Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Frame
I couldn't move. My feet felt as though they were cemented to the cool marble floor of the corridor.
"David..." I whispered, the name tearing out of my throat like shattered glass.
The woman in the white dress took a slow, timid step forward. Her bare feet made no sound against the Persian rug. She looked at Samuel, then her eyes drifted to me, and a faint, trembling gasp escaped her lips.
"Maya?" her voice was thin, raspy from years of disuse. "Are you... Maya?"
Thiago wheeled himself into the doorway, his knuckles white as he gripped his armrests. "Isabella... do you know her?"
Isabella dropped to her knees right there in the hallway. She didn't look at Thiago. She kept her eyes fixed on my son, who was standing just two feet away from her, staring at the portrait on the wall.
"Mom," Samuel said, his voice ringing with innocent confusion as he pointed up at the painting. "Why is Daddy in Uncle Thiago's house?"
Attorney Arthur Vance suddenly lunged forward, trying to grab the door handle. "This is an illegal intrusion! She is mentally unstable! I'm calling the psychiatric facility right now!"
Before Arthur could touch the door, Marcus grabbed him by the back of his expensive Italian suit collar and slammed him against the stone wall with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs.
"Stay down, Counselor," Marcus growled, his voice deep as thunder.
Thiago didn't even look back at the commotion. He was staring at his sister, his eyes wide with horror and realization.
"Speak to me, Isabella," Thiago begged, his voice cracking. "Arthur told me you went mad after the crash six years ago. He said you tried to destroy the company... that you were a danger to yourself!"
Isabella let out a hollow, tragic laugh that turned into a cough. "Arthur... and your brother, Julian... they lied to you, Thiago."
She slowly raised her right arm. The fabric of her sleeve fell back, revealing thick, dark purple scars circling her wrist—unmistakable marks of iron restraints.
"They didn't lock me in here because I was mad," Isabella whispered, tears overflowing her pale cheeks. "They locked me in here because I knew the truth about the crash."
She lifted her trembling hand and pointed directly at the portrait of my husband.
"David didn't die in a random site collapse six years ago," Isabella said, looking straight into my eyes. "He was the chief structural engineer on the Almeida Tower project. He discovered that Julian and Arthur were using cheap, substandard concrete and embezzling hundreds of millions from the budget."
My stomach plummeted. The world seemed to spin violently around me.
For six years, the police had told me David died because of a tragic equipment failure on a construction site. I had been left alone, pregnant with Samuel, working sixteen-hour days just to afford a tiny basement apartment.
"David came to me with the proof," Isabella continued, her voice growing stronger, fueled by years of buried agony. "We were on our way to the federal prosecutor's office when our car was run off the bridge. The crash paralyzed Thiago... and David saved my life by pushing me clear before the car hit the water. But David... David didn't make it out."
I covered my face with my hands, my chest heaving as silent, uncontrollable sobs broke through me.
Samuel ran to my side, wrapping his tiny arms around my legs. "Mommy, don't cry... please don't cry."
Thiago sat in his wheelchair, completely motionless. The color had left his face so entirely he looked like a statue carved from salt.
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"Julian..." Thiago whispered, the name dripping with absolute venom. "My own brother... did this to us?"
"Julian took the money," Isabella said softly. "And Arthur made sure you stayed sick, Thiago. Why do you think your legs never healed? Why do you think you get weaker every time you take those daily nerve injections Arthur gives you?"
