Chapter 3 - Poison in the Prescription
By 2:00 AM, the mansion was under absolute lockdown.
The east wing window had been boarded up with steel shutters, and two armed guards stood at every corner of the hallway. I had transformed the private sitting room adjacent to Vincent's bedroom into a makeshift triage center.
My contact from St. Jude’s Hospital—a veteran forensic toxicologist named Sarah—had run the emergency panel on the blood samples, the pill bottles, and the herbal thermos.
She called my encrypted phone at 2:30 AM.
"Megan, where the hell are you?" Sarah’s panicked voice hissed through the speaker. "The blood panel you sent me... who does this belong to?"
"A private patient," I said, leaning against the counter while watching the live security monitors. "What did you find?"
"Heavy metals," Sarah replied grimly. "Thallium. Pure, medical-grade thallium sulfate, combined with micro-doses of digitalis. The thallium causes the nerve damage, the tremors, the swelling, and the hair loss. The digitalis manipulates his heart rate, making it look like a natural cardiac degeneration."
My stomach turned. "And the pills?"
"The bottle was labeled as standard anti-arrhythmic medication," Sarah said. "But the tablets inside are custom-pressed sugar pills laced with the toxin. Whoever gave him these wasn't trying to kill him overnight, Megan. They were killing him by millimeters over six months. It’s systematic execution."
I closed my eyes, a cold rage settling into my bones. "Thanks, Sarah. Keep this off the official hospital servers."
I hung up and turned around. Vincent was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in a black silk robe. He looked paler than usual, but the lethargy that had clouded his eyes earlier was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating brilliance.
Marcus stood beside him, holding a silver briefcase.
"It's thallium," I told them, stepping into the room. "Combined with a cardiac glycoside. The pill bottles Dr. Bell brought you were fake. The real medicine was swapped for poison."
Vincent’s jaw tightened until the bone showed white against his skin. "Howard."
"Where is Dr. Bell now?" I asked Marcus.
"He left the estate three hours ago," Marcus replied, his voice deadly. "Claimed he had an emergency surgery at the private clinic downtown. But my men just checked. He never arrived at the hospital."
"He's running," Vincent said quietly. "Find him."
"We don't have to look far," Marcus said, pulling a tablet from his coat. "His Mercedes just pinged a cell tower near the private airstrip in Teterboro. He has a flight chartered for Zurich in twenty minutes."
Vincent looked up at Marcus. "Bring him back. Alive."
Twenty-five minutes later, the heavy doors of the mansion study swung open. Two massive security guards dragged Dr. Howard Bell into the room, throwing him onto his knees before Vincent’s desk.
The silver-haired doctor was disheveled, his expensive suit rumpled, his face slick with terrified sweat.
"Vincent! Please!" Dr. Bell shrieked, clutching his hands together. "It wasn't my idea! You have to believe me! They threatened my family!"
Vincent sat behind his desk. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't even point a gun. He simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the wood, his eyes like hollowed coals.
"Who, Howard?" Vincent asked softly.
"I... I don't know!" Bell wept. "Six months ago, a man came to my office. He had photos of my daughter in college. He dropped off a sealed black box of medications every two weeks and paid two hundred thousand dollars directly to my Cayman account. He said if I stopped swapping your pills, my daughter would die!"
I stepped forward, my voice ringing with disgust. "You're a physician! You took an oath! You were slowly dissolving his heart while taking a paycheck!"
"Who dropped off the box, Howard?" Marcus demanded, stepping up behind the doctor and pressing the barrel of a suppressed pistol to the back of his neck. "Give me a name."
"I don't have a name!" Bell sobbed, his body shaking uncontrollably. "He wore a mask! But... but he had a keycard to the Vale corporate headquarters! I saw it on his lanyard! It was a red master keycard—the kind only given to executive board members of Vale Enterprises!"
The air in the room instantly turned to ice.
A red master keycard.
That meant the person paying Dr. Bell to poison Vincent wasn't an outside rival.
It was someone sitting inside Vincent’s own inner circle. Someone who shared his name, his blood, or his board meetings.
Vincent slowly stood up from behind his desk. He walked around the mahogany wood, taking cold, measured steps until he stood right over the kneeling doctor.
"Marcus," Vincent said softly.
"Sir?"
"Take Dr. Bell to the basement facility. Keep him comfortable." Vincent’s gaze flicked toward me, a sudden softness touching his harsh eyes. "Ms. Carter doesn't like unnecessary blood in the house."
"Understood," Marcus grunted, dragging the weeping physician out of the room.
Vincent turned to me. The effort of standing was clearly draining him, his breathing shallow, but he refused to lean on anything.
May you like
"An executive board member," I whispered, the weight of the realization sinking in. "Your own people."
"In my world, Megan," Vincent said, walking closer until he stood inches away from me, "flesh and blood mean nothing when there is an empire to inherit. But now we know where to cut."
