Chapter 2 - The Man Who Needed Him Dying
Rafe Corsaro placed the papers on the conservatory table as though he were delivering a restaurant bill.
“You need to sign these.”
Emilio did not reach for them.
Etta was trimming dead leaves from a potted lemon tree twenty feet away. She kept her eyes on her work, but every word traveled clearly through the glass room.
Rafe was thirty-one, handsome in the polished way that expensive tailors and good genetics could manufacture. He had Emilio’s dark hair but none of his stillness. Emilio could frighten a room without moving.
Rafe needed everyone to notice when he entered one.
“Temporary authorization for what?” Emilio asked.
“Operational decisions.”
“I still make operational decisions.”
Rafe smiled.
“Yesterday you fell asleep during a meeting.”
“I was listening to Bruno talk. Anyone would.”
Neither attorney laughed.
Rafe’s smile disappeared.
“The doctors say you’re deteriorating.”
“Which doctors?”
“Prentiss.”
Etta’s hand stopped.
Only for a second.
Dr. Malcolm Prentiss had been Emilio’s private physician for nearly a year.
Emilio leaned back.
“Prentiss also said the windows in my bedroom had to remain sealed.”
“He was protecting you.”
“From oxygen?”
Rafe’s jaw tightened.
One attorney opened a leather folder.
“Mr. Corsaro, this simply permits your brother to maintain continuity should you become temporarily incapacitated.”
“Temporarily?”
Emilio looked at Rafe.
“That’s optimistic of you.”
Rafe leaned forward.
“Stop making this difficult.”
Something passed between the brothers.
It was not affection.
It was history.
Emilio picked up the papers.
Then he tore them in half.
The sound was quiet.
Rafe went pale.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“I’ve made several.”
Emilio dropped the pieces onto the table.
“I’m looking at one.”
Rafe stared at him for three long seconds before turning toward the doors.
His gaze landed on Etta.
For the first time, he seemed to realize she was there.
“You.”
Etta straightened.
“Sir?”
“You’ve been assigned to my brother?”
“Sometimes.”
Rafe studied her.
“Not anymore.”
Emilio’s voice came softly from behind him.
“She works where Mrs. Tunney assigns her.”
Rafe turned.
“She’s a maid.”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you care?”
Emilio looked toward Etta.
For one dangerous second, she feared he would answer.
Instead he said, “Because this is my house.”
Rafe left.
The attorneys followed.
That evening, Etta was scrubbing the servants’ staircase when Mrs. Tunney appeared.
The housekeeper had worked for the Corsaro family for twenty-eight years and wore authority like armor.
“Come with me.”
Etta followed her downstairs.
Instead of taking her toward the kitchen, Mrs. Tunney opened a door Etta had never seen unlocked.
Inside was a narrow maintenance corridor.
The smell hit her immediately.
Wet plaster.
Rotting wood.
And something sweet underneath.
Etta stopped.
Mrs. Tunney noticed.
“You smell it?”
“Yes.”
A contractor stood farther down the corridor wearing gloves and a respirator.
He had opened the wall behind Emilio’s former bedroom.
Black growth covered the interior.
Not a little.
Entire sections of wood were dark with moisture.
Etta felt cold.
“How long?”
The contractor looked uncomfortable.
“Hard to say. Months. Maybe longer.”
Mrs. Tunney crossed her arms.
“The leak came from an old drainage line. Every time it rained, moisture collected inside the wall.”
Etta thought of Emilio sleeping ten feet away.
Night after night.
Breathing.
Weakening.
“Could this make somebody sick?”
“It can,” the contractor said. “Depends on the person and the exposure. But I’m not a doctor.”
Etta looked at the blackened wall.
Then she remembered the diffuser.
Anything that has to smell that loud is covering something.
“Who ordered those diffusers?”
Mrs. Tunney frowned.
“Dr. Prentiss.”
Etta turned.
“All of them?”
“He said Mr. Corsaro found the medical smell unpleasant.”
“No.”
Etta shook her head.
“He hated sandalwood.”
“How do you know?”
“Because every time I turned it off, he left it off.”
Mrs. Tunney became very still.
That night, Emilio ate dinner in the conservatory.
For the first time in months, he finished half a bowl of soup.
Etta was not supposed to be there.
She found an excuse anyway.
She wiped a table that was already clean.
Emilio noticed.
“You’re terrible at pretending.”
“So are you.”
“At what?”
“Not being frightened.”
His spoon stopped.
Nobody spoke to Emilio Corsaro that way.
Perhaps that was why he answered honestly.
“I am frightened.”
Etta looked at him.
Not the feared man.
Not the wealthy man.
Just Emilio.
“What if they were wrong?” he asked.
“About what?”
“About me dying.”
Etta’s throat tightened.
“That would be good news.”
“Not for everyone.”
He looked toward the closed conservatory doors.
Etta followed his gaze.
Rafe was standing on the other side of the glass.
Watching them.
The next morning, Emilio ordered an independent medical team from Houston.
No Prentiss.
No Corsaro family physician.
No one selected by Rafe.
The doctors arrived before noon.
They reviewed every scan, blood test, medication, supplement, injection, and environmental report from the previous fourteen months.
Six hours later, Dr. Lena Shah requested to speak with Emilio privately.
Emilio refused.
“Etta stays.”
Etta nearly protested.
Then she saw his hand trembling beneath the blanket.
She remained.
Dr. Shah placed several reports on the table.
“The mold exposure may explain part of what happened to you. But not all of it.”
Emilio’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“Some of your symptoms are inconsistent.”
“With what?”
“With the diagnosis you were given.”
Silence.
Dr. Shah turned another page.
“Your records say Dr. Prentiss prescribed several medications over the past year.”
“Yes.”
“Who administered them?”
“My nurse. Sometimes Prentiss.”
“Did you ever see the original pharmacy packaging?”
Emilio looked at her.
“No.”
Dr. Shah inhaled slowly.
“We tested the medication currently in your bedroom.”
Etta felt her stomach tighten.
“And?” Emilio asked.
The doctor hesitated.
“That bottle does not contain what its label says it contains.”
The conservatory seemed to shrink.
Emilio did not move.
“What is in it?”
“We’re still confirming.”
“Doctor.”
Dr. Shah met his eyes.
“A compound that, with prolonged exposure, could contribute to weakness, tremors, cardiac irregularity, confusion, and severe fatigue.”
Etta covered her mouth.
Emilio looked strangely calm.
“How prolonged?”
“Months.”
A shadow crossed the glass wall outside.
Etta turned.
Nobody was there.
But the conservatory door was moving.
Slowly closing.
Someone had been listening.
Emilio reached for his phone.
May you like
Before he could touch it, every light in Corsaro House went out.
And from somewhere upstairs came the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.
