"Mr. | vantanews

They found Anthony Bell on a Wednesday.

Not through surveillance.

Through a veterinary clinic in Queens that had treated a black Cane Corso six weeks after the crash — emaciated, cut paw, no registered owner.

The man who brought him in had worn a baseball cap and left before the registration was complete.

The clinic's camera footage had survived.

Mason recognized Bell from the gate footage within thirty seconds.

Rachel had Bell in an interview room by Thursday afternoon.

Lorenzo was not in the building.

Rachel had been clear about that.

But Mason was, and he called Lorenzo from the hallway outside the room every twenty minutes.

"He's talking to his lawyer."

Then: "Lawyer's advising cooperation in exchange for consideration."

Then: "He's talking."

Lorenzo sat in his car outside the precinct and listened.

Bell admitted being paid to move Isabella after the crash.

He claimed he didn't know the full plan.

He said Isabella had been intercepted near the warehouse where she was supposed to meet Claire Donnelly.

Claire had already been taken by then.

Isabella was dr*gged.

Her personal items were placed in the car.

Claire was put in the driver's seat.

Bell said he didn't know the car would go over a ravine.

Lorenzo's hands were flat on his thighs.

He did not move.

"What happened to Isabella?" Mason relayed.

Bell's answer came through in pieces.

A farmhouse near Kingston.

Isabella was held there.

Bell was one of three people managing the location.

She was restrained.

Threatened.

Moved once when they thought the location had been compromised.

Then, approximately three weeks in, she escaped.

A bathroom window.

A transfer attempt gone wrong.

She broke through during the confusion, got into the woods with Bruno — the dog had been kept at the farmhouse, apparently as leverage, a way to keep her compliant — and she ran.

Bell said he didn't know how she survived afterward.

He said they searched for two weeks and couldn't find her.

"Who ordered it?" Mason relayed.

Silence from the interview room.

Long enough that Mason called it out.

Then Bell's voice, barely above a whisper.

*Vincent.*

Lorenzo closed his eyes.

He sat in the car for a long time.

Twenty-two years.

The first stupid business venture.

The borrowed van.

The imported watches.

The early freight company when Lorenzo's father d*ed and everything nearly fell apart.

*You have to keep living,* Vincent had said at the funeral.

He had stood beside Lorenzo at the casket of a woman he had helped put there.

Lorenzo opened his eyes.

He called Rachel directly.

"I heard," she said.

"We need corroboration.

Bell's statement alone isn't enough."

"The port files on Isabella's tablet."

"Already subpoenaed.

And we have a warrant for Moretti Global's financial records."

"Dr.

Rusk."

"Retired to Florida three weeks after the crash.

We're bringing him in."

"He was paid."

"We'll find the payment."

"And Vincent—"

"Not yet," Rachel said.

"I know what you want.

But if we move on him before the financial trail is documented, his lawyers bury everything in motions for six months and he walks out of the building the same afternoon."

Lorenzo said nothing.

"I need three more days," Rachel said.

"Can you give me three days?"

He looked at the precinct entrance.

Ordinary doors.

People going in and out.

"Isabella has been hiding in this city for weeks," he said.

"Hungry.

Injured.

Afraid to call me because she thought Vincent had someone inside my security."

"I know."

"She stayed hidden to protect Sophia and Emma."