Chapter 2 - The Missing Eleven Minutes
Vincent hit the security-room keyboard so hard one of the guards stepped back.
“Where is it?”
Nobody answered.
Three monitors showed yesterday afternoon from different angles.
The rehabilitation hallway.
The stairwell.
The great room entrance.
But between 2:14 and 2:25 p.m., every camera in the rehabilitation wing showed the same frozen image.
Eleven missing minutes.
Dominic stood behind Vincent with his cane.
“System failure?”
“No.”
Vincent pulled up the diagnostic history.
“Manual interruption.”
“From inside?”
Vincent stared at the screen.
“Administrative access.”
Mercer cursed under his breath.
Clare sat in the corner with Ellie asleep against her chest.
Dominic had wanted the girl away from the adults.
Away from Arthur.
Away from whoever had manipulated his brace.
But Clare had refused to let Ellie out of her arms.
Dominic didn’t blame her.
“Who has administrator access?” he asked.
Vincent didn’t immediately answer.
“Vincent.”
“Me.”
Dominic waited.
“And?”
“You.”
“Anybody else?”
Vincent’s mouth tightened.
“Thomas Kreel.”
Dominic’s chief technology officer.
A man who had worked for the Vale companies for nine years.
“Where is Kreel?”
A guard checked his phone.
“Not on the property.”
“Call him.”
The call went straight to voicemail.
Vincent dialed again.
Nothing.
Dominic looked at the frozen camera image.
“Find him.”
Arthur’s voice came from the doorway.
“Find who?”
Every head turned.
Vincent reached toward his jacket.
Arthur lifted both hands.
“Relax.”
“You were told to stay in the conference room,” Vincent said.
Arthur looked at Dominic.
“I don’t take orders from your employee.”
“You do in my house.”
Arthur’s expression hardened.
Then he noticed the screen.
“Camera problem?”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“Interesting question.”
Arthur looked at him.
“You think I tampered with your brace because a four-year-old said she saw me?”
“I think the security feed disappeared for eleven minutes while you were apparently near my rehabilitation room.”
“Apparently?”
“You were here yesterday.”
“I’m here four days a week.”
“And where were you at two fifteen?”
Arthur gave a tired sigh.
“This is getting embarrassing.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
Vincent stepped forward, but Dominic lifted his hand.
Arthur continued.
“You had an accident. You’ve been injured. You’re under pressure. Now a maid’s daughter makes a childish observation and suddenly you’re seeing assassins in the hallways.”
Clare’s face flushed.
“She’s not lying.”
Arthur looked at her as though he had only just noticed she existed.
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You said childish.”
“She is four.”
“She knew the strap was backward.”
Arthur smiled.
“And now she controls the organization?”
Dominic’s cane moved so quickly Arthur didn’t see it until the silver handle stopped against his chest.
The room froze.
Dominic’s voice remained quiet.
“You speak to Clare with respect.”
Arthur looked down at the cane.
Then slowly back up.
“So this is what we’ve become.”
“No,” Dominic said. “This is what happens when you confuse patience with weakness.”
A phone rang.
Everyone turned.
One of Vincent’s men answered.
His expression changed immediately.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at Dominic.
“They found Kreel’s car.”
“Where?”
“Burnham Harbor.”
“And Kreel?”
The guard swallowed.
“Inside it.”
Clare covered Ellie’s ear.
Dominic felt the room narrow.
“Alive?”
“No.”
Nobody spoke.
Arthur took a slow breath.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Dominic looked straight at him.
“Unfortunate?”
“What word would you prefer?”
Vincent stared at Arthur with open hatred now.
Dominic’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No voice.
Only static.
Then a recording played.
His own voice.
From three nights earlier.
A private conversation in his bedroom.
“I don’t trust Arthur anymore.”
Dominic’s entire body went still.
Then another voice.
Vincent’s.
“You shouldn’t.”
The recording ended.
A text appeared.
CHECK YOUR BEDROOM.
Vincent saw Dominic’s face.
“What?”
Dominic turned.
“Get Clare and Ellie into the panic suite.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
He headed toward the stairs.
Mercer followed.
Vincent grabbed his arm.
“You’re not going alone.”
They entered Dominic’s bedroom less than two minutes later.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Bed made.
Curtains open.
Medication arranged beside a glass of water.
Vincent searched the lamps.
The air vents.
The smoke detector.
Dominic looked toward the brace stand beside the closet.
Empty.
His spare orthopedic brace was gone.
“Vincent.”
“Yeah.”
“Somebody took the second brace.”
Vincent swore.
Then Dominic noticed something else.
His medication organizer.
One compartment was open.
Wednesday evening.
He hadn’t taken Wednesday evening’s pills yet.
Mercer picked up the bottle beside it.
He studied the tablets.
Then his face drained.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“These aren’t what I prescribed.”
Vincent stared at him.
“What are they?”
Mercer grabbed his medical bag.
“I need to test them.”
Dominic took the bottle.
“Tell me now.”
“I can’t without a lab.”
“Guess.”
Mercer looked at him.
“If somebody substituted the wrong medication…”
He stopped.
“Samuel.”
“They could increase dizziness. Lower blood pressure. Slow reflexes.”
“Enough to cause a crash?”
Mercer didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Dominic suddenly remembered Lower Wacker Drive.
Rain.
Headlights.
The strange heaviness in his arms.
The delayed reaction before the SUV crossed the divider.
The crash had never made sense.
Vincent understood at the same moment.
“This didn’t start with the brace.”
Dominic’s phone vibrated again.
Another unknown message.
This time, only a photograph.
Clare.
Standing in the mansion kitchen yesterday.
Ellie beside her.
Taken from inside the house.
Written beneath it were six words.
THE CHILD SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.
May you like
Dominic’s face became stone.
Then, somewhere below them, the mansion lights went out.
