Chapter 4 - THE BILL THAT WAS NEVER HERS
My doctor hated Fay before he met her.
Technically, that was my fault.
I told him, “Someone in this house thinks my medication is making me useless.”
Dr. Leonard Stone stared at me across his office.
“Someone?”
“Yes.”
“A nurse?”
“No.”
“Therapist?”
“No.”
“Physician?”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Dominic.”
“A maid.”
His expression became exactly what I expected.
I hated him for proving her point before she entered the room.
“A maid is advising on neuropathic pain medication?”
“No. A maid noticed I was too foggy to read contracts.”
“That is different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then explain why I cannot remember half our conversations.”
Stone leaned back.
He had treated spinal injuries for twenty-seven years.
Excellent surgeon.
Terrible listener.
“The dose controls severe nerve pain and spasticity.”
“It also makes me stupid.”
“It makes you sedated.”
“Thank you for the elegant distinction.”
“We can lower it.”
“And?”
“More pain.”
“Anything else?”
“Different medication. possibly less effective.”
“Try it.”
He blinked.
Six months of me refusing change and suddenly I was asking.
“You understand there may be a difficult transition.”
“Yes.”
“Sleep disruption.”
“Yes.”
“Increased spasms.”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
I thought of Fay saying nobody in this room knows whether you’ll walk.
No false hope.
No pity.
Just what was true.
“I am certain I want to be awake for my own life.”
Stone nodded.
“Then we adjust.”
The appointment lasted ninety minutes.
Fay waited outside because she had driven with Mrs. Gable.
I could have taken a security driver.
I chose not to.
That decision irritated Carmine enough to call twice.
I ignored him.
When I came out, Fay stood from a plastic chair holding a vending-machine coffee.
“How bad?”
“New medication.”
“Good.”
“You don’t know if it’s good.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“You chose something.”
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“That seems good.”
On the drive home, Mrs. Gable took a call.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She looked at Fay in the mirror.
“Your landlord.”
Fay went still.
“What about him?”
“He came to the mansion.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
Fay looked furious.
“I don’t know.”
Mrs. Gable continued.
“He says rent is still unpaid.”
“That’s impossible.”
“You paid?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Fay pulled out her phone.
“Cashier’s check.”
She showed the receipt.
Fourteen hundred.
Full amount.
I felt anger rise.
“Name.”
“No.”
“Fay.”
“No.”
“Your landlord’s name.”
“You are not threatening my landlord.”
“I said nothing about threatening.”
“You made the face.”
Mrs. Gable actually laughed.
I glared at both women.
When we reached the house, a man in a cheap suit waited in the front sitting room.
Mid-fifties.
Heavy stomach.
Greasy gray hair.
He stood when I entered.
Not for Fay.
For me.
That told me enough.
“Mr. Corso.”
“Name.”
“Leonard Brooks.”
He smiled too much.
“I own Miss Willis’s apartment building.”
Fay walked in behind me.
“I paid you.”
Brooks looked uncomfortable.
“Partial fees remain.”
“No.”
He produced papers.
Late charges.
Legal filing.
Lock-change fee.
Administrative fee.
Nearly nine hundred dollars added after the cashier’s check.
Fay stared.
“You never gave me this.”
“It was posted.”
“Where?”
“Door.”
“I have photographs of my door from yesterday.”
Brooks looked at me.
That was another mistake.
He assumed I was the authority.
I looked at Fay.
“What do you want?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“How do you want to handle it?”
Brooks’s smile faltered.
Fay looked at the papers.
“I want a copy.”
Brooks handed them over.
“I want proof each fee is permitted by my lease.”
He shifted.
“Standard practice.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I almost smiled.
Fay continued.
“I want the eviction filing withdrawn because I paid before the deadline.”
“The filing cost—”
“Show me where the lease makes that mine.”
Brooks’s face reddened.
I stayed silent.
Hardest thing I did all day.
He looked at me again.
“Mr. Corso, surely you understand—”
“Talk to her.”
He stopped.
Fay looked at me for half a second.
Then back at him.
Brooks folded the papers.
“I can review the account.”
“Do that.”
He left.
The second the door closed, I said, “He’s stealing from you.”
“Probably.”
“I can fix it.”
“No.”
“I can have a lawyer review the lease.”
She hesitated.
That was different.
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Who pays?”
“Me.”
“No.”
“Fay.”
“Work benefit?”
I stared.
She negotiated everything into clean lines.
“Employee legal assistance.”
“You have that?”
“No.”
“Then don’t invent it for me.”
I looked at Mrs. Gable.
She raised one brow.
“Create it for all household staff.”
Fay’s face changed.
“What?”
“Legal assistance benefit. Lease disputes. wage issues. basic civil matters.”
Mrs. Gable smiled.
“That would actually be useful.”
I looked at Fay.
“Then it isn’t for you.”
She considered.
“Fine.”
Victory.
Small.
Absurdly satisfying.
The lawyer called by dinner.
Three of Brooks’s fees violated Detroit landlord-tenant rules.
One appeared fabricated.
The eviction filing had not yet reached court.
By nine, Brooks had withdrawn it.
No threats.
No broken windows.
No mysterious men in suits.
Paperwork.
I was almost disappointed.
Then Fay appeared in my study.
“You did not call him?”
“No.”
“Send anyone?”
“No.”
“Threaten him through a third party?”
“No.”
She stared.
“I want to believe you.”
“That is insulting.”
“It is earned.”
Fair.
I held up the new employee benefit memo.
“Effective Monday.”
She read.
Basic legal consultation available to all domestic employees.
Confidential.
Independent counsel.
No repayment.
She looked at me.
“You did this because of me.”
“Yes.”
“That makes me uncomfortable.”
“I did it because you exposed a weakness.”
“What weakness?”
“My staff works in a house worth twenty million dollars and apparently some of them can’t afford a lawyer when someone steals nine hundred dollars.”
She stayed quiet.
“Also,” I added, “Mrs. Gable says three kitchen employees have landlord problems.”
That changed her expression.
“So it helps them.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
There was that word.
I smiled slightly.
Then Carmine entered without knocking.
His face was hard.
“Out.”
Fay looked at me.
I did not say anything.
My house.
Her choice.
She turned to Carmine.
“Ask normally.”
His expression darkened.
“What?”
“You need to talk privately. Ask.”
Carmine stared at her.
I waited.
He looked at me.
I did nothing.
Finally he said, “Ms. Willis, would you give us the room?”
“Of course.”
She left.
Carmine closed the door.
“You enjoy this?”
“Immensely.”
“I found the man who escaped.”
My humor disappeared.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“South side motel.”
“Police?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“He has information.”
“Then bring Harris.”
“No police.”
“Why?”
Carmine stepped closer.
“Because he says the person who paid Enzo was inside the house before the accident.”
My body went cold.
“What does that mean?”
“He says the shooting six months ago was set up by someone with access to your private route.”
I stared.
Only six people knew the route I took that night.
Carmine.
My driver.
Two guards.
My attorney.
My sister Elena.
The driver died in the attack.
One guard died.
The other left the country after rehabilitation.
Elena lived in New York.
Carmine stood in front of me.
“You see why I don’t want police yet.”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
“If someone inside set me up, hiding evidence helps them.”
“Police leak.”
“So do we.”
His jaw tightened.
“You trust Detective Sato?”
I did.
Mika Sato had investigated the attack.
She had also told me, directly, that my organization obstructed half her work.
“Yes.”
Carmine looked surprised.
“You used to call her a parasite.”
“She is a persistent parasite.”
“That is not trust.”
“It is close.”
Carmine rubbed his face.
“The man wants immunity.”
“Not mine to give.”
“He wants money.”
“That I can give.”
“For the information.”
“No.”
“What?”
“We do not buy testimony.”
Carmine stared as if I had started speaking French.
“Who are you?”
“Annoyed.”
“Dominic, information costs money.”
“Then pay for documents. Not words.”
He turned away.
“This is Fay.”
I slammed one hand against the desk.
“No.”
He turned back.
“Every time I bring you a normal solution, you turn into a priest.”
“I am trying to keep us from becoming the reason every witness lies.”
“You built this family.”
“Yes.”
“And now you are ashamed of it?”
I had no clean answer.
“Parts.”
That stunned him.
He lowered his voice.
“Be careful saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because men followed you because you believed.”
“In what?”
Carmine did not answer.
Exactly.
Fear.
Money.
Tradition.
Survival.
None of us had ever written a mission statement.
I looked at him.
“Call Sato.”
He stared.
“Dominic.”
“Call her.”
He left furious.
Ten minutes later, Fay entered again with my evening medication.
I looked at the pills.
New dose.
Less.
“Bad meeting?”
“You heard?”
“Walls.”
I took the medication.
She handed me water.
“My cousin thinks you’re turning me into a moral philosopher.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“Why?”
“You still threatened to throw him out a window yesterday.”
“Second floor.”
“That distinction keeps saving you.”
I drank.
Then the pain began.
Not spasm.
A deep burning line down both legs.
New medication transition.
I closed my eyes.
Fay noticed.
“Pain?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to call the doctor?”
“No.”
“Do you want help?”
I opened my eyes.
There it was.
The choice.
“Yes.”
She dimmed the lights.
Moved the footrests.
Helped reposition one leg, then the other only after asking.
No miracle.
No cure.
The pain remained.
But I did not have to perform strength while it happened.
That was new.
After twenty minutes, I said, “The attack that put me in this chair may have come from inside.”
Fay stopped.
“You’re telling me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I did not know.
So I said the only true thing.
“Because I don’t want everyone in this house lying to me.”
She studied my face.
“That includes you.”
“What?”
“You lie when you say pain doesn’t matter.”
I almost smiled.
“Noted.”
“And when you pretend you don’t care who leaves.”
That one landed.
She stood.
“I’m not promising forever.”
I looked at her.
“I know.”
“But I’ll be here tomorrow.”
The answer felt more valuable because it had an expiration date.
A choice renewed one day at a time.
After she left, Detective Mika Sato called.
Carmine had done what I asked.
“Corso.”
“Sato.”
“I hear you discovered cooperation.”
“Don’t sound excited.”
“I’m trying not to scare it away.”
“What did the motel witness say?”
“He hasn’t talked yet.”
“Why?”
“Because when my officers arrived, he was gone.”
My stomach tightened.
“Escaped?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Taken.”
I looked toward the dark window.
“By who?”
Sato answered.
“Security footage shows a woman entering his room ten minutes before he disappeared.”
“What woman?”
“We’re enhancing.”
Another pause.
“Dominic, there’s one thing you should know.”
“What?”
“She used a Corso house credential to enter the motel’s private floor.”
My skin went cold.
“Whose?”
May you like
Sato’s voice hardened.
“Fay Willis.”
