Chapter 4 - The Doctor’s Lie
Vincent had Mercer against the wall before the doctor could speak.
The spare brace hit the floor.
“Where did you get that?”
“Get off me!”
Vincent drove his forearm harder against Mercer’s chest.
“Wrong answer.”
“Vincent.”
Dominic stepped closer.
Mercer looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Dominic had learned long ago that the difference mattered.
“Let him breathe.”
Vincent backed away.
Mercer straightened his jacket.
“I found it in the service elevator.”
“With whose fingerprints?” Vincent asked.
“I didn’t bring a forensic kit to dinner.”
Dominic pointed at the brace.
“Why were you carrying it toward the basement?”
“I wasn’t. I was bringing it upstairs.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone?”
“The power was out.”
Vincent laughed.
“You own a phone.”
Mercer looked at Dominic.
“There’s something inside it.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Mercer crouched and turned the brace over.
Hidden beneath the padded interior was a small rectangular transmitter.
Vincent swore.
“A tracker?”
Mercer shook his head.
“I think it’s a signal receiver.”
“For what?”
“That’s what I was trying to determine.”
Dominic picked it up.
“Could this affect the brace?”
“No.”
“Could it track my location?”
“Possibly.”
Vincent examined it.
“Or receive a signal from something else.”
Mercer’s face changed.
“What?”
Vincent looked at Dominic.
“Your SUV.”
Dominic understood.
Vehicle telemetry.
Garage doors.
Security systems.
Modern houses were full of wireless triggers.
“Bag it.”
Mercer hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“There always is.”
The doctor pulled a small vial from his pocket.
“I tested one of the pills.”
Dominic took it.
“And?”
“It contains clonidine.”
Mercer swallowed.
“A blood-pressure medication.”
“I don’t take clonidine.”
“No.”
“What would it do to me?”
“Dizziness. Sedation. Slower reactions.”
Dominic thought about the crash again.
His heavy eyelids.
The delayed steering correction.
The impossible turn.
“Enough to make me crash?”
“Yes.”
Clare covered her mouth.
Vincent looked like he wanted to hit someone.
Dominic remained still.
“How long have my pills been switched?”
“I don’t know.”
“You prepare them.”
“My staff does.”
“Which staff?”
Mercer hesitated.
“Angela.”
Angela Pierce.
The rehabilitation nurse.
The same woman who had handled Dominic’s brace that morning.
“Bring her here.”
A guard left.
Three minutes passed.
Then five.
The guard returned alone.
“She’s gone.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Gone where?”
“Her car left the estate twenty-seven minutes before lockdown.”
Dominic looked toward Mercer.
“You said she was here this morning.”
“She was.”
“Did she tell you she was leaving early?”
“No.”
Vincent checked his phone.
“She logged out at 5:41.”
Dominic looked at the clock.
The council meeting had begun at six.
Angela had left nineteen minutes before the vote.
Too clean.
Too convenient.
A guard entered quickly.
“We found something in her locker.”
He handed Vincent an envelope.
Inside was fifteen thousand dollars in cash.
And a photograph.
Arthur Voss standing beside Angela outside a restaurant.
Dominic stared at it.
Mercer whispered, “Jesus.”
Vincent looked almost satisfied.
“Now can I break Arthur’s nose?”
“No.”
“Dom.”
“No.”
“Everything points at him.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t like it.”
Arthur appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
“Like what?”
Nobody answered.
He saw the photo in Dominic’s hand.
His face went white.
“Where did you get that?”
Dominic watched him carefully.
“You recognize it.”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“That was taken eight months ago.”
“You meet privately with my rehabilitation nurse eight months before I needed rehabilitation?”
Arthur stared at him.
“She wasn’t your rehabilitation nurse then.”
“Who was she?”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“My daughter’s addiction counselor.”
Silence.
Vincent looked skeptical.
“You don’t have a daughter.”
Arthur’s face hardened.
“Not one I advertise.”
Dominic studied him.
“Name.”
“Lydia.”
“Last name?”
“Pierce.”
Mercer stared at Arthur.
“Angela’s sister?”
Arthur nodded once.
“My daughter used her mother’s name. Angela helped her get into treatment.”
Dominic lowered the photograph.
“Why hide her?”
“Because men like us create enemies.”
Arthur’s eyes moved toward Ellie.
“Surely you understand that tonight.”
The words weren’t a threat.
Dominic could hear that now.
Arthur stepped closer.
“You think I want your chair badly enough to poison you?”
“You called the vote.”
“Yes.”
“While I was deteriorating.”
“Yes.”
“You told people I was no longer fit.”
Arthur’s face hardened.
“Because you were making bad decisions.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“No. I didn’t try to kill you.”
“Would you swear that on Lydia?”
Arthur didn’t blink.
“Yes.”
Dominic believed he believed what he was saying.
That wasn’t the same as innocence.
But it mattered.
A phone buzzed.
Arthur looked down.
His face changed.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
Arthur didn’t answer.
Vincent drew his gun.
“Show him.”
Arthur slowly turned the screen around.
A live video.
A young woman tied to a chair.
Tears streaming down her face.
Behind her, an unknown man held a pistol.
Arthur’s daughter.
Lydia.
Text appeared beneath the video.
VOTE TONIGHT.
REMOVE DOMINIC.
OR SHE DIES.
Arthur’s hands began to shake.
Dominic looked at him.
“How long?”
Arthur whispered, “Three weeks.”
Everything suddenly changed.
The vote.
Arthur’s pressure.
His urgency.
His behavior.
Dominic asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Arthur looked at the screen.
“Because they said if I did…”
He stopped.
Dominic finished it.
“She dies.”
Arthur nodded.
Then another message appeared.
This time, addressed to Dominic.
YOU HAVE ONE HOUR.
SIGN AWAY CONTROL.
OR THE GIRL GOES FIRST.
May you like
Attached was a photograph of Ellie taken less than thirty seconds earlier.
Inside the mansion.
