Chapter 2 - The Boy in the Blue Backpack
Eli Hayes had no idea three men had almost changed his life before he reached the school parking lot.
He sat in the back of Carlo’s SUV holding his blue backpack against his chest.
His red inhaler remained clipped to the side pocket.
“Is my mom in trouble?”
Carlo looked at him through the mirror.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
One of the guards turned slightly.
Carlo almost smiled.
“Why do you say that?”
“My mom tells me adults say ‘no’ too fast when they’re lying.”
Carlo glanced at him again.
“You’re observant.”
“My mom says that too.”
Eli looked out the window.
“Who are you?”
“Friends of Mr. Virelli.”
Eli’s eyes widened.
“The guy whose house Mom works at?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a gangster?”
The guard in the passenger seat coughed.
Carlo kept driving.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“School.”
“School is wrong about many things.”
“So that’s a yes.”
Carlo decided not to answer.
The East Greenwich house appeared twenty minutes later.
It looked nothing like the Virelli mansion.
A cedar-sided colonial stood behind tall trees with a detached garage and an empty basketball hoop.
No gates.
No stone lions.
No guards in visible positions.
That was the point.
Carlo brought Eli inside.
“Can I call my mom?”
“In a little while.”
Eli dropped his backpack beside the kitchen counter.
His face tried to remain brave.
He lasted eleven seconds.
“Did something happen to her?”
Carlo crouched.
“Your mother is safe.”
“Then why can’t she call me?”
“Because she’s doing something important.”
Eli’s lower lip tightened.
“What?”
Carlo chose his words carefully.
“She’s helping someone.”
Eli considered that.
“My mom always helps people.”
“I know.”
“She helps Mrs. Virelli.”
“Yes.”
Eli nodded as though confirming something to himself.
Then he reached into his backpack.
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“My mom said Mrs. Virelli likes pictures.”
Carlo looked down.
It was a child’s drawing.
A woman in a wheelchair sat beneath a huge yellow sun.
Beside her stood Marin.
Next to Marin was Eli.
Above them, in uneven letters, Eli had written:
YOU DON’T NEED A VOICE TO BE HEARD.
Carlo stared at the sentence.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Mrs. Virelli wrote it for me once.”
Carlo straightened slowly.
“What?”
“When Mom brought me to work in summer.”
Eli shrugged.
“She wrote it on her board.”
Carlo took out his phone.
Back at the mansion, Dominic had entered his study.
Rocco locked the door.
Marin had returned upstairs.
Vivien believed Dominic was reviewing tomorrow’s redevelopment papers.
That was exactly what he appeared to be doing.
Contracts covered his desk.
A glass of bourbon sat untouched beside them.
Rocco stood across from him.
“We found the gray sedan.”
“Where?”
“Route 114.”
“And?”
“They abandoned it behind a closed garden center.”
“Registered to?”
“Stolen two days ago.”
Dominic expected that.
“Cameras?”
“Working on it.”
Dominic opened one of the contracts.
The Morrow redevelopment agreement.
Four hundred and twelve pages.
The deal would merge Morrow Development’s political access with Virelli Capital’s waterfront holdings.
Tomorrow night’s family blessing was supposed to precede the public announcement.
A symbolic gesture.
Families united.
Money united.
Influence united.
Dominic suddenly saw it differently.
His phone lit.
Carlo sent a photograph.
Eli’s drawing.
Dominic read the sentence.
YOU DON’T NEED A VOICE TO BE HEARD.
His throat tightened.
His mother had written that.
Dominic looked at Rocco.
“Bring me everything on Charles Morrow.”
“We already vetted him.”
“Again.”
“How far back?”
“Birth.”
Rocco nodded.
“And Vivien?”
“Everything.”
Dominic leaned back.
“Financial records.”
“Yes.”
“Private travel.”
“Yes.”
“Doctors.”
Rocco paused.
“Doctors?”
“Anyone she has contacted in the last two years.”
“Understood.”
Dominic picked up his bourbon.
He still did not drink it.
His mind returned to his mother.
Three names.
Vivien.
Dr. Mercer.
Charles Morrow.
Dr. Andrew Mercer had treated Isabella after the stroke.
He had worked with the Virelli family for years.
Dominic trusted him.
Or had.
He called the doctor.
Mercer answered on the third ring.
“Dominic.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“I need you at the estate.”
There was a pause.
“It’s nearly eight.”
“Yes.”
“Is something wrong with Isabella?”
Dominic looked at the rain against the windows.
“I don’t know yet.”
“I can be there in forty minutes.”
“Thirty.”
Dominic ended the call.
Then another thought occurred to him.
He opened the security application.
His mother’s wing cameras.
Three cameras covered the hallway.
One covered the sitting room.
None pointed directly inside her bedroom.
Isabella had insisted on privacy.
Dominic reviewed the last month.
Nothing unusual.
Vivien entered.
Marin entered.
Nurses entered.
Housekeeping.
Dr. Mercer twice.
Then Dominic noticed something.
Every Tuesday and Thursday at 7:00 p.m., the hallway camera froze for approximately fourteen minutes.
Not black.
Frozen.
The timestamp continued.
The image did not.
Dominic called Rocco over.
Rocco looked.
His expression darkened.
“Someone looped the feed.”
“For how long?”
They checked.
Four weeks.
Eight separate interruptions.
Dominic stood.
“Who has access?”
“Security administration.”
“Names.”
“You.”
“Obviously.”
“Me.”
“Who else?”
Rocco hesitated.
“System administrator.”
“Name.”
“Peter Sloan.”
Dominic knew him.
Forty-two.
Former military communications specialist.
Worked for the Virellis six years.
Dependable.
Quiet.
Recently divorced.
Dominic looked at Rocco.
“Where is Sloan?”
“Security room.”
“Don’t touch him.”
Rocco frowned.
“You think—”
“I think if we grab the first man we see, everyone connected to him disappears.”
Dominic closed the footage.
“We watch.”
Thirty-two minutes later, Dr. Mercer entered the study carrying his medical bag.
His silver hair was wet from the rain.
“You sounded concerned.”
Dominic gestured toward the chair.
Mercer sat.
Dominic did not.
“My mother has been excessively sedated.”
Mercer’s face changed.
“When?”
“Apparently for weeks.”
“I wasn’t told that.”
“Marin called you.”
The doctor hesitated.
Dominic saw it.
“She did.”
Mercer removed his glasses.
“She said Isabella seemed unusually tired.”
“And?”
“I reviewed the medications.”
“And found nothing.”
“Correct.”
Dominic walked closer.
“Did Vivien Morrow ever contact you regarding my mother?”
Mercer’s eyes flickered.
It lasted less than a second.
Enough.
Dominic leaned both hands on his desk.
“Careful.”
Mercer swallowed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Why?”
“She asked about Isabella’s prognosis.”
“Specifics.”
“Speech recovery.”
“What else?”
“Decision-making capacity.”
Dominic went still.
Mercer looked uncomfortable.
“She asked whether Isabella could legally consent to documents.”
“What documents?”
“She never said.”
“Did my mother ever ask you about Charles Morrow?”
Mercer looked genuinely surprised.
“No.”
“Did she ask about Vivien?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Dominic waited.
“Two weeks ago.”
“What did she say?”
“She wrote that she didn’t trust her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mercer looked down.
“She asked me not to.”
“My mother asked you not to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mercer’s voice lowered.
“She wrote that she needed proof first.”
Dominic slowly straightened.
“What proof?”
“She didn’t say.”
“And you left her in that house?”
“I believed she was referring to family tension.”
Dominic’s laugh contained no humor.
“My mother has never been afraid of family tension.”
“I understand that now.”
“No.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“You understand it because I’m standing in front of you.”
Mercer stood.
“What happened?”
Dominic looked at him.
“Someone threatened a child.”
Mercer went pale.
Before Dominic could continue, Rocco’s phone vibrated.
He checked it.
“Boss.”
Dominic turned.
“Sloan just left the security room.”
“So?”
“He went to the south garage.”
Dominic waited.
“He’s carrying a laptop bag.”
“Follow.”
Rocco texted his men.
Dominic looked toward Mercer.
“You’re staying here.”
“Dominic—”
“You’re staying.”
His phone buzzed again.
A photograph appeared.
Peter Sloan entering a black sedan.
Then another.
The sedan leaving through the service road.
Rocco frowned.
“The gates were locked.”
Dominic looked up.
“Apparently not for him.”
Seconds later, Carlo called.
Dominic answered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
Dominic heard movement in the background.
“Someone just tried to access the East Greenwich house security system remotely.”
Dominic’s eyes darkened.
“Did they get in?”
“No.”
“Can you trace it?”
“We’re trying.”
Dominic looked at Rocco.
The answer was already visible in both men’s faces.
Sloan wasn’t running because they had discovered him.
Sloan was running because someone had warned him.
And only six people knew Dominic had returned suspicious.
Dominic.
Rocco.
Carlo.
Marin.
May you like
Mercer.
And Vivien.
