Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO STOLE MY SIGNATURE
Dominic Corvino came to my house the next morning as if nothing had happened.
Expensive coat.
Perfect hair.
Smile I had known since we were boys.
Our fathers were brothers.
We grew up three houses apart.
Fought in the same schoolyard.
Buried both fathers within eighteen months of each other.
When I took control of the family businesses at thirty-two, Dominic stood beside me.
When I was shot at forty-four, he rode in the ambulance until police made him leave.
At least that was the story I had believed.
He walked into my study.
“Vin.”
“Dominic.”
His eyes went immediately to the empty space on my left hand.
“Arya called.”
“I'm sure.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I found the petition.”
He didn't blink.
That impressed me.
“What petition?”
I slid a copy across the desk.
He looked down.
Then sighed.
Not shock.
Annoyance.
“Who gave you this?”
“Wrong question.”
“Vincent—”
“Did you sign it?”
“Yes.”
No denial.
“What were you planning?”
“To protect the company.”
“From me?”
“From uncertainty.”
I stared.
“That's what you call me now?”
“No.”
He sat.
“You're not seeing what I’m seeing.”
“Then educate me.”
“Clients call me because they don't know whether you'll be available tomorrow.”
“I’m available every day.”
“You miss dinners.”
“I can't get into half the restaurants you choose.”
“You don't attend inspections.”
“My wheelchair can't climb steel stairs.”
“Exactly.”
The word came too quickly.
Dominic realized it.
“So the solution is stealing my vote.”
“Temporary delegation.”
“With forged documents?”
He went still.
“What forged documents?”
I handed him the harbor transfer.
For the first time, the mask slipped.
Barely.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“Your office submitted it.”
“My office submits a thousand papers.”
“My signature is on it.”
He picked it up.
“Maybe you signed during rehab.”
“No.”
“You were on heavy medication.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
I laughed.
“You're asking whether paralysis damaged my memory?”
His jaw tightened.
“I'm asking whether painkillers did.”
“That property sold for eighteen million.”
“I know.”
“Worth sixty.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Environmental exposure. Dock repair. Labor issues.”
“You're lying.”
Dominic stood.
“Careful.”
The word changed the room.
Before the shooting, nobody told me careful.
I stared at him.
He realized.
“I'm trying to help.”
“Get out.”
“Vin.”
“Leave.”
“You're making this emotional.”
“You stole my signature.”
“I said I didn't.”
“And I said leave.”
He leaned closer.
“You think Tessa is helping you?”
My eyes narrowed.
“How do you know about Tessa?”
“Arya told me.”
“Then Arya talks too much.”
“You don't know that woman.”
“And you do?”
“I had someone check.”
My voice dropped.
“You investigated my aide?”
“You're vulnerable.”
I almost admired how easily he said it.
“Her sister owes over two hundred thousand dollars in medical debt.”
“So?”
“So poor people do desperate things.”
I stared at him.
“My father used to say that.”
“He wasn't wrong.”
“No.”
I looked at Dominic.
“He just forgot rich people do worse.”
Dominic left.
Evelyn had recorded the conversation with my consent.
Not because Dominic confessed.
Because he confirmed knowledge of the sale.
That was enough to keep digging.
Tessa arrived at eleven.
She knew something had happened.
“You look murderous.”
“That's my normal face.”
“No. Normal is irritated. This is murderous.”
She checked my blood pressure.
“High.”
“I had family over.”
“Explains everything.”
I watched her.
“Dominic investigated you.”
Her hands stopped.
“What?”
“He knows about your sister's bills.”
Anger replaced surprise.
“That's none of his business.”
“I agree.”
“He had someone pull my financial records?”
“Probably public debt records.”
“That somehow makes it less creepy?”
“No.”
She continued checking my legs.
“Does it bother you?”
“That you're in debt?”
“My sister.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because being poor isn't a character defect.”
She looked at me.
“That's progressive for a man whose bathroom is bigger than my apartment.”
“My bathroom has terrible emotional support.”
She almost smiled.
Then I said:
“I want to increase your pay.”
“No.”
I blinked.
“You didn’t even hear the number.”
“Doesn't matter.”
“You told me twenty-five wasn't enough.”
“It isn't.”
“So?”
“So if you double it the week after I help you catch your fiancée doing something shady, it becomes payment for loyalty.”
I stared.
She was right.
I hated that.
“What do you want?”
“For the agency to raise rates for every aide.”
“That isn't how—”
She gave me a look.
I stopped.
Apparently this was what people meant when they said I was difficult.
“You negotiate like a hostage taker.”
“You employ people like a feudal lord.”
“I don't employ you.”
“Then stop trying to buy me.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“What about a bonus through the agency?”
“No.”
“Health insurance supplement?”
She hesitated.
I saw it.
“Tessa.”
“My sister's medication changed.”
“How much?”
She shook her head.
“Don't.”
I respected that.
Barely.
That afternoon therapy was brutal.
Mateo strapped electrodes along my legs.
We practiced transfers.
Balance.
Upper-body rotation.
Then standing.
Thirty-seven seconds.
My blood pressure dropped.
My vision darkened.
Tessa held my shoulder.
“Breathe.”
“I am.”
“Badly.”
Mateo lowered me.
I hated him.
I hated the frame.
I hated the useless legs.
I hated every person who told me thirty-seven seconds was progress.
Then Mateo crouched.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“You shifted weight through your right hip.”
“So?”
“You haven't done that before.”
I stared.
“Voluntarily?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe is not an answer.”
“In spinal cord rehab, maybe is sometimes the only honest answer.”
Tessa handed me water.
I drank.
Then looked at my right leg.
Nothing.
But for the first time in months, nothing did not feel identical to impossible.
That evening, Evelyn called.
Blackwater Logistics had two hidden beneficial owners.
One was a private investment trust connected to Dominic.
The other belonged to someone named A. Vale.
“Arya Vale,” I said.
Silence.
“You sure?”
“Her legal name before her mother remarried.”
Evelyn swore.
They had sold my property to themselves.
The shooting hadn't created their plan.
It had created their opportunity.
Then Evelyn said:
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The transfer papers were prepared eleven days before you were shot.”
My body went cold.
“Say that again.”
“They drafted the sale before your injury.”
I looked at the window.
Rain over the harbor.
My shooting had always been described as an attack by a rival crew.
One man arrested.
One weapon recovered.
Case closed.
But Dominic and Arya were preparing to strip assets before the bullet ever hit me.
That did not prove they ordered the shooting.
It proved something almost as bad.
May you like
They expected me to disappear.
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