Chapter 12 - Rehearsal
The cathedral smelled of candle wax and lilies.
Three hundred white chairs waited beneath vaulted stone arches.
Vivian walked down the aisle during rehearsal wearing a pale designer suit.
Anyone watching would have seen an excited bride.
Massimo saw a woman calculating exits.
Damian stood near the altar.
Arthur Vale sat in the second row.
Dr. Peter Lowell spoke with the wedding planner near the side chapel.
Every major conspirator was present.
Sophie remained beside Lucia.
Not as a housekeeper.
As her personal aide.
Vivian hated that.
The rehearsal began.
Father Michael O’Connell knew only that Massimo wanted the civil paperwork delayed until after a private legal consultation.
He did not know why.
Massimo intended to keep it that way.
Vivian reached the altar.
“You look nervous,” she whispered.
“Should I be?”
“A little.”
Massimo smiled.
“Then we match.”
Behind them Damian joked with the groomsmen.
Sophie noticed Arthur Vale pass him a folded note.
She quietly signaled Marco.
Security cameras followed Vale afterward.
He entered the sacristy.
Dr. Lowell joined him.
Their conversation came through a microphone already installed with the church’s permission as part of event security.
“Sunday afternoon,” Vale said.
“Before the reception?”
“During photographs.”
“And dosage?”
“Vivian handles it.”
Lowell lowered his voice.
“I’m a physician, Arthur, not an assassin.”
“No one said anything about killing him.”
“You said he needs to be medically incapacitated.”
“Temporarily.”
“Enough to sign a certification?”
“Enough for you to document symptoms.”
Lowell hesitated.
“What if Price examines him?”
“Price won’t be there.”
Massimo heard the recording from a van outside.
Dr. Samuel Price absolutely would be there.
Lowell continued.
“I want the second half of my payment before Sunday.”
“You’ll receive it.”
“And after?”
“You’re finished.”
Marco stopped the recording.
“That’s conspiracy.”
Massimo nodded.
“And attempted fraud.”
“Still want more?”
“Yes.”
Marco cursed.
“You are becoming addicted to evidence.”
“No. I want Damian speaking.”
Lowell and Vale were professionals protecting themselves.
Damian had not yet directly admitted the plan.
Without his admission, he could claim Vivian and Vale exceeded what he authorized.
Massimo wanted no gaps.
During a rehearsal break, Damian approached him.
“Walk?”
They moved into the cloister.
Cold light filtered through stained glass.
Damian shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You happy?”
Massimo almost laughed.
“About marriage?”
“About everything.”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A serious one.”
Damian looked strangely tired.
“You inherited the company. The houses. The trust. Uncle Enzo’s reputation.”
“You inherited money too.”
“Not the same money.”
There it was.
Massimo decided to push.
“My father and yours made their choices.”
Damian stopped walking.
“That’s the story you were told.”
“What story were you told?”
Damian stared at him.
“Ask your mother.”
Massimo kept his expression neutral.
“About what?”
“Harbor Point.”
Massimo pretended confusion.
“Ancient history.”
Damian’s mouth tightened.
“History is only ancient when the winner tells it.”
Then he walked away.
Massimo stood beneath the stone archway.
Damian wanted him to know.
Not everything.
But enough to feel morally justified.
That made him more dangerous.
People who knew they were villains sometimes stopped.
People convinced they were correcting injustice could justify almost anything.
Back in the nave, Vivian stood with Sophie.
Their voices were low.
“You shouldn’t be here Sunday,” Vivian said.
“Lucia wants me.”
“Lucia doesn’t understand what’s happening.”
“I think she understands more than you’d like.”
Vivian smiled.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
Sophie looked at her aunt.
“I keep wishing you were someone else.”
Vivian’s face flickered.
For one second she looked like a woman hearing something she had waited years to hear from her sister.
Then the armor returned.
“Rebecca used to say that.”
“I know.”
“You found her letters.”
“Yes.”
“She lied about me.”
“She worried about you.”
“She abandoned me.”
“She was nineteen when Thomas started making her responsible for you.”
Vivian’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t defend her.”
“I’m not. I’m understanding her.”
“That’s worse.”
Vivian walked away.
Lucia had overheard enough to understand.
She touched Sophie’s hand.
“You don’t owe family forgiveness simply because they share blood.”
Sophie looked down.
“Did you learn that from experience?”
Lucia smiled sadly.
“I am learning most useful things very late.”
After rehearsal, Massimo attended a private dinner with Vivian, Damian and Lucia.
Sophie remained nearby.
Vivian poured wine.
Massimo’s glass had been secured by Marco.
Still, he pretended dizziness halfway through dinner.
He let his hand slip.
The fork hit the plate.
Vivian immediately watched him.
“Massimo?”
He blinked slowly.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Damian leaned forward.
“Jet lag?”
“Maybe.”
Vivian touched Massimo’s wrist.
Her voice became tender.
“We should have Dr. Lowell look at you.”
Exactly as expected.
Massimo allowed Lowell to examine him in the library.
Lowell checked his pupils.
Blood pressure.
Speech.
Then asked questions designed to suggest cognitive confusion.
“What day is it?”
“Friday.”
“Do you know where you are?”
Massimo laughed.
“My own house.”
Lowell wrote something anyway.
Massimo noticed.
“What did you write?”
“Routine notes.”
Afterward Marco obtained a copy.
Lowell had written:
Patient reports intermittent confusion following recent travel. Observed delayed responses. Possible neurological event. Recommend continued monitoring.
Massimo had reported no confusion.
Lowell was building the record.
Then Marco found something worse.
Lowell had created two earlier medical notes.
Both dated weeks before.
Both claiming Massimo experienced memory lapses.
Massimo had never seen him on those dates.
“Forgery,” Marco said.
Massimo looked toward the cathedral model displayed in the wedding-planning room.
Two days remained.
Finally they had the medical fraud.
But Damian still had not crossed the final line on record.
Then Sophie’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Damian’s voice came through.
“I think you and I should talk privately.”
Sophie looked at Massimo.
He nodded.
“About what?” she asked.
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Damian replied:
“About why your mother was smart enough to run from this family—and why you should do the same before Sunday.”
