Chapter 5 - The Brother Who Called It Mercy
Dominic requested a private conversation.
Vincent refused the private part.
They met in Elena’s conference room with attorneys present and a court reporter arranged by agreement.
Dominic arrived wearing a charcoal suit.
No camel coat.
No effortless smile.
He looked like a man who had finally encountered a door that did not open because he knew the owner.
“You’ve let strangers turn you against your family,” he said.
Vincent sat without his tie.
His collar lay soft against his neck.
“Explain the jackets.”
“They were meant to help.”
“Explain the tightened adjustments.”
“I followed advice.”
“Whose?”
Dominic looked toward his attorney.
The man placed a hand on his folder.
“We’re not conducting an interrogation.”
“No,” Elena said. “Your client requested this meeting.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“You forget what you were like after the accident.”
Vincent watched him.
“You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t work. You shouted at everyone. I held things together.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I made decisions.”
“Yes.”
“Someone had to.”
Vincent felt the familiar beginning of pain behind his eye.
The neurologist had warned him recovery might be slow. Muscles, sleep, stress, and years of conditioned fear would not reorganize themselves in a week.
He breathed.
Dominic noticed the movement.
“There. You see? It’s not the suits.”
Elena’s expression hardened.
Vincent lifted one hand.
“The doctors haven’t said they explain everything.”
Dominic sat back.
“Exactly.”
“They have said the modifications could have hurt me.”
Silence.
“And that nobody prescribed them.”
Dominic looked away.
For the first time, Vincent saw something beneath the resentment.
Not guilt.
An old, hungry grievance.
“Do you know what it was like being your brother?” Dominic asked.
Vincent waited.
“Every room belonged to you before I entered it.”
“You had a salary. Ownership. Authority.”
“I had what you gave me.”
“So you took more.”
Dominic’s face changed.
His attorney murmured something.
The meeting ended without a confession.
It did not need one.
The records continued arriving.
Messages to contractors.
Payments to Arturo.
Instructions to an assistant to replace jackets before meetings.
An email describing Vincent as “easier to manage on a difficult day.”
The phrase left Vincent staring at the wall.
Across town, Jenna met with her lawyer.
The hotel had become more cooperative after receiving a preservation notice and a precise explanation of her rights.
There would be an investigation.
Back pay was likely.
Her suspension might be withdrawn.
Jenna nodded through all of it, then asked the question that mattered.
“How long?”
Her rent was due in nine days.
The lawyer did not offer false comfort.
“We’re pressing them.”
That evening, Mrs. Alvarez knocked with a casserole and an envelope.
Inside were three hundred dollars collected by neighbors.
Jenna shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Mrs. Alvarez said.
“I don’t know when I’ll repay—”
“We’re not a bank.”
Jenna covered her mouth.
For weeks, powerful people had discussed her bravery.
This was the first thing that made her feel less alone.
Later, Vincent called.
“How’s Lily?”
“Concerned about my relationship with official letters.”
He laughed softly.
Jenna sat beside the kitchen window.
“How are you?”
“Some hours are better.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Something besides coffee?”
He looked at his untouched dinner.
“Your questions have become invasive.”
“My daughter specializes in them. I’m learning.”
After the call, he ate.
The following morning, Jenna received a message from an unknown number.
You should have repaired the button and kept your mouth shut.
She did not delete it.
She called her attorney.
Then Detective Morse.
Then she walked Lily to school with Mrs. Alvarez beside her.
May you like
Fear came with them.
It did not get to choose the route.
