Chapter 7 - The Confession in the Library
Dr. Hale’s face turned the color of old parchment. The professional, grandfatherly facade melted away in a single second, leaving behind the panicked look of a cornered rat.
“I... I don't know what you’re talking about,” Hale stammered, trying to wrench his arm free from Dominic’s iron grip. “Release me at once, Mercer, or I’ll—I’ll call the police!”
“You can call whoever you like,” Dominic said coldly. He shoved Hale backward, sending the older man crashing hard into the edge of the mahogany desk. Hale knocked over a stack of papers before sliding down to the floor, clutching his bruised wrist.
Grant stepped forward, kicking Hale’s black leather medical bag across the rug. The bag popped open, spilling stethoscopes, syringes, and the amber dropper bottle onto the floor.
Dominic crouched down, picked up the amber bottle, and held it up to the desk lamp.
“Cordova Research,” Dominic growled, looking down at the terrified physician. “A chemical paralyzer designed to block nerve signal transmission in the cochlea. Maintained via weekly application so the eardrums never truly heal. Anthony Russo’s money buying my silence—literally.”
Hale pressed his back against the bookshelf, shaking his head frantically. “It wasn't my idea! I swear to God! Russo said... he said if you recovered your hearing too quickly after the bombing, you’d start asking questions about who planted the device that killed your brother! He said keeping you deaf was the only way to prevent a full-scale family war!”
From the doorway, Rachel gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. Lily buried her face in Rachel’s apron, picking up on the sudden terror in the room.
Dominic stood up slowly. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with a lethal static electricity.
“Ethan,” Dominic whispered, the name tearing through his throat like glass. “They didn't just kill my brother. They crippled me, and then they made me a prisoner in my own mind.”
“Mercer, please!” Hale whimpered, raising his hands as Dominic stepped toward him. “I was just following orders! Russo holds all the cards! If I didn't cooperate, his men would have killed me!”
“You should have chosen a safer line of work, Doctor,” Dominic said.
He turned to Grant. “Lock him in the lower security holding cell. Call the lab in New Jersey, get the chemical antidote for the nerve block, and have our private physician administer it to me tonight.”
“Boss,” Grant warned quietly, stepping closer. “If we reverse the nerve block now, you’ll hear everything. The shock to your system—after three years of absolute silence—will be catastrophic. The doctors said it could overwhelm your neurological pathways.”
May you like
Dominic looked at Grant, then glanced back at little Lily peeking out from behind Rachel’s skirt, clutching his grandfather’s silver pocket watch.
“I’ve lived in a tomb for three years, Grant,” Dominic said, his voice hard as iron. “It’s time to wake up.”
