Chapter 5 - The Man on the Screen
I watched the footage seven times.
The man on the screen moved like me. He had my height, my shoulders, my walk. Even the scar on his left wrist matched mine.
He entered the garage at 9:42 p.m., paused beside Isabella's SUV, and crouched near the rear axle.
At 9:47, he left.
The explosion occurred twenty-three minutes later.
I had spent fourteen months believing I knew exactly where I was when my wife died. I had been at the Rossi Hotel, meeting with a shipping executive and three witnesses who could confirm every minute.
Yet the footage showed me somewhere else.
“Who recorded this?” I demanded.
Anton shook his head.
“The room was supposed to be disconnected.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“I don't know.”
I studied the image again.
There was something wrong with it.
Not the face. Not the walk.
The watch.
The man on the screen wore a black watch with a silver clasp. I had owned a watch like that years ago, before Isabella gave me the gold one I wore every day. The black watch had disappeared from my collection after my father died.
I zoomed in.
The image blurred, but one detail remained visible.
A small scratch crossed the silver clasp.
I looked at my wrist.
My gold watch had the same scratch, in the same place.
I had never owned two watches with that exact mark.
Someone had deliberately altered the footage.
“Anton, where was Luca that night?”
“At the hotel with you, according to his statement.”
“Who verified it?”
“Mr. Luca's driver.”
Of course.
The driver reported to Luca. The security team reported to Luca. The financial records reported to Luca.
I had built a fortress and handed my brother every key.
“Copy the footage,” I ordered. “Make three copies. Store one outside the estate. Tell no one.”
Anton hesitated.
“If Luca learns you've found this room, he'll know we're investigating.”
I turned toward him.
“If Luca learns we've found this room, he should be terrified.”
I left the cellar and returned to my study.
Luca was waiting there.
He stood beside the window in an immaculate charcoal suit, holding a glass of whiskey as if the estate belonged to him.
“Brother,” he said pleasantly. “You've been avoiding my calls.”
I closed the door behind me.
“What do you want?”
“To discuss Matteo.”
He placed the glass on my desk.
“I'm worried about the boy. The new caretaker is filling his head with dangerous ideas.”
My expression didn't change.
“What ideas?”
“Apparently, she's encouraging him to relive the accident. Making him talk about the people he saw.”
I said nothing.
Luca shook his head.
“Grief makes children vulnerable. You know that. Someone could manipulate him into believing almost anything.”
“Someone?”
He met my eyes.
“Clara Hayes.”
There it was.
He had learned about Clara's questions.
“How did you know what she was discussing with Matteo?”
Luca smiled faintly.
“This is your house, Vincent. Of course I hear things.”
I stepped around the desk.
“Then you know the boy described a man wearing a Rossi ring.”
For the first time, Luca's smile faltered.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“Children invent things,” he said. “Especially after trauma.”
“What if he didn't invent this?”
“Then he may have mistaken someone for another person.”
“What if he recognized you?”
The room became silent.
Luca set down his glass.
“You're grieving, Vincent. You're exhausted. You need to stop looking for enemies in every corner.”
I moved within arm's reach.
“And you need to stop telling me what I need.”
He held my gaze for several seconds.
Then he smiled again.
“I'm trying to protect what's left of this family.”
He walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he paused.
“One more thing. I heard you're searching through old security records. Be careful. Some memories are better left alone.”
The door closed.
I waited until his footsteps faded before opening the desk drawer.
Inside lay an old photograph of Isabella and me on our wedding day.
I turned it over.
A message had been written on the back in her handwriting. I'd read it thousands of times.
Always choose love over fear.
But beneath those familiar words, almost invisible beneath the frame, was a second line I had never noticed.
If Vincent ever sees the cellar footage, Luca has already found him.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
THE FOOTAGE IS FAKE. BUT THE MAN WHO MADE IT IS STILL IN YOUR HOUSE.
A second message arrived before I could respond.
ASK ANTON WHAT HAPPENED TO ISABELLA'S PHONE.
May you like
I looked toward the hallway.
Then I ran.
