Chapter 1 - THE DOCUMENT ON MY BED
I recognized Arya's signature immediately.
And after reading the first sentence, I finally understood why.
PETITION FOR TEMPORARY FINANCIAL GUARDIANSHIP DUE TO MEDICAL INCAPACITY.
For several seconds, I heard nothing except my own breathing.
Then I read the second paragraph.
Arya wasn't merely asking for permission to help manage my affairs.
She was claiming I lacked the physical and cognitive capacity to oversee Corvino Holdings.
My shipping interests.
My real estate.
My trusts.
Everything.
I looked at Tessa.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was on the printer in the downstairs office.”
“You stole it?”
“I borrowed it.”
“You folded it and put it in your pocket.”
“Very carefully.”
Despite what I had just read, I almost laughed.
Almost.
“Who else knows?”
“I don't know.”
“Dominic?”
Tessa hesitated.
That answered me.
Dominic Corvino was my cousin.
My second-in-command.
The man Arya had mentioned before leaving.
The man who suddenly needed my signature on harbor property.
I looked at the document again.
“This says I have cognitive impairment.”
“I noticed.”
“Do I seem cognitively impaired?”
“You've been rude to me seventeen times this week.”
“Sixteen.”
“Eighteen now.”
I stared at her.
She didn't smile.
Neither did I.
But something in my chest loosened.
Then tightened again.
“When was this prepared?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Three weeks.
Arya had kissed me every night for three weeks while preparing to legally declare me incapable of controlling my own life.
“Why tell me?”
Tessa folded her arms.
“Because you're my patient.”
“Client.”
“Whatever.”
“And?”
“And because being unable to walk doesn't mean you're unable to think.”
Simple.
Obvious.
Yet apparently revolutionary inside my own house.
I looked toward the door.
“Get Hector.”
“Hector?”
“My security chief.”
Tessa didn't move.
“What?”
“Are you going to hurt anyone?”
I slowly turned toward her.
Nobody had asked me a question like that in years.
“Tessa.”
“If I'm helping you fight this, I need to know.”
“You're not helping me fight anything.”
“Then I'll leave.”
“You need the money.”
“Yes.”
She picked up the washcloth.
“But I need to sleep at night too.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“No what?”
“I won't hurt anyone.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“Now get Hector.”
She left.
At exactly three that afternoon, my physical therapist arrived.
Arya returned at three fifteen.
She found me between parallel bars.
My hands gripped the rails.
My legs did nothing.
Sweat soaked my shirt.
Every muscle above my injury screamed.
Tessa stood nearby.
“Again,” she said.
My therapist looked concerned.
“Vincent, that's enough.”
“One more.”
Tessa nodded.
“One more.”
I pulled.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Arya spoke from the doorway.
“What is going on?”
Everyone turned.
She stared at Tessa.
“I canceled this.”
Tessa said nothing.
I did.
“I uncanceled it.”
Arya looked at me.
“You need rest.”
“I've had six months of rest.”
“The doctors said—”
“The doctors said nobody knows what recovery will look like.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Vincent, you're exhausting yourself for nothing.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Not fear.
Nothing.
I released the bars.
My therapist helped me back into my wheelchair.
I rolled toward Arya.
She looked down at me.
Six months earlier, she used to look up.
Interesting how much a few feet could reveal about someone.
I placed the guardianship petition on the table.
Arya went white.
“Where did you get that?”
Wrong question.
I looked toward Tessa.
She immediately understood.
And for once, she lied beautifully.
“It was delivered upstairs.”
Arya stared at me.
“Vincent, I can explain.”
“Good.”
May you like
I pointed toward the chair.
“Start.”
