Chapter 6 - Friday at Seven
Friday morning, 6:45 AM.
The indoor pool was dead silent. Dominic swam his twenty laps through the blue water, but today, his strokes were sharper, more aggressive, driven by the cold adrenaline pumping through his veins.
When he climbed out, Grant was waiting by the glass doors. He didn't hold the whiteboard. Instead, he handed Dominic a small, lead-lined containment vial and a sterile plastic syringe.
“We swapped the bottle in Hale’s medical bag while his driver was parked at the gate,” Grant muttered quietly. “We kept a sample for the lab in Jersey. What he’s carrying now is pure saline solution.”
Dominic took the vial and pocketed it. “And the perimeter?”
“Locked down,” Grant said. “Four of our best men are stationed outside the main gates. Nobody leaves this estate today until I say so—especially not Dr. Hale.”
At exactly 7:00 AM, Dr. Calvin Hale stepped into the library, smelling faintly of rain and expensive cologne. His silver hair was neatly combed, his briefcase clutched in his left hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Mercer,” Hale said, flashing his practiced, grandfatherly smile as he walked over to the desk. “I trust you slept well? Ready for your weekly routine?”
Dominic sat in his leather chair, his face an impenetrable mask of stone. He nodded once.
Hale opened his leather medical bag, pulling out the blood pressure cuff, a small flashlight, and a small amber glass dropper bottle with a rubber pipette.
“Blood pressure first,” Hale murmured, wrapping the Velcro cuff around Dominic’s arm.
Dominic watched Hale’s hands. They were steady, practiced, the hands of a man who had murdered thousands of cells with absolute clinical indifference.
“Everything looks stable,” Hale said, checking his analog watch. “Now, let’s take care of the ears. Tilt your head to the left, please.”
Dominic slowly tilted his head.
Hale picked up the amber dropper bottle. He unscrewed the cap, drew a full pipette of the clear liquid, and leaned in close to Dominic’s left ear.
Dominic’s muscles locked. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to grab Hale by the throat and crush his windpipe right there on the Persian rug.
Not yet, he reminded himself. Let him finish.
Hale squeezed the rubber bulb. Two drops of the chemical solution fell into Dominic’s ear canal.
As the cool liquid hit his skin, Dominic felt a strange, electric tingle shoot down the side of his neck—the exact sensation he had experienced every Friday for three years. The chemical agent locking his auditory nerves in place.
Hale pulled back, screwing the cap tightly onto the bottle and placing it back in his bag.
“All done, Mr. Mercer,” Hale smiled, packing his instruments away. “See you next week. Just in time for the wedding, eh? It’s going to be a magnificent event.”
Dominic stood up slowly. He didn't smile.
He reached out, grabbed Dr. Hale by the wrist with a grip of solid steel, and stopped him dead in his tracks.
Hale’s smile vanished instantly. “Mr. Mercer? What is the meaning of this? You’re hurting my arm—”
The double doors of the library flew open with a loud bang.
Grant Bell walked in, flanked by two armed security guards. Behind them walked Rachel Carter, holding Lily by the hand.
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Dominic looked down at Hale, his dark eyes burning with the fury of a man who had spent three years buried alive in silence.
“Dr. Hale,” Dominic said, his gravelly voice echoing off the mahogany walls like thunder. “Let’s talk about Cordova Research & Development.”
