“They were wrong.”
“Aaron disappeared the night after the explosion.”
“He didn’t disappear.”
Vincent waited.
Clara’s eyes suddenly shone.
“He was murdered.”
Dominic stared at her.
Clara reached inside her blouse.
Both guards moved.
“Easy,” she said.
She slowly pulled out a thin chain.
A small brass key hung from it.
“My husband called me eleven minutes before he died.”
The number struck Vincent immediately.
Eleven minutes.
Exactly the amount of missing surveillance footage from Matteo’s hallway.
Clara continued.
“He was terrified. Aaron was never afraid easily, but that night he could barely speak.”
“What did he say?”
Clara looked at Vincent.
“He said, ‘They changed the charge.’”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“What charge?”
“He wouldn’t explain. He told me that if anything happened to him, I was supposed to remember three things.”
She held up one finger.
“Blue bear.”
A second.
“Eleven minutes.”
Then the third.
“And the name Rossi.”
Vincent felt the temperature in the room change.
Matteo’s teddy bear.
The one Clara had repaired during the storm.
The one Sofia had given Matteo two weeks before the explosion.
Dominic immediately turned toward the door.
Vincent stopped him.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the bear.”
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“Boss—”
“Nobody leaves.”
The silence that followed was almost physical.
Vincent looked at Clara.
“You took this job because of the bear.”
“At first.”
“And the missing footage?”
“I didn’t know about that until Matteo told me someone had entered his room.”
“You’ve been investigating my family.”
“I’ve been trying to learn why my husband died.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
The admission came without hesitation.
Vincent slammed his palm onto the desk.
“My son trusted you!”
“So did my husband!”
Dominic moved forward.
Clara stood so quickly the guards reached for their weapons.
She ignored them.
“My husband died with your family’s name in his mouth. The police treated him like a bomber. Newspapers called him a murderer. His own mother died believing her son had killed a woman and crippled a child.”
Her voice cracked.
“I spent two years trying to prove he didn’t.”
Vincent stared at her.
Clara’s anger trembled into grief.
“And then I came here.”
She wiped at her eyes.
“I expected to hate you.”
Vincent said nothing.
“I expected Matteo to be some spoiled little prince living behind gates.”
She glanced toward the ceiling, toward the floor above them.
“Instead I found an eight-year-old boy who apologized every time he needed help.”
Her voice softened.
“And I stopped caring why I had originally come.”
Dominic gave a bitter laugh.
“How convenient.”
Clara turned.
“Matteo is being drugged.”
Everything stopped.
Vincent rose.
“What did you say?”
“The dosage in his evening medication changed twice during the last month.”
Dominic shook his head.
“Dr. Mercer manages his prescriptions.”
“I know.”
Clara faced Vincent.
“Matteo told me he sometimes wakes up unable to remember entire conversations from the previous evening. He also said it happens most often after Dr. Mercer visits.”
