Chapter 4: Everyone Was Very Kind About It
Dr.
Ferrante arrived within the hour.
He was seventy-one years old, had treated Lorenzo's father, and was one of perhaps four people on earth Lorenzo trusted without condition.
He examined both capsules under a portable lens, asked three questions, and then sat down in the chair across from Lorenzo and folded his hands.
"Where did you get these?"
"Found in my wheelchair."
Ferrante looked at him steadily.
"How long do you think you've been exposed?"
"The wheelchair was fitted eleven months ago.
Celeste arranged it."
"Then potentially eleven months." Ferrante set the lens down.
"Lorenzo.
The three specialists who assessed you — I know two of them.
Bianchi and Reyes.
Good men.
But if they were only reading the imaging and relying on reported symptom progression, and if the compound was active during every assessment—"
"They would confirm damage that wasn't fully there."
"Or damage that was being actively prevented from healing." Ferrante stood.
"I need to run a proper panel.
Today.
And I need you off that wheelchair cushion permanently."
"Already done."
"Good." He picked up the evidence bag.
"I'll need to keep one capsule for testing.
The other should go to someone you trust in law enforcement.
Not locally."
"I know who to call."
Ferrante paused at the door.
"Lorenzo.
If this compound was administered consistently over eleven months — and you've had no recovery — the nerve pathways may still be intact.
Suppressed, not severed.
We won't know until we test.
But I want you to understand what that means."
Lorenzo said nothing.
"It means you may be able to walk again," Ferrante said.
"It also means someone in this house made a deliberate choice, every single day, to make sure you couldn't."
He left.
Lorenzo sat in the sunroom alone for exactly two minutes.
Then he called his cousin Marco.
Marco answered on the second ring, voice warm and easy.
"Lorenzo.
How are you feeling today?"
"Come to the estate.
Tonight."
A pause.
Brief, but there.
"Of course.
Is everything alright?"
"We need to talk about the board decisions you've been making in my name."
Another pause.
Longer.
"I've only been trying to keep things running smoothly while you—"
"Tonight, Marco."
Lorenzo ended the call.
He looked out at the garden through the sunroom glass.
Celeste was out there.
She had her phone to her ear.
She was walking quickly, away from the house, toward the far end of the grounds where the signal was better.
He watched her for a moment.
Then he said, without turning: "Dante."
Dante stepped out from the corridor.
He had been there the whole time.
"I saw her," Dante said.
"I have someone on it."
"Good."
"There's something else." Dante came fully into the room.
"I ran a check on the physio team Celeste recommended.
The lead therapist — Russo — his license was suspended in Switzerland two years ago.
Medical ethics violation.
He's been operating privately since then."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
"On whose payroll?"
"That's what I'm still finding out." Dante looked at him.
"But Lorenzo — Russo filed his progress reports directly to Celeste's personal email.
Not to your medical file.
Not to Ferrante.
To her."
The garden was quiet outside.
Celeste was still on the phone, her back to the house.
"She built the whole thing," Lorenzo said.
It wasn't a question.
"It looks that way."
Lorenzo turned the wheelchair toward the door.
"I want Rosa and Mia moved to the guest house on the north side tonight.
Quietly.
Don't tell them why."
Dante nodded.
May you like
"And Dante." Lorenzo stopped.
"Make sure Mia doesn't go anywhere alone until this is finished."
