Chapter 9 - The Seven Years They Stole

Mercer talked first.

Not because Luca threatened him.

Because federal agents did.

Marco had sent copies of the medical files before the confrontation.

Insurance fraud.

Assault.

Conspiracy.

Financial crimes.

Attempted poisoning.

Mercer discovered loyalty had limits.

Salvatore did not speak at all.

That was fine.

His signatures spoke.

His accounts spoke.

His amended trust spoke.

His false death certificate spoke loudly enough.

Father Gabriel gave a statement too.

He did not ask for protection.

Only a lawyer.

Belini gave everything she had.

The threats.

The recordings.

The clinic files.

The altered syringe.

Emma watched her sign the final statement.

“You could still be charged.”

Belini nodded.

“I know.”

“You helped hide things.”

“Yes.”

“You also stopped the injections.”

“Yes.”

Emma studied her.

“Why?”

Belini looked toward Luca’s rehabilitation room.

“Because I finally realized surviving him was not the same thing as protecting him.”

Emma understood.

Three days later, Luca stood again.

Forty-two seconds.

Then one minute.

Then ninety seconds.

He hated every session.

Ruiz seemed energized by his irritation.

Emma became unofficially responsible for reminding him that rehabilitation was not a negotiation.

“I own the building,” he told her once.

“Your nerves don’t care.”

He stared.

She stared back.

Marco left the room before laughing.

Two weeks later, Luca took six steps with braces.

One month later, twelve.

Sensation returned unevenly.

Left leg first.

Right ankle later.

Pain too.

Ruiz called it encouraging.

Luca called it inconvenient.

Emma called it proof.

The trust hearing happened privately.

Medical experts reviewed the original scans.

Then the altered scans.

Then current testing.

The conclusion was unavoidable.

Luca Moretti had been fraudulently maintained under a false diagnosis.

The steward clause was terminated.

Every account Salvatore controlled froze.

Every proxy vote expired.

Every old captain who had quietly answered to a dead man suddenly discovered Luca was very much alive.

And recovering.

Marco brought the final figures into Luca’s office.

“Forty-eight companies.”

Luca looked unimpressed.

“Too many.”

“Eleven trusts.”

“Too many.”

“Three ports.”

“Keep those.”

Marco smiled.

Emma sat near the window filling out an application.

Luca noticed.

“What is that?”

“None of your business.”

“That phrase seems inaccurate inside my office.”

She covered the page.

He rolled closer.

Then stopped.

“School?”

Emma sighed.

“Nursing program.”

“You already work full-time.”

“I am resigning.”

Silence.

Marco immediately left.

Coward.

Luca stared at her.

“You’re resigning.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not apply to become your neurological detective.”

“Reasonable.”

“Or your accidental rehabilitation assistant.”

“Also reasonable.”

“Or whatever this is.”

That stopped him.

“What is this?”

Emma looked at him.

“Exactly.”

For once, Luca Moretti had no efficient answer.

So he gave an honest one.

“I don’t know.”

That surprised her.

He continued.

“I know I trust you.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It is.”

“I know I like when you argue with me.”

“That is clearly a medical side effect.”

“Probably.”

She smiled.

Then Luca’s expression softened.

“And I know the first honest thing anyone did for me in seven years was drop hot towels on my legs.”

Emma laughed.

“That is the worst romantic sentence I have ever heard.”

“I wasn’t being romantic.”

“Good.”

“I can try again.”

“Please don’t.”

He smiled.

Then Marco returned too quickly.

Of course.

“Boss.”

Luca sighed.

“What now?”

Marco handed him a sealed envelope.

Salvatore had requested one private meeting before transfer.

No lawyer.

No priest.

Only Luca.

Emma frowned.

“Why?”

Marco shook his head.

“He says there is one thing Mercer doesn’t know.”

Luca opened the envelope.

Inside was a photograph from the yacht.

Taken minutes before the explosion.

Luca.

Salvatore.

Mercer.

And a fourth person.

Emma stared.

She recognized the face.

Belini’s father.

Vittorio Vassaro.

Luca went still.

On the back, Salvatore had written:

ASK WHO PAID FOR THE FIRST DOSE.

Emma looked at Luca.

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The conspiracy was not dead.

Not completely.