Chapter 4 - The Accident That Wasn’t

Camila arrived at the estate less than an hour later.

I met her in Massimo’s library.

He was there too, despite my suggestion that we talk privately.

“No,” he had said.

“This concerns me.”

“It concerns my friendship.”

“It concerns the reason I cannot walk.”

He had won that argument.

Not because he was Massimo Pascale.

Because he was right.

Camila entered carrying the same leather folder she had shown me at the café.

Only now I noticed how tightly she held it.

“Tessa.”

“Don’t hug me.”

She stopped.

Pain crossed her face.

“I deserve that.”

“You deserve to explain.”

Massimo sat near the fireplace.

Daniel stood by the door.

Elena remained beside him.

Camila looked around the room.

“I didn’t want this many people here.”

Massimo’s voice was flat.

“You don’t control this room.”

Camila nodded.

“No. I don’t.”

She sat opposite us.

I stayed standing.

“Start at the beginning.”

Camila took a breath.

“My brother worked for the state police.”

I frowned.

“You told me Mateo was in insurance.”

“He was after he left law enforcement.”

“Why did he leave?”

Her eyes moved to Massimo.

“Because six years ago he was assigned to a task force investigating the Pascale organization.”

Massimo’s expression did not change.

“I remember Mateo Reyes.”

Camila looked surprised.

“You knew him?”

“I knew of him.”

“He refused a bribe.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed.

Massimo said quietly, “He also refused to manufacture evidence when his supervisor ordered him to.”

Camila stared.

“You knew that?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Massimo looked toward the fire.

“Because the supervisor worked for my father.”

The room went silent.

I looked at him.

“You just admitted your father corrupted a police officer.”

“I admitted something worse than that years ago.”

“What?”

“That I knew what kind of man my father was and benefited from his power anyway.”

There was no pride in his voice.

Only fact.

Camila continued.

“Mateo quit the task force. Then he quit the police. But he never stopped collecting information.”

“About me?” Massimo asked.

“About everyone around you.”

Massimo leaned back.

“That sounds healthy.”

“He believed there was a group inside both law enforcement and your organization profiting from keeping the conflict alive.”

Daniel’s face tightened.

Camila opened the folder.

“Three months before your accident, Mateo contacted me.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“That he had found proof someone close to Massimo was moving money through rehabilitation and medical contracting companies.”

I frowned.

“Medical companies?”

“Yes.”

Massimo’s voice became colder.

“Names.”

Camila looked at him.

“One company was called Northstar Recovery Holdings.”

Daniel swore softly.

I turned to him.

“You know it?”

“It supplied equipment after the accident.”

My stomach dropped.

“Equipment for this house?”

“Yes.”

I looked at Massimo.

“Who chose them?”

He did not answer immediately.

Then he said, “Lorenzo Ferri.”

The name meant nothing to me.

But it clearly meant something to everyone else.

Elena’s face hardened.

Massimo explained.

“My father’s godson. My operations director. We grew up together.”

“Family?”

“Close enough.”

Camila nodded.

“Mateo suspected Ferri was moving money through Northstar before your accident.”

Massimo’s eyes turned dangerous.

“Suspected?”

“He never had enough evidence.”

“What happened to your brother?” I asked.

Camila’s voice changed.

“He died last year.”

I stopped breathing for a second.

She had told me Mateo died in a highway collision.

I remembered the funeral.

The rain.

Her mother holding Camila’s hand so tightly both of their knuckles were white.

“You told me it was an accident.”

“That is what the report said.”

“What do you believe?”

Camila’s eyes filled but she did not cry.

“I believe he was killed.”

I sat down.

Everything suddenly felt heavier.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were already drowning in school and work. Because I had no proof. Because I was scared.”

“And then you sent me here.”

Her face crumpled.

“I know how that looks.”

“It looks like you used me.”

“I did not know about the sedatives.”

“But you knew Massimo’s accident might be connected to your brother’s investigation.”

“Yes.”

“And you knew my specialty made me useful.”

Camila did not answer.

That was an answer.

I stood again.

“You didn’t find me a job.”

“Tessa—”

“You placed me in an investigation without telling me.”

“I thought you would only treat him.”

“No, you thought I might notice something.”

She looked down.

“I hoped.”

The betrayal hurt because it came wrapped in a reason I understood.

Grief.

Desperation.

The same forces that had brought me to the estate.

Massimo spoke quietly.

“Give us a moment.”

Daniel and Elena left.

Camila looked at him.

“You too?”

He shook his head.

“No. My house.”

Under any other circumstance I would have argued.

Instead I stared at Camila.

“What exactly did Mateo find?”

She pulled a flash drive from the folder.

“Financial records. Names. Dates. Nothing complete. He hid copies in several places.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Because some of the police were on the list.”

Massimo’s face darkened.

“Who?”

“I don’t have the full list.”

“Then what do you have?”

Camila passed him a printed page.

Massimo read it.

His expression changed completely.

I stepped closer.

“What?”

He handed it to me.

It was a payment ledger.

Northstar Recovery Holdings.

Several large transfers.

One destination was a shell company.

Another was a security contractor.

And one payment was made two days before Massimo’s accident to a company called Harbor Mechanical Services.

“What is Harbor Mechanical?” I asked.

Daniel had returned quietly to the doorway.

He answered.

“The company that serviced Massimo’s car.”

I felt cold.

Massimo stared at the paper.

“My brakes failed on the interstate.”

Camila nodded.

“Mateo believed the service company was paid to alter something.”

Massimo’s jaw tightened.

“The police found no evidence of tampering.”

“Who investigated?” I asked.

Daniel answered.

“Detective Charles Wynn.”

Camila opened another page.

“Wynn received payments through a consulting company tied to Northstar.”

Massimo looked at Daniel.

“Find out where he is.”

Daniel nodded and disappeared.

I looked back at Camila.

“You said I might prove something medically.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

She hesitated.

“Mateo’s notes mentioned a second part of the plan.”

“What second part?”

“If the crash didn’t kill Massimo, they needed him alive but unable to regain control.”

Massimo’s face went still.

“The sedatives.”

Camila nodded.

“Possibly.”

I shook my head.

“Sedatives alone would not cause his spinal injury.”

“No. But they could slow rehabilitation.”

“That is true.”

“And there was something else.”

She took out a photocopy of an emergency toxicology report.

I read the values.

Then read them again.

Massimo watched me.

“What?”

“This report shows a benzodiazepine in your blood after the crash.”

“I was treated by paramedics.”

“The timing is marked as blood drawn before hospital sedation.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I was drugged before the accident?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked closer.

“The level was low. It might not have incapacitated you. But combined with fatigue or alcohol—”

“I had not been drinking.”

“Then it could have slowed your reaction time.”

Massimo leaned back.

For the first time since I had met him, he looked shaken.

Not angry.

Shaken.

“Someone drugged me. Someone tampered with my car. Then someone kept drugging me here.”

“We have evidence of suspicious medication,” I said.

“Not proof of the same person.”

He looked at me.

“You’re very committed to ruining dramatic conclusions.”

“Yes.”

Despite everything, he almost smiled.

Camila wiped her eyes.

“Tessa, I am sorry.”

I looked at her.

“Sorry is not enough.”

“I know.”

“You should have trusted me with the truth.”

“I was afraid you would say no.”

“I might have.”

“That is why I didn’t tell you.”

“And that is exactly why you should have.”

She nodded.

There was nothing else to say yet.

Trust could not be repaired in one conversation.

Neither could a spine.

Massimo looked at the parallel bars in the adjoining room.

Then at me.

“What now?”

“You mean medically or criminally?”

“Medically.”

I was surprised.

He noticed.

“You thought I would ask about Ferri first.”

“Yes.”

“I want to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

His hands tightened on the wheels of his chair.

“Because if someone wanted me helpless, the most offensive thing I can do is recover.”

Something inside me shifted.

Not attraction.

Not yet.

Respect.

The kind that is more dangerous because it grows quietly.

I picked up my clipboard.

“Then we work.”

That afternoon, Massimo transferred to the parallel bars without argument.

He followed every instruction.

He slowed his breathing.

He activated his core.

He shifted forward.

“Ready?” I asked.

“No.”

I smiled.

“Good answer.”

He looked at me.

“Why?”

“Because readiness is overrated.”

“Comforting.”

“One. Two. Three.”

He pushed.

His hips rose.

I supported his left knee.

His arms shook.

His right leg took partial weight.

For one second, maybe two, his body lifted higher than it had before.

Then he dropped back into the chair.

He was breathing hard.

I stared at him.

Massimo looked furious.

“What?”

“You just did more than yesterday.”

“Two seconds.”

“Yes.”

“That is nothing.”

“No.”

I crouched in front of him.

“That is evidence.”

The word changed his expression.

Evidence.

Not hope.

Not fantasy.

Evidence.

He looked down at his legs.

Then he whispered, “Again.”

This time I nodded.

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And somewhere between the second attempt and the third, I realized the most important investigation in that house was no longer only about who had tried to destroy Massimo Pascale.

It was about whether he would become the man he had been before the crash—or someone better because of it.