Chapter 2 - Three Seconds on Camera
Vincent Rizzo was gone before Lorenzo turned around.
The whiskey glass remained on the desk.
The study door swung slowly on its hinges.
“Seal the house!” Lorenzo shouted.
Footsteps erupted downstairs.
Lorenzo grabbed his phone.
“Carlo. Vincent is compromised.”
Silence.
Then Carlo said, “Vincent?”
“You heard me.”
“But he's been with you since—”
“Find him.”
Lorenzo ran.
He reached the main staircase as guards spread through the estate.
The front entrance was locked.
Garage secured.
Service gate sealed.
Vincent had vanished anyway.
That frightened Lorenzo more than if he'd found him holding a gun.
Only someone who understood every blind spot in the estate could disappear that quickly.
And Vincent had designed half of them.
Lorenzo returned to Mateo's bedroom.
Lydia was checking Mateo's blood pressure.
She looked up.
“You look worse.”
“Vincent's gone.”
Her hands stopped.
“The man from your office?”
“My lieutenant.”
“The one who said I wouldn't last?”
“Yes.”
“I hate being right about people.”
Lorenzo closed the door.
“You knew?”
“I knew he disliked me.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No.”
Mateo made a strained sound.
Both turned.
His fingers twitched.
Lydia leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Mateo's gaze moved toward the bedside drawer.
Lydia opened it.
Nothing.
His eyes shifted downward.
She removed the drawer completely.
Taped underneath was a folded envelope.
Lorenzo stared.
“Did you put that there?”
Lydia shook her head.
She handed it to him.
Inside was a photograph.
Vincent.
A temporary nurse.
And a third man Lorenzo recognized instantly.
Roland Blackwood.
The photograph had been taken outside a restaurant six weeks earlier.
On the back were three handwritten words.
HE KNOWS EVERYTHING.
Lorenzo looked at Mateo.
“You knew?”
Mateo blinked.
Once.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Mateo's expression hardened.
Lydia turned sharply toward Lorenzo.
“How?”
“What?”
“How exactly was he supposed to tell you?”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
“He has communication equipment.”
“Equipment your staff controls.”
“He could have—”
“Could have what? Asked the people he suspected to help him expose themselves?”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Lydia held his stare.
“You protected his body. Did you ever give him a way to protect his voice?”
The words landed harder than she intended.
Mateo looked away.
Lorenzo did too.
For the first time Lydia saw something beneath the authority.
Guilt.
“Tomorrow,” Lorenzo said quietly, “he gets independent communication equipment. Something only he controls.”
Mateo looked back.
Lydia nodded.
“Good.”
Lorenzo examined the photograph.
“Who took this?”
Mateo shifted his gaze toward Lydia.
She frowned.
“Me?”
One blink.
Yes.
“I didn't.”
Mateo blinked twice.
No.
Then his eyes moved toward the closet.
Lorenzo opened it.
Clothing.
Shoes.
Medical supplies.
Nothing unusual.
Lydia approached.
She noticed a faint scratch along the baseboard.
“Move the shoe rack.”
Behind it was a small digital camera.
Lorenzo picked it up.
The memory card remained inside.
Mateo closed his eyes in relief.
“You've been recording people,” Lydia said.
One blink.
Lorenzo almost smiled.
“That sounds like a family habit.”
Lydia looked at him.
“You don't get points for self-awareness.”
They took the camera to the study.
There were thirty-seven files.
Most showed staff entering Mateo's room.
Several showed Vincent.
One showed Vincent searching drawers.
Another showed him replacing medication.
Lydia leaned forward.
“Stop.”
Lorenzo paused.
“What?”
“That vial.”
Vincent held a small glass container.
“He switched medication?”
“Maybe.”
Lydia enlarged the image.
Her stomach tightened.
“I recognize that label.”
“From where?”
“Saint Catherine Medical Center.”
Lorenzo turned toward her.
Her old hospital.
The place that had ended her career.
Lydia's mouth went dry.
“Play the next file.”
Vincent entered Mateo's room again.
This time he wasn't alone.
The temporary nurse stood beside him.
Their conversation was faint.
Lorenzo increased the audio.
The nurse whispered, “Blackwood wants it done before Christmas.”
Vincent answered, “Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because Lorenzo needs to believe his brother died naturally.”
Lydia felt cold spread through her.
Lorenzo didn't move.
The nurse asked, “And the maid?”
Vincent laughed.
“She'll take the blame.”
Lydia stared at the screen.
There it was.
Her future.
Already planned by someone else.
Again.
A suspicious death.
A medical employee.
An anonymous accusation.
Evidence arranged neatly enough that nobody would ask questions.
Exactly like Saint Catherine.
“No,” Lydia whispered.
Lorenzo looked at her.
“What?”
“This isn't the first time.”
She stood so quickly the chair rolled backward.
“Lydia.”
She walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“My room.”
“Why?”
“Because I have something you need to see.”
Lorenzo followed.
Her room was modest, tucked behind the staff quarters.
Lydia pulled an old storage box from beneath her bed.
Inside were documents she had refused to destroy.
Nursing-board letters.
Hospital reports.
Photographs.
Her father's insurance correspondence.
And one patient chart.
Lorenzo read the name.
“Daniel Mercer.”
“He came into my trauma unit with a gunshot wound.”
“Who was he?”
“An accountant.”
“For?”
“At the time, I didn't know.”
She handed Lorenzo a photocopy.
“He told me someone had tried to kill him. A city official came in later and ordered me to change the chart from gunshot wound to accidental laceration.”
“You refused.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Mercer?”
“He disappeared.”
“And you?”
“Someone filed a complaint accusing me of stealing narcotics. It was false, but suddenly every hospital stopped returning my calls.”
Lorenzo flipped through the documents.
Then stopped.
At the bottom of one page was an authorization signature.
Dr. Adrian Cole.
Lorenzo knew the name.
“He treated Mateo after the ambush.”
Lydia stared at him.
“What?”
“He was the consulting physician.”
A terrible pattern began taking shape.
Mateo.
Her career.
The hospital.
Vincent.
Blackwood.
Maybe even her father.
Lorenzo's phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
Vincent stood beside Lydia's father's burned auto shop.
The timestamp was from the night of the fire.
Lydia stopped breathing.
Below the photograph was one sentence.
ASK YOUR MAID WHY HER FATHER REALLY DIED.
Then another message arrived.
A video attachment.
Lydia pressed play.
Her father appeared on screen.
Alive.
Terrified.
Looking directly into a camera.
“If you're watching this, Lydia, they found me.”
She covered her mouth.
Her father's voice continued.
“The man behind everything isn't Vincent.”
Lorenzo moved closer.
The recording crackled.
Her father glanced toward someone outside the frame.
May you like
Then he said a name.
And the video cut to black before they could hear it.
