toward the hallway.
“Maya?”
Luca’s expression changed.
“What about her?”
“I heard she’s staying here.”
The room became colder.
“How did you hear that?”
Marcus ignored the question.
“Luca.”
“No.”
Marcus stopped.
“No what?”
“You don’t get to walk in here and avoid every question.”
For a moment, Marcus looked tired.
Not angry.
Tired.
“I’m trying to help you.”
“That sentence has caused me more problems than almost anything else.”
Marcus looked away.
“I heard about the tests.”
Luca said nothing.
“I heard enough.”
“From who?”
“People who are worried.”
“About me?”
“About what happens next.”
There it was again.
The company.
The thing Marcus always came back to.
“My health is not a business meeting.”
“No.”
Marcus looked at him.
“But your return is.”
Luca felt something shift.
“What are you saying?”
Marcus hesitated.
That hesitation mattered.
Because Marcus rarely hesitated.
“There are investors asking questions.”
“About me?”
“About control.”
Luca stared.
“Control.”
Marcus nodded.
“If your condition improves, they want to know your plans.”
“My plans?”
“Yes.”
Luca laughed once.
A humorless sound.
“Twelve years ago, I lost the ability to walk.”
Marcus stayed silent.
“Now I might have a chance at recovery, and people are already asking what I’m going to do with a company I built.”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
Luca leaned back.
“It isn’t.”
The two men stood there.
Two people who had once trusted each other.
Two people who had both convinced themselves they were protecting something.
Finally Marcus said, “There’s something else.”
Luca waited.
“I didn’t tell you everything after the accident.”
The words changed the room.
Not because Luca was surprised.
Because some part of him had always known.
“What didn’t you tell me?”
Marcus looked at the floor.
“About the first year.”
Luca felt his stomach tighten.
“The medical records?”
Marcus looked up.
“Yes.”
The apartment went silent.
Luca’s voice became quieter.
“What do you know?”
Marcus did not answer immediately.
And for the first time in years, Luca saw something on Marcus’s face that he recognized.
Fear.
“I know,” Marcus said slowly, “that you were improving more than anyone expected.”
Luca stared at him.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Marcus looked away.
That was the first thing that made Luca afraid.
Not the words.
Not the information.
The fact that Marcus could not look him in the eye.
For years, Luca had known Marcus as someone who could stand in front of angry investors, disappointed employees, and impossible situations without showing uncertainty.
Now he looked like a man standing beside a mistake he could no longer move away from.
“Answer me.”
Marcus swallowed.
“I was trying to protect you.”
Luca felt his jaw tighten.
“Everyone says that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Marcus looked back at him.
“You think I’m angry because I lost twelve years?”
A pause.
“I am.”
The honesty surprised even Luca.
“But I’m more angry because people kept making decisions for me while I was still alive.”
Marcus lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to say that.”
“I do.”
Marcus’s voice was quiet.
“Because I was one of those people.”
The admission changed something.
Not forgiveness.
Not understanding.
Just the shape of the anger.
Luca had spent years imagining Marcus as someone who had taken advantage of his weakness.
Someone who saw an opportunity and used it.
That version was easier.
Clean.
Simple.
The truth was harder.
Marcus had made choices.
Bad choices.
But he had not made them because he hated Luca.
He had made them because he believed he was right.
And sometimes that was worse.
“What happened?” Luca asked.
Marcus remained standing.
“The first year after your accident was chaos.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Marcus shook his head.
“You know what you experienced.”
He glanced around the apartment.
“I know what everyone else was trying to handle.”
Luca said nothing.
“Your family was overwhelmed.”
His voice became slower.
“Your company was unstable.”
“The board wanted control.”
“They did.”
Marcus looked toward the window.
“You were unconscious for weeks.”
Luca felt a strange discomfort hearing it described from someone else.
He remembered pieces.
Not days.
Not conversations.
Just fragments.
Sounds.
Lights.
Voices without faces.
“Your doctors told us recovery would be uncertain.”
“They told me.”
“Later.”
Marcus looked back.
“Before you heard it, they told us.”
The word us bothered Luca.
“Who is us?”
Marcus hesitated.
“The people responsible for keeping things running.”
Luca laughed quietly.
“Convenient.”
“It’s true.”
“Maybe.”
Marcus accepted that.
“During rehabilitation, there were signs your condition was improving.”
Luca’s fingers tightened.
“And?”
“And then there was a setback.”
“What kind?”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“Your progress slowed.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
Marcus took a breath.
“I’m getting there.”
Luca hated the phrase.
He hated waiting.
But something in Marcus’s expression told him this was not a story he could force out of someone.
“There was a therapist,” Marcus continued.
“Aaron Bell?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Someone before him.”
Luca frowned.
“Who?”
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t know if I should be the one telling you.”
“You’re already telling me.”
Marcus looked at him.
“The therapist believed your nerves were responding.”
Luca felt the room become strangely quiet.
“Believed?”
May you like
“Yes.”
“Why was that not in my records?”
