Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Brother
I took a deep, agonizing breath, forcing my heart rate down, forcing the murderous rage rising in my chest back into the dark corners of my mind. For fifteen years, I had survived in the underworld because I could wear a mask better than any actor on Earth.
I slid the diary, the letter, and the micro-drive beneath the blotter on my desk, snapped the iron box shut, and placed it inside my lower drawer.
"Bring him in, Marco," I called out smoothly.
The doors opened, and Marco walked in, followed by Dr. Grayson—a tall, grey-haired neurologist who had been on my private payroll for five years.
"Marcus!" Grayson blurted out, looking exhausted and bewildered. "Marco said there was an emergency? Did Isabella have a seizure?"
"Look at her foot, Doctor," I said quietly, pointing toward the sofa.
Dr. Grayson hurried over, kneeling beside Isabella’s wheelchair. He gently pulled back the blanket. Isabella looked at him, set her jaw, and slowly, deliberately, lifted her right foot two inches off the footplate. Then her left toes curled.
Grayson’s jaw dropped. "This... this is scientifically impossible. The nerve damage at the L3 vertebrae was complete! The MRI scans showed total axonal degeneration!"
"Scans can be faked, can't they, Doctor?" I asked softly, standing up from my desk and walking around to face them.
Grayson froze, his hands still holding Isabella’s foot. "What... what do you mean, Marcus?"
"I mean," I said, stepping behind Marco, my shadow falling over both men, "that for three years, you have been giving my daughter daily injections of what you claimed was a experimental neuro-regenerative peptide."
"Yes! Of course!" Grayson stammered, sweating despite the chilly room. "It... it must finally be working!"
"Or," I whispered, reaching into my jacket, "it was a low-dose muscular paralytic designed to keep her legs dead so I would remain broken, distracted, and focused on her care while someone else ran my empire."
Dr. Grayson went deathly pale. He tried to stand up, but Marco immediately stepped forward, his hand moving toward his gun.
"Boss, what are you saying?" Marco asked, his eyes wide with apparent shock and concern. "Is Grayson poisoning the little girl?"
I looked at Marco—at the man I had called a brother for two decades. His expression was flawless. The worry in his eyes looked entirely genuine. If I hadn't read Elena's handwriting three minutes ago, I would have died believing he was my fiercest protector.
"Let's test the doctor's medicine, shall we?" I said smoothly.
I pulled a small black velvet pouch from my pocket—a pouch I had taken from Grayson’s medical kit sitting on the table—and tossed it onto the desk.
"Marco, hold him," I commanded.
Marco didn't hesitate. He grabbed Grayson by the collar, slamming him against the mahogany desk, pinning his arms behind his back. "Speak up, you bastard! What were you injecting into Marcus's daughter?"
"It wasn't my idea!" Grayson shrieked, breaking under the pressure instantly. "I was forced! They threatened my family in London! If I stopped the injections, they said they’d send my daughters back to me in pieces!"
"Who forced you?" Marco yelled, pulling his sidearm and pressing the cold barrel against Grayson’s temple. "Give me a name, or I’ll paint this desk with your brains!"
"You!" Grayson screamed, glaring at Marco with pure, terrified hatred. "YOU DID, MARCO! YOU PAID ME FIFTY THOUSAND A MONTH THROUGH THE AEGIS ACCOUNT!"
The room went dead silent.
Marco’s finger tightened on the trigger. "He’s lying, boss! He’s trying to shift the blame—"
BANG.
I fired my silenced pistol through my coat pocket.
The bullet struck Marco squarely in the right knee. He let out a gut-wrenching scream, dropping Grayson as he collapsed onto the Persian rug, clutching his shattered leg, blood pooling fast on the expensive fabric.
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Outside, shouting echoed through the hallway as the security guards realized something had gone wrong inside the study.
"Don't bother calling them, Marco," I said softly, stepping over his bleeding form and sliding the micro-drive out from beneath my desk blotter. "The guards outside this room report directly to my personal comms. And your Aegis security network... just went dark five seconds ago."
