Chapter 9 - The Bomb That Was Supposed to Miss Him|
Dante stood in the foyer, staring at the staircase.
Isabella had disappeared upstairs.
Her final sentence kept echoing through his head.
The bombing was never supposed to happen while you were in the car.
He remembered the explosion.
Not everything.
Just fragments.
Rain against the windshield.
A telephone ringing.
The sudden flash.
Heat.
Then darkness.
For three years, he'd believed someone had tried to murder him.
But what if the explosion had been intended for something else?
What if he'd survived a plan that was never supposed to injure him?
And what if the people who arranged it had used the aftermath to control him?
Dante reached for his phone.
He called Detective Vargas.
“She knows something about the bombing.”
Vargas listened while he repeated Isabella's words.
Then said, “Don't follow her upstairs.”
Dante stared toward the landing.
“Why?”
“Because she's just made a potentially important statement, and we need to preserve it through proper investigation.”
“She could leave.”
“Then let us handle that.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Every instinct told him to chase Isabella.
Demand answers.
Make someone afraid enough to confess.
But he remembered Lucia Rossy's story from a different investigation he'd read about years earlier.
People who were forced into silence rarely became more truthful because someone frightened them.
He stepped back.
“Fine.”
Vargas continued.
“We've been reviewing the original bombing investigation. There are inconsistencies.”
Dante's stomach tightened.
“What inconsistencies?”
“The explosive device was attached to the vehicle while it was parked at a private garage.”
“I know.”
“But surveillance records indicate the car's scheduled driver was changed shortly before the explosion.”
Dante frowned.
“Changed?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
He remembered that morning.
Victor had told him to use a different vehicle.
Dante refused because he was late for a meeting.
The usual driver had been sent home.
And Dante drove himself.
A terrible possibility settled over him.
“Victor knew which car would be used.”
“We're investigating who had access to that information.”
Dante swallowed.
“Do you think he arranged it?”
“We need evidence before making that conclusion.”
He nodded slowly.
Then looked toward the staircase again.
“Isabella might know.”
“Let us speak with her.”
By evening, investigators had obtained warrants related to several financial and communication records.
Isabella's attorney contacted the police.
She agreed to be interviewed.
Victor, meanwhile, had stopped answering calls.
His office was empty.
His personal driver claimed not to know where he was.
And several documents had been removed from his home.
Dante watched everything unfold from the library.
Anna entered quietly with a tray.
“Sir?”
He looked up.
“Anna.”
“Would you like something to eat?”
He shook his head.
“Not hungry.”
She studied him.
Then carefully placed the tray on the table anyway.
“There's soup.”
Dante almost smiled.
“You sound like Helen.”
Anna smiled faintly.
“She taught me.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Where's Sophie?”
“With Mrs. Romano. They're making paper flowers.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Anna hesitated.
Then said, “Sir, may I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Are we safe here?”
The question hurt more than he expected.
Because he couldn't answer with certainty.
He looked at her.
“I'm making arrangements for independent security and police cooperation. If you'd rather take Sophie somewhere else, I'll help you find a safe place.”
Anna's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't want to lose my job.”
“You won't.”
She swallowed.
“Thank you.”
Dante looked down at Sophie's drawing.
The little oval.
The lines.
The red dot.
He understood now that the drawing had not proven anything on its own.
The child's description of a blinking light might have been a reflection or an innocent mistake.
But she'd noticed a real object.
And that small observation had started a chain of questions nobody in his circle wanted asked.
“Anna,” he said quietly.
She turned.
“Yes?”
“Your daughter may have saved me years of uncertainty.”
Anna looked down.
“She just notices things.”
Dante smiled sadly.
“Sometimes that's enough.”
That night, Vargas called.
Investigators had found something important.
The original bombing had occurred three years earlier at a private garage managed by a company linked to Victor Hale.
Records showed that the garage's surveillance system had been disabled shortly before the explosion.
And one employee had received a large payment afterward.
The employee had now agreed to cooperate.
According to his statement, the explosion had been intended as a staged attack.
The plan was to damage Dante's parked vehicle and create the appearance of an outside threat.
Dante was supposed to be elsewhere.
But the schedule changed.
And he entered the vehicle shortly before the device detonated.
Dante felt sick.
“So they weren't trying to kill me?”
“According to this witness, the plan was to create an incident that would justify transferring security and management authority to Victor.”
He gripped the phone.
“And when I was injured?”
“They allegedly used your recovery to expand that authority.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Three years.
His pain.
His confusion.
His isolation.
All potentially consequences of a scheme that had never needed to happen.
Then Vargas added something worse.
“We also located communications suggesting the decision to conceal information about the implanted device was made after your surgery.”
Dante swallowed.
“By whom?”
She paused.
“Victor Hale and Dr. Lang are both named in the records.”
He stared toward the darkness outside.
Then asked the question he'd been avoiding.
“What about Isabella?”
Vargas took a breath.
“Her role is still being established. But she appears to have known about the staged-attack plan before you were injured.”
Dante closed his eyes.
The woman he'd planned to marry.
The man he'd trusted like a father.
The doctor responsible for his treatment.
All connected to the worst day of his life.
And as the truth settled over him, Dante realized something devastating.
May you like
The bombing hadn't just injured his body.
It had given the people closest to him an excuse to take control of his entire life.
