Chapter 5 - THE SECRET BENEATH THE MANSION
Dante read the report twice.
Then he picked up his phone.
"Find Isabella."
Renata caught his wrist before he could dial.
"Don't."
He looked at her as though she'd forgotten who he was.
"She bought the material used to frame Marina."
"According to one preliminary transaction record. That doesn't prove she bought it for that purpose, and confronting her without a plan could destroy our investigation."
"She's my fiancée."
"Which makes this more complicated, not less."
I stood near the window, watching the guards move across the courtyard.
"Maybe she wants you to confront her," I said.
Both of them turned toward me.
I continued.
"If she knows about the purchase, she may have arranged for us to discover it. She could be trying to make us accuse her while someone else destroys the evidence."
Dante studied me.
"You're suggesting we do nothing?"
"I'm suggesting we stop giving our enemies exactly what they expect."
For the first time, Renata smiled.
"That's the first sensible thing anyone has said in this office today."
We agreed to let the investigators verify the transaction before making another move.
Meanwhile, Dante's rehabilitation continued.
The sessions became a strange rhythm of resistance and negotiation. He hated exercises that reminded him of his limitations, but he was beginning to tolerate frustration without turning it into a war.
One afternoon, I found him struggling to fasten the cuff of his shirt.
He pushed the buttons apart.
"Forget it."
I sat beside him.
"Do you want help?"
"No."
I waited.
He tried again.
The button slipped from his fingers.
His breathing grew uneven, and his face tightened with humiliation.
"Dammit!"
He struck the armrest.
I didn't move.
After a moment, he looked at me.
"I hate this."
"I know."
"I hate needing someone to do something I used to do without thinking."
"Then let's figure out a way for you to do more of it yourself."
We practiced using an adaptive dressing aid recommended by his occupational therapist. It took longer than either of us wanted, but he eventually managed to fasten the cuff.
He stared at it as though he'd won a battle.
"Don't look so pleased," he muttered.
"I'm trying very hard to contain my excitement."
He laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh I'd heard from him.
For a few minutes, we were simply two people sharing an ordinary moment.
Then his hand brushed mine.
Neither of us moved immediately.
His eyes dropped to our fingers.
"Marina."
I knew what was coming before he said it.
"You work for me."
"Yes."
"And I have a fiancée."
"Yes."
"And I'm not exactly known for making good decisions."
"That last part is the most convincing argument you've made all week."
He smiled faintly, but the expression vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"I don't want to become another problem in your life."
I looked at him.
"Then don't make decisions for me. Let me make my own."
He leaned closer.
For one breath, I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, he pulled back.
"Go home, Marina."
I left feeling both relieved and disappointed.
That evening, I received a call from my younger brother, Lucas.
He sounded frightened.
"Marina, someone came to the apartment."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
"I don't know. Two men. They asked where you were working and whether you were still helping that Montenegro guy."
"Did they touch you?"
"No, but they knew Mom's name. They knew about the debt."
I closed my eyes.
My family's financial troubles had begun after our mother died. I had borrowed money to keep Lucas in school, and a private lender had been threatening to seize the apartment.
I hadn't told Dante because I didn't want him to think I was accepting the job for the million-real check.
"Listen to me," I told Lucas. "Don't open the door for anyone. I'm coming home tomorrow."
When I returned to the mansion the next morning, Dante was waiting in the library.
Renata stood beside him with a document.
"We investigated the lender," she said. "The company that purchased your debt is connected to a Montenegro holding company."
I stared at the papers.
"Why would Dante's company buy my debt?"
"It didn't," Dante answered.
He placed a second document on the desk.
"The holding company is controlled by a trust that was created six years ago."
"By whom?"
He looked at me.
"Gabriel."
My mouth went dry.
"Your brother bought my debt?"
"Apparently."
"Why?"
Dante had no answer.
Then Augusto appeared in the doorway, holding a sealed envelope.
"This arrived for Miss Oliveira."
The envelope contained no return address.
Inside was a photograph of my mother standing outside a small clinic, holding a newborn baby.
I recognized her immediately.
But the child in her arms wasn't Lucas.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date and a name.
DANTE MONTENEGRO.
I looked up, confused.
Dante had gone completely still.
"That date," he whispered. "I was told my mother died in the hospital that night."
Augusto crossed himself.
Renata took the photograph and examined it carefully.
Then she turned it over again.
"There is another name written beneath yours," she said.
I leaned closer.
May you like
The handwriting was faded, but the words were clear.
MARINA OLIVEIRA — BIOLOGICAL MOTHER.
