Chapter 4 - The Night the Cameras Went Dark
Vincent replayed the sentence eleven times.
You shot the wrong man.
Each repetition created another possibility.
None of them were good.
“Maybe you weren’t the target,” Tessa said.
Marco shook his head.
“The shooter fired directly toward Vincent.”
“Then what did Dominic mean?”
Vincent already suspected.
“Peter Vale.”
Marco looked at him.
“The shooter was supposed to kill Vale?”
“Maybe.”
Tessa folded her arms.
“Then why was Mr. Corvino shot?”
Vincent stared at the frozen image.
“Because I stepped between them.”
He remembered the night differently now.
Rain.
Restaurant awning.
His driver bringing the SUV.
A man bumping his shoulder.
Someone running.
Vincent turning.
Then impact.
He had never seen the gun.
The bullet entered from behind.
Perhaps it had been intended for Vale.
That possibility should have comforted him.
It didn’t.
Dominic had still been there.
Dominic had still hidden it.
And six months later, Dominic was trying to secure Vincent’s signature on harbor property worth nearly eighty million dollars.
“Find Vale,” Vincent said.
Marco worked for three hours.
At 2:17 p.m., he found him.
Not through a bank.
Not through a phone.
Through a hospital.
Peter Vale had been admitted under an alias to a rehabilitation facility outside Milwaukee five months earlier.
Traumatic head injury.
Memory problems.
No visitors.
Someone had been paying his bills anonymously.
Vincent wanted him brought to Chicago immediately.
Tessa objected.
“He has a brain injury.”
“He has answers.”
“He’s still a patient.”
“So am I.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to drag another one across state lines.”
Marco looked down to hide a smile.
Vincent stared at her.
“You enjoy arguing with me.”
“No. You just provide frequent opportunities.”
They compromised.
Vincent would go to Milwaukee.
The trip became his first time leaving the mansion for anything besides medical appointments since the shooting.
It terrified him more than he admitted.
The vehicle had a wheelchair lift.
Marco supervised everything.
Tessa came because Vincent needed assistance.
Lauren asked to join them.
Vincent refused.
Not because he blamed her.
Because he didn’t yet know whom to protect her from.
Peter Vale looked twenty years older than his photograph.
He sat beside a window overlooking a frozen garden.
When Vincent entered, Vale stared at him for a long time.
Then his eyes widened.
“Corvino.”
Vincent stopped.
“You remember me.”
Vale laughed weakly.
“Hard man to forget.”
Vincent moved closer.
“You investigated my people.”
Vale’s smile disappeared.
“Lauren told you.”
“Eventually.”
“I told her not to.”
“Why?”
“Because your house had ears.”
Vincent and Tessa exchanged a glance.
“The device under my mattress.”
Vale looked confused.
“Not mine.”
“Then whose?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Dominic?”
Vale’s hands began trembling.
That was enough.
“Tell me.”
Vale looked toward Tessa.
“Who is she?”
“My caregiver.”
Vale laughed again.
“Then she probably knows more about you than your lieutenants.”
Vincent didn’t disagree.
Vale lowered his voice.
“Dominic had been moving money for years. Small amounts at first. Then properties. Harbor access. He created companies that bought distressed land before your organization announced development projects.”
“He was front-running our investments.”
“More than that. He was preparing for you to disappear.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“Disappear?”
“He thought your father made a mistake choosing you.”
Vincent felt old memories surface.
Dominic had been close to Vincent’s father.
Older than Vincent.
More experienced.
When Vincent inherited control, Dominic smiled and embraced him.
Maybe that smile had concealed resentment for twelve years.
“The shooting,” Vincent said.
Vale swallowed.
“I arranged to meet Dominic that night. I was going to record him admitting everything.”
“Lauren paid you.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He figured it out.”
Vale looked toward the window.
“He brought a man with him.”
“The shooter.”
Vale nodded.
“He ordered him to kill me.”
Vincent’s fingers tightened around the wheelchair armrest.
“I walked into the line.”
“You came out at the wrong moment.”
“So Dominic didn’t order me shot.”
“No.”
For half a second, relief came.
Then Vale continued.
“But after you fell, he stopped the shooter from firing again.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he realized your injury was better for him than your death.”
The words landed like ice.
Vale looked directly at him.
“A dead Vincent Corvino would have triggered a war. A paralyzed Vincent Corvino gave Dominic time.”
Time to take contracts.
Time to control employees.
Time to convince everyone the king in the wheelchair was finished.
Vincent suddenly understood the last six months.
The delayed paperwork.
The meetings held without him.
The men who no longer came upstairs.
Dominic hadn’t merely benefited from Vincent’s absence.
He had cultivated it.
“What about the listening device?”
“I don’t know.”
“The envelope?”
“No.”
Vincent studied him.
Vale appeared genuinely confused.
Then Tessa asked the question Vincent had missed.
“If you didn’t put the evidence under the mattress, who did?”
Vale’s expression changed.
“Evidence?”
Vincent explained.
The photograph.
Receipt.
Message.
Vale went pale.
“That wasn’t meant for you.”
“What?”
“I made that packet.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“For whom?”
Vale swallowed.
“Marco Bell.”
Silence.
Vincent slowly turned.
Marco stood near the door.
His face had gone completely still.
Vale continued.
“I contacted Marco before the shooting. I told him I had evidence. He said he’d protect me.”
Vincent looked at his oldest friend.
“Marco?”
Marco said nothing.
“Tell me he’s lying.”
Still nothing.
Tessa stepped back.
Vincent felt the world tilt.
Marco had known.
Marco had received the evidence.
Marco had been responsible for security the night Vincent was shot.
And Marco had never told him.
“Outside,” Vincent said.
Marco remained still.
“Now.”
They entered an empty consultation room.
Vincent closed the door.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
The answer nearly destroyed something between them.
“How long?”
“Before the shooting.”
“You knew Dominic was stealing?”
“I suspected.”
“You knew Vale was investigating?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
“Your father made me promise—”
“My father is dead.”
“He made me promise to protect you from a war inside your own organization.”
“So you lied?”
“I waited for proof.”
“The proof got me shot!”
Marco finally raised his voice.
“And I have lived with that every day!”
Silence.
Marco looked away.
“Vale called me that night. He said Dominic had discovered him. I was ten minutes away.”
“You were my security chief.”
“I failed.”
Vincent had never heard Marco say those words.
“I got there after the ambulance.”
“Why hide the evidence?”
“Because Vale disappeared. Dominic controlled half your people. You were unconscious. If I accused him without Vale, we would have had bodies across Chicago by sunrise.”
“So you buried it under my mattress?”
“No.”
Vincent stared.
“Then who did?”
Marco shook his head.
“I kept the packet in my office safe.”
“When did it disappear?”
“I didn’t know it had.”
They returned to Vale.
Vincent asked one final question.
“Who else knew Marco had the packet?”
Vale thought.
Then his face changed.
“One person.”
“Who?”
“I called Lauren after I called Marco.”
Vincent frowned.
“She said she couldn’t reach you. She gave the phone to someone.”
“Who?”
Vale closed his eyes, trying to remember.
“A woman.”
Tessa stiffened.
“What woman?”
Vale opened his eyes.
“Someone on your household staff.”
Vincent’s stomach dropped.
He thought about twenty-three employees.
Then Vale said something else.
“She told me she would make sure the evidence reached you if anything happened.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Name.”
“I never got it.”
“Describe her.”
“Older. Maybe fifty. She had an accent.”
Vincent knew immediately.
“Rosa.”
Rosa Alvarez had worked for the Corvino family for twenty-eight years.
She had raised Vincent after his mother died.
And three months after the shooting, Rosa had supposedly retired to Florida.
Vincent called the number he had for her.
Disconnected.
Marco searched her employee records.
Her Florida address didn’t exist.
Then he checked her bank account.
No activity for six months.
Tessa whispered, “Where is she?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
Because Marco had found something else.
A security recording from the mansion.
The night the cameras went dark.
For forty-three seconds, every camera had failed.
Every camera except one old analog unit overlooking the servants’ entrance.
The footage showed someone entering the house.
A woman.
Older.
Gray hair.
Small frame.
Vincent recognized her instantly.
Rosa.
She had never retired.
She had been hiding.
And when Marco enhanced the final frame, they saw she wasn’t alone.
May you like
Dominic Russo was standing directly behind her.
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