Still, unease gathered in my chest.
I searched Lydian Therapeutics and found an old press release. The company had funded experimental neurological research at St. Vincent Medical Center nearly twenty years earlier.
The same hospital where Sebastian had undergone surgery after his accident.
I clicked deeper.
Most of the links were dead. The research program had closed after allegations of incomplete trial documentation. No charges had been filed.
One name appeared in an archived announcement.
Dr. Nathan Vale, principal clinical investigator.
I sat back.
Rain tapped against the kitchen window.
Perhaps it was a coincidence.
Perhaps Dr. Vale had prescribed a medication manufactured by a company he once researched for because he trusted their products.
But another thought had begun to form.
What if Sebastian had shown signs of recovery years ago?
What if the medication had prevented anyone from seeing them?
My phone rang.
The sound nearly made me drop it.
Unknown number.
I answered softly. “Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then a man spoke.
“Stop treating Lombardi.”
My body went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You have a child, Ms. Bennett.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“Do not mention my son.”
“Then listen carefully. Sebastian Lombardi cannot be allowed to recover.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
From Oliver’s room came the steady hum of his machine.
I checked the lock, then the windows. No one stood in the hallway. No cars idled outside.
I called Gabriel.
He answered on the first ring.
“What happened?”
“How did you know something happened?”
“You wouldn’t call otherwise.”
I told him about the threat.
His voice changed immediately.
“Take Oliver and go downstairs to Mrs. Alvarez. Do not turn on lights near the windows.”
“I’m not leaving him with anyone.”
“Clare—”
“You threatened him first. Forgive me if your protection doesn’t comfort me.”
Silence.
Then he said, “I deserved that.”
The response took some of the force from my anger.
“We’ll be there in seven minutes,” he continued. “Until then, stay away from the windows.”
The call ended.
I woke Oliver gently and told him we were having a late-night visit downstairs. He was too sleepy to ask many questions.
Mrs. Alvarez opened her door in a robe, took one look at my face, and let us in.
Seven minutes later, two black vehicles pulled up outside.
Gabriel entered the building with three men. They checked the apartment, stairwell, roof access, and alley. They found nothing.
Sebastian arrived last.
I had not expected him.
He rolled into Mrs. Alvarez’s living room wearing a dark coat over a plain shirt. Without his usual surroundings, he seemed out of place among crocheted cushions, family photographs, and porcelain birds.
Mrs. Alvarez looked at him, then at his chair.
“You are the man who fell,” she said.
Sebastian glanced at me.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Oliver sat up on the couch.
“You’re standing in my picture.”
Sebastian looked at the drawing on the coffee table.
“I see.”
“It might happen later,” Oliver explained.
A strange expression crossed Sebastian’s face.
“Perhaps.”
Mrs. Alvarez folded her arms. “Why are armed men in my hallway?”
Gabriel opened his mouth.
I interrupted. “Someone called me.”
Mrs. Alvarez’s gaze sharpened.
“About the patient?”
“Yes.”
Sebastian turned to Gabriel. “Take Oliver and Mrs. Alvarez somewhere safe.”
“No,” I said.
“They can stay at one of my properties.”
“No.”
“Clare, whoever called knows you have a son.”
“And whose fault is that?”
The question came out harsher than I intended.
Sebastian did not flinch.
“Mine,” he said.
The simple answer silenced me.
He looked toward Oliver, who was tracing the edge of his drawing.
“I will not allow my condition to endanger him.”
Something in his voice was different. This was not a command intended to control me. It was a promise he was making to himself.
Mrs. Alvarez sat beside Oliver.
“The boy stays with his mother,” she said. “But perhaps the mother listens before deciding.”
Sebastian inclined his head toward her. “A reasonable proposal.”
“Do not charm my neighbor.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Despite everything, Mrs. Alvarez looked pleased.
We moved into the kitchen while Gabriel remained with Oliver.
I placed the two medication bottles on the table.
Sebastian read the labels.
“What am I looking at?”
“Your muscle relaxant and Oliver’s nighttime medication are manufactured by the same company. Lydian Therapeutics.”
“So?”
“Lydian funded neurological research at St. Vincent’s when you had surgery.”
His eyes lifted.
“Dr. Vale led the program.”
Sebastian said nothing.
“The drug you’ve been taking can suppress reflexes and voluntary movement,” I continued. “It may be medically appropriate. I can’t say otherwise without your full records. But it could also help explain why minor improvements were missed.”
“You think Vale kept me paralyzed?”
“I think we need evidence before saying anything like that.”
He looked toward the living room.
“And Oliver?”
“His medication is different. His doctor prescribed it for muscle tightness.”
“But you’re worried.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because his condition has never been clearly diagnosed. Because Lydian funded research into nerve function. And because someone called me less than an hour after I searched the company.”
Sebastian’s gaze became still.
“You searched from your home network?”
“Yes.”
“Then the caller may be monitoring the company’s archived sites or medical database queries.”
I felt suddenly foolish.
“I should have been more careful.”
“You’re a physical therapist, not an intelligence officer.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
He turned the vial slowly between his fingers.
“I remember Vale before the accident,” he said.
“You knew him?”
“He worked with my father’s companies. Charitable medical projects, research grants, private care.”
“Did he treat you before?”
“Occasionally.”
“Then he was not simply the surgeon assigned after the crash.”
“No.”