Chapter 3 - FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE BULLET
I stared at the photograph until the faces blurred.
“That can't be him.”
Tessa didn't answer.
Because we both knew it was.
Dominic wore the same charcoal jacket he had worn at dinner that night.
The shooter stood partly turned away, baseball cap low over his forehead.
But Dominic's face was clear.
Too clear to explain away.
“Where did you find this?”
“The monitor in the old security office.”
“That footage was erased.”
“Most of it.”
She enlarged the image.
“The house system automatically uploads still frames whenever motion is detected near restricted doors. Whoever deleted the video forgot about the backup images.”
I looked at her.
“How do you know security systems?”
“My father installed commercial surveillance for twenty years.”
Another piece of Tessa I hadn't known.
The therapist arrived, and I almost sent him away.
Then I heard Arya's voice in my head.
It doesn't matter anymore.
So I did the opposite.
For ninety brutal minutes, I worked.
My legs remained dead weight.
Sweat soaked through my shirt.
Twice I nearly fell.
Tessa caught my shoulder once, but the second time she let the therapist force me to recover my balance.
Afterward, I was shaking.
“Still pointless?” she asked.
I almost laughed.
“Cruel woman.”
“You hired honest.”
“No. The agency hired honest. I apparently hired liars.”
That evening, I called my attorney from a secondary phone.
He answered immediately.
“Vincent? I've been trying to reach you.”
“My calls didn't go through.”
“Someone canceled your authorization code.”
I felt a familiar coldness settle inside me.
“Who?”
“Arya submitted the change.”
Of course.
Then he told me something worse.
Three days earlier, a petition had been prepared asking the court to declare me temporarily incapable of managing my companies.
Attached were medical statements claiming I suffered confusion, depression, and impaired judgment.
Statements I had never seen.
“Who signed them?”
“One neurologist. One rehabilitation consultant.”
“Names.”
He gave them to me.
I recognized the neurologist.
Dr. Samuel Kern.
He had examined me twice.
The rehabilitation consultant's name meant nothing.
Until Tessa heard it.
Her face drained of color.
“What?”
She stared at the phone.
“Say the second name again.”
I did.
Tessa sat down.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
Her voice dropped.
“Because Elaine Mercer isn't a rehabilitation consultant.”
“Then what is she?”
May you like
Tessa looked directly at me.
“She runs the agency that hired me.”
