Chapter 7 - The Voice My Husband Was Never Meant to Hear|
The first recording was dated seven years earlier.
Vincent sat beside me in the secure room while Gabriel connected the recovered memory card to an isolated computer.
The monitor displayed several files.
Audio recordings.
Security logs.
And a folder labeled Medical Compliance.
I couldn't understand why anyone would preserve evidence of such a terrible secret.
Then Gabriel explained.
"People involved in criminal arrangements sometimes keep records to protect themselves if their partners turn against them."
Vincent's expression remained grim.
He typed.
Play it.
Gabriel hesitated.
"You may not want to watch this."
Vincent looked directly at him.
Then typed again.
I've spent fifteen years not knowing. I'm done.
Gabriel selected the first file.
A man's voice filled the room.
"His hearing is getting worse."
Another man answered.
"Then increase the treatment."
My stomach tightened.
I recognized the second voice.
Lorenzo.
The first speaker sounded older.
More controlled.
"Repeated irritation can cause permanent damage. I won't guarantee the outcome."
Lorenzo laughed.
"Permanent is exactly what we want."
I felt physically sick.
Gabriel paused the recording and transcribed the exchange for Vincent.
My husband read it.
His face went white.
The recording continued.
"He's beginning to question the diagnosis," the older man said.
"Then make him stop questioning it."
"We can't keep doing this indefinitely."
"He's running an organization worth hundreds of millions. Do you know what happens if he starts remembering everything?"
A long silence.
Then Lorenzo spoke again.
"He'll find out who killed Isabella."
Vincent stopped breathing for a moment.
I reached for his hand.
He didn't move.
Gabriel paused the recording.
Nobody spoke.
Then Vincent typed one sentence.
I want the rest.
Gabriel opened a second file.
This recording contained the unmistakable voice of Dr. Arthur Bellamy.
"Vincent's condition isn't stable. The treatments are damaging tissue."
Lorenzo responded.
"Then change the formula."
"He's already experienced several severe attacks."
"Can he hear?"
"Not conversational speech. His impairment is substantial."
"Good."
Bellamy sounded distressed.
"We're talking about a human being."
Lorenzo laughed.
"Since when did you develop a conscience?"
The recording ended.
I looked toward Vincent.
He was staring at the monitor with an expression I couldn't name.
Betrayal.
Rage.
Grief.
Perhaps all three.
For years, Dr. Bellamy had visited his bedroom, examined him, and assured him there was nothing to be done.
And all that time, the doctor had apparently known that his treatment was causing additional harm.
"Vincent," I whispered.
He turned toward me.
I signed carefully.
Not your fault.
He stared at my hands.
Then he shook his head.
His fingers moved clumsily.
He had started teaching me basic signs after our wedding, though he mostly relied on text.
Now he signed a question.
Why me?
I didn't have an answer.
So I told him the truth.
"I don't know."
His shoulders sagged.
Gabriel opened another file.
This one was a video.
A security camera showed a hospital corridor fifteen years earlier.
The date matched the night of Isabella's death.
A young Vincent sat in a wheelchair.
His face was bruised.
A bandage covered one side of his head.
Beside him stood Carlo Moretti.
Then Lorenzo entered.
He looked younger, almost boyish.
But his smile was already familiar.
Carlo pulled Lorenzo aside.
There was no sound for the first few seconds.
Then a microphone captured their conversation.
"The boy remembers the truck," Carlo said.
Lorenzo looked startled.
"What did he say?"
"He keeps asking why you were there."
Lorenzo swore.
Carlo glanced toward Vincent.
"Bellamy can manage the medical side. You need to handle the other problem."
"What problem?"
"Isabella's lawyer."
The video ended.
Gabriel leaned back.
"Isabella's lawyer was a man named Thomas Whitaker. He disappeared from Chicago shortly after the crash."
I looked at him.
"Disappeared?"
"Closed his office. Left the state. Nobody knows why."
Vincent typed.
Find him.
Gabriel nodded.
But before he could stand, another alert appeared on the monitor.
A camera had detected movement near the estate's east gate.
Three vehicles.
Unmarked.
Gabriel examined the feed.
His expression sharpened.
"Lorenzo's men."
Vincent rose.
I caught his wrist.
"Don't go out there."
He turned toward me.
I knew he could read the fear on my face.
He typed.
He's threatening my home.
"Then let the police handle it."
Vincent looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel nodded.
"We've already reported the earlier shooting. I'll notify the detectives and keep our security personnel inside the perimeter."
Vincent hesitated.
Then agreed.
Twenty minutes later, the vehicles drove away without entering the grounds.
But they left something at the gate.
A small wooden box.
Inside was a silver pendant.
A woman's pendant.
Engraved with the initials I.M.
Isabella Moretti.
Vincent recognized it immediately.
His mother had been wearing it the night she died.
Beneath the necklace was a folded note.
I opened it with trembling fingers.
YOUR MOTHER MADE ONE MISTAKE. SHE TRUSTED THE WRONG PERSON.
I looked at Vincent.
He was staring at the necklace.
May you like
Then I read the final line.
YOUR LITTLE WIFE IS ABOUT TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE.
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