Chapter 9 - ISABELA'S REAL NAME
“My name is Isabela Ward.”
Dante said nothing.
“I never lied about my first name.”
“That is a generous definition of honesty.”
She accepted the blow.
“My father is Elias.”
Bruno moved closer.
“Your father sabotaged Dante’s brakes.”
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me why he came back.”
“And you believed him?”
“He spent seventeen years hiding from the Montenegro family.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“So did you.”
“Yes.”
“Why work inside my house?”
“Because he asked me to.”
Bruno’s hand moved toward his gun.
Dante raised one finger.
Not yet.
“What did Elias want you to do?”
“Watch.”
“For what?”
“Changes in your recovery.”
Dante laughed coldly.
“Another person monitoring my rehabilitation.”
“He thought someone was trying to finish what happened on the mountain.”
“And instead of warning me, you took a job cleaning my house.”
“I didn’t trust you.”
“Yet you brought your daughter.”
“I had nowhere else safe.”
That answer hit differently.
Dante looked at Sofia.
She was fully awake now.
Confused by the tension.
Isabela noticed and handed her to one of the older housemaids she trusted.
“Take her to the kitchen.”
Sofia resisted.
“Mommy.”
“I’ll come soon.”
The child left reluctantly.
Dante waited until she was gone.
“Continue.”
“Three months ago, my father contacted me.”
“After years?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That Dr. Elena Ward had disappeared.”
Dante’s heart shifted.
“Elena is my sister?”
Isabela nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“My father never told me everything.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That Elena was someone he protected.”
“From whom?”
“The Montenegros.”
Dante’s gaze moved toward Rosa.
She looked away.
“Where is Elena now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did your father suspect someone was targeting me?”
“Because Elena found financial transfers linking your family trust to a medical research network.”
Dante frowned.
“What kind of research?”
“Neurological rehabilitation.”
Henrique stepped closer.
“My field.”
Everyone looked at him.
Henrique shook his head.
“No.”
Dante studied him.
“You recognize something.”
“Bellweather Pediatric Foundation funded a larger institute.”
“Which?”
“Voss Neuro Recovery.”
Dante’s stomach tightened.
That was the private clinic where he had received his first rehabilitation assessment after the accident.
Henrique looked horrified.
“I recommended it.”
Dante stared.
“Who referred you?”
Henrique thought.
Then went pale.
“Victor.”
Dante turned toward Bruno.
“Find Victor.”
“We’ve been trying.”
“Try harder.”
Isabela continued.
“Elena discovered someone was using the trust to fund Voss through shell charities.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante looked down at his leg.
Then at the brace.
“Experimental rehabilitation?”
Henrique shook his head.
“Maybe not rehabilitation.”
A silence.
“What else?”
Henrique hesitated.
“Neuromuscular suppression.”
Bruno looked confused.
“Meaning?”
“Methods of reducing nerve response.”
Dante understood first.
“You can make someone appear more disabled than they are.”
Henrique nodded.
“With medication, improper bracing, repeated inflammation…”
Rafael.
The brace.
The hospital complications.
This was not improvised sabotage.
It was medical.
Precise.
Designed.
Dante looked at Isabela.
“Why keep me alive?”
“Because dead men don’t sign documents.”
Bruno answered.
The trust.
Again.
Dante suddenly remembered paperwork Victor brought to the hospital.
Insurance.
Temporary authority.
He had signed some.
“What did I sign after surgery?”
Bruno started reviewing digital records.
Dante felt dread before the answer came.
Bruno looked up.
“You signed a conditional succession authorization.”
“What?”
“It activates if two independent physicians certify permanent incapacity.”
Dante stared at Henrique.
“One of the physicians?”
Henrique looked sick.
“Dr. Voss.”
“And the second?”
Bruno scrolled.
His face changed.
“Dr. Henrique Alves.”
Everyone turned.
Henrique stepped backward.
“I never signed that.”
Bruno showed the screen.
“Your digital signature is there.”
Henrique stared.
“That is forged.”
Dante’s voice went quiet.
“When does the certification become valid?”
Bruno continued reading.
“Forty-eight hours from now.”
The room fell silent.
Forty-eight hours.
Someone had been building toward a deadline.
Henrique looked at Dante.
“If the medical certification goes through, control of the trust transfers temporarily.”
“To whom?”
Bruno’s eyes narrowed.
“Not Victor.”
“Who?”
Bruno turned the tablet.
Successor beneficiary:
ELENA MONTENEGRO.
Dante stared.
His missing sister.
The woman nobody could find.
The woman who might control everything in two days.
Then a new message appeared on Dante’s phone.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
Elena.
Alive.
Tied to a chair.
Below it:
May you like
SIGN THE FINAL TRANSFER OR YOUR SISTER DIES.
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