Matteo POV A call came in while I was pouring myself a drink trying to think about how my plan would be a success.
“Sir.” My informant’s voice was tight, rushed in a way I did not like.
“Eleanor Hart’s people pulled financial records this evening.
The specific ones.” I set the glass down without drinking from it.
“The specific ones, how?” “The shares transfer.
The one from three years ago.” Then he paused, as if he was trying to chose his words.
“She has the document number, sir.
The lawyer’s name and the date.” My hand tightened around the edge of the counter.
“How?” I said.
My voice was quiet and under control, the way I always kept my voice when mind is everywhere.
“We don’t know yet, sir.” I ended the call.
I didn’t want to hear anything else.
I stood there, staring at my reflection in the dark window.
Below me, the city carried on as if nothing had happened.
But inside me, something cold and familiar began to rise.
I felt angry, frustrated that the plan I had spent four years buliding is about to collapse.
Isabella had told her.
There was no other explanation.
She had sat in that house, and handed her grandmother the exact details I had spent years making certain she would never piece together.
I picked up my glass and drank.
The alcohol burned my throat but it did nothing for the anger.
“Matteo?” Vanessa stood on the staircase.
She was wearing one of my shirts.
Her hair fell over her shoulders.
But the look on her face told me she already knew something was wrong.
“Eleanor knows,” I said.
She stopped, ” about what exactly?” “About the transferred shares, and lawyer.” I set the glass down hard enough that the drink spilled on the counter.
“She has the document number, Vanessa.
The date and everything.” Vanessa crossed the room slowly, arms wrapping around herself.
“How is that possible?
We were careful.
You were careful.” “Isabella,” I said.
The name came out with a lot of frustration.
“She told her.” Something flashed across Vanessa’s face.
Fear or maybe doubt but she hid it quickly before I could notice.
“So the plan…” “The plan is still moving.” I cut her off before she could finish.
Before the uncertainty in her voice could grow into something I would need to manage later.
“Eleanor having information is not the same as having power.
Information takes time to become a lawsuit.
A lawsuit takes time to become a courtroom.
I do not need forever, Vanessa.
I need three weeks.” “And if she moves faster than three weeks?” I looked at her.
“Then we make sure she does not have the chance to.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number I had used, the kind of number you do not waste on small problems.
“Mattia.” “Sir.” The voice on the other end was professional, the voice of a man paid generously to ask very few questions.
“I need eyes on Eleanor Hart,” I said, I walked back to the window.
“Her house, movements.
Who she meets, calls, what time she leaves and what time she returns.
I want a full report by morning.” “Understood, sir.” “And Mattia,” I paused.
“If she goes anywhere near a courthouse, I want to know before walks through the door.” I ended the call.
When I turned around, Vanessa was still staring at me.
There was something in her expression I had never seen before.
Something careful, and for the first time since I had met her, I saw fear.
“Matteo.” She whispered.
“Having someone watch a sixth year old woman, that feels like a different kind of plan than what you described to me.” “It is the same plan.” I walked toward her.
I placed my hands on her shoulders.
I was always careful.
Even when all I wanted was to break something.
“We are simply being thorough.
Eleanor cannot do anything to stop this.
She does not need to see it coming until it has already happened.” “And if she finds out you are having her followed?” “She won’t.” “You said the same thing about the shares staying quiet.” The words hit harder than she probably meant them to.
I felt my jaw tighten.
I felt the heat building behind my eyes.
For one second, I wanted to scream.
Instead, I breathed.
Then I smiled.
“Vanessa,” My voice was calm again.
“Look at me.” She did.
“We are close,” I said.
“Closer than we have ever been.
The facility is ready.
The doctor is ready.
The board meeting is in three weeks, and once Isabella is inside that facility, none of this, the shares, the investigation, Eleanor’s lawyers.
None of it will matter, because Eleanor will be too busy fighting for access to her granddaughter to fight for anything else.” “And if it doesn’t happen like that?” “It will,” I said.
“Because I am not leaving anything to chance anymore.” I pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.
I had learned long ago that people in love trusted touch more than words.
She relaxed slightly, but it was enough to calm her down.
She softened slightly under my hands, the way she always did.
“Trust me,” I whispered.
“We’ve come too far to stop now.” She nodded against my chest.
But I could still feel the tension in her body.
Then my phone buzzed.
I released her and crossed to check it, already expecting another update from Mattia, another small problem requiring my attention before midnight.
It was not Mattia.
It was Dr.
Kessler.
“Documentation finalized.
Diagnosis confirmed.
Signature complete.
Ready to proceed with your instruction.” Beneath the message, an attachment, a scanned page, official letterhead, a careful arrangement of clinical language I had spent considerable money arranging exactly the way I wanted it arranged.
Acute psychological distress.
History of erratic behavior, overuse of drugs.
Risk assessment recommending immediate psychiatric admittance.
At the bottom of the page, beneath two paragraphs of medical terminology that meant exactly nothing and everything at once, sat a signature in neat, practiced handwriting.
“Dr.
Kessler, MD, Board Certified Psychiatry.” And beneath the signature, the patient’s name, printed clean and official, exactly as it would appear on every document that followed it from this point forward.
“Isabella Hart.” I looked at the screen for a long time.
Slowly, I felt relief settle inside my chest.
Behind me, Vanessa spoke.
“What is it?” I turned the phone toward her.
I watched her eyes move across the page.
Then she froze.
I smiled.
“It’s done,” I said quietly.
I looked back at Isabella’s name.
“Isabella is officially unstable.” I laughed bitterly.