Chapter 4 - The Price of Loyalty
“Put the gun down.”
Vincent's voice was quiet.
Dominic didn't move.
Nora stood frozen beside the breakfast table, the pistol aimed at her chest.
Outside the windows, rain streaked the glass.
A clock ticked above the fireplace.
The same clock Nora had heard the morning she told Vincent to stand up and fire her.
“Dominic,” Vincent repeated, “look at me.”
Dominic's eyes flickered toward him.
“You should have left this alone.”
“Then explain it.”
“There's nothing to explain.”
“You're pointing a gun at an unarmed woman in my house.”
Dominic's hand trembled.
Nora noticed.
That frightened her more than the weapon.
This wasn't a man calmly executing a plan.
This was a man losing control of one.
“Samuel Hayes found something,” Vincent said. “Something you were afraid I'd discover.”
Dominic laughed bitterly.
“You think everything begins and ends with you.”
“Put it down.”
“You were always like this. Every problem could be fixed with money. Every betrayal could be solved with a phone call.”
“Dominic.”
“Samuel was supposed to take the payment and disappear.”
Nora's heart stopped.
“What payment?”
Dominic looked at her.
“He wasn't innocent.”
“Don't talk about my brother.”
“He knew what he was carrying.”
“Liar.”
Dominic's face twisted.
“He came looking for trouble.”
Vincent moved his wheelchair forward.
The tires whispered across the polished floor.
“Look at me.”
Dominic swung the pistol toward him.
“Stay back.”
Vincent stopped.
For a long moment, the two men stared at each other.
They had grown up together in South Boston.
Fought together.
Built businesses together.
Buried friends together.
Vincent had trusted Dominic with every important secret in his life.
Including the security arrangements that had failed the night he was shot.
“You arranged the ambush,” Vincent said.
Dominic swallowed.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Silence.
Nora took one careful breath.
“Dominic,” she said, “if my brother did something wrong, tell me. But don't make me wonder for the rest of my life.”
Something changed in his eyes.
For one second, he looked almost ashamed.
Then footsteps sounded outside.
Dominic turned toward the door.
Vincent seized the moment.
He slammed his wheelchair into the edge of the breakfast table.
The heavy walnut surface jolted forward.
Coffee spilled.
Dominic stumbled backward.
The gun discharged.
A deafening crack filled the room.
Nora screamed.
The bullet shattered a window.
Vincent grabbed Dominic's wrist with both hands.
The men struggled.
Nora lunged for the fallen coffee pot and swung it against Dominic's forearm.
The pistol struck the floor.
A security guard burst through the doorway.
“Don't shoot!” Vincent roared.
Two more guards followed.
Within seconds, Dominic was pinned against the wall.
His hands were restrained.
Blood ran from a cut on his forehead.
He stared at Vincent.
“You have no idea what you've done.”
Vincent looked at him with terrible disappointment.
“Then tell me.”
Dominic smiled.
“You still think I was the one making decisions.”
By noon, police had taken Dominic into custody.
Vincent's attorney, Rebecca Sloan, arrived with two investigators.
Nora sat in the library, holding a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
Vincent remained near the fireplace.
He had barely spoken since the shooting.
Rebecca laid several documents on the desk.
“Dominic has retained counsel. He isn't answering questions.”
“What about Samuel?” Nora asked.
“We're reopening the circumstances surrounding his injury.”
“And his death?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Yes.”
Nora looked at Vincent.
He met her eyes.
Neither needed to speak.
The investigation would uncover things neither of them wanted to find.
Rebecca continued.
“We also found unauthorized transfers from three Hale Development subsidiaries.”
Vincent's expression sharpened.
“How much?”
“Almost eighteen million dollars.”
“Where?”
“Shell companies registered in Delaware and the Cayman Islands.”
“Beneficiary?”
“Still tracing it.”
She paused.
“There is another problem.”
Vincent waited.
“Dominic accessed your medical records before the shooting.”
Nora looked up.
“Why?”
Rebecca slid a document across the desk.
It was a report from Vincent's preoperative medical assessment after a minor procedure the previous year.
Several pages were marked.
One contained a detailed description of his spinal anatomy.
Vincent stared at it.
“You're telling me someone planned where to shoot me?”
“I'm telling you someone obtained information they had no legitimate reason to access.”
Dr. Mercer, who had arrived after hearing about the incident, examined the report.
“This doesn't prove the shooter targeted his spine,” she said carefully. “But it deserves investigation.”
Vincent leaned back.
The room seemed to grow colder.
That evening, Nora found Vincent in the rehabilitation room.
He was staring at the parallel bars.
“Dr. Mercer says you're supposed to rest,” she said.
“She's very fond of saying things.”
“You were nearly shot again today.”
“I noticed.”
Nora approached.
“You saved my life.”
“You hit a man with a coffee pot.”
“It was a team effort.”
For the first time that day, he smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“I trusted him.”
“I know.”
“He was my brother in every way that mattered.”
Nora sat beside him.
“Samuel trusted people too.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I failed him.”
“Yes.”
He flinched.
She continued.
“But you didn't have him beaten. You didn't point a gun at me. And you're trying to find the truth.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“It makes a beginning.”
He lowered his gaze.
After a moment, Nora reached for his hand.
He let her.
They sat together until the rain stopped.
At eleven that night, Rebecca called.
Vincent answered on speakerphone.
“We traced one of the transfers,” she said.
“Where?”
“To a medical research foundation.”
Nora frowned.
“What foundation?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“The Ashcroft Neurological Institute.”
Vincent straightened.
“That was where I received my first spinal assessment.”
“I know.”
Rebecca's voice grew strained.
“And Vincent, the institute's former director was listed as a consultant on the Harbor Point project.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Julian Cross.”
Nora dropped her glass.
The sound made Vincent turn.
She was staring at the phone.
Her face had gone white.
“Nora?” he asked.
May you like
She could barely speak.
“Dr. Cross was my brother's surgeon.”
