flash
Adrian Moretti stared at the black screen of his phone long after the call ended. The silence of the mansion felt heavier now, no longer the quiet of exhaustion, but the tense vacuum before a storm. / Chapter 3 / 18

Chapter 3 - The Lab Report

At 11:15 a.m., deep inside a nondescript warehouse facility disguised as a marine logistics office, Marko slammed a manila folder onto a steel examination table.

Dr. Vance, a brilliant pharmacologist whose medical license had been revoked a decade ago after taking the fall for a syndicate-backed clinical trial, adjusted his thick glasses and tapped the gas chromatography-mass spectrometry printouts scattered across the desk.

“Well, Marko?” Vance asked, his voice shaking slightly. “Is it what you suspected?”

“Worse,” Marko spat, leaning against the cold metal railing. “Spit it out, Doc. What was Dominic feeding him?”

“It’s a synthetic analogue of scopolamine mixed with a proprietary neuro-inhibitor developed by Eastern European black-market chemists,” Vance explained, pointing a yellow highlighter at a complex molecular chain on the graph. “Taken orally in small, daily doses, it doesn't kill quickly. Instead, it systematically suppresses rapid eye movement sleep, induces chronic neurological fatigue, degrades short-term memory, and causes severe motor tremors. Over three years, it mimics advanced-stage early-onset dementia.”

Marko’s fist crashed into a nearby steel cabinet, leaving a deep dent in the metal. “The bastard was turning him into a vegetable while he watched.”

“More than that,” Vance added grimly. “Look at this secondary compound I isolated from the residue at the bottom of the cup. It’s a hypnotic suggestibility agent. Combined with the sleep deprivation, it makes the subject highly vulnerable to psychological manipulation and gaslighting. Dominic wasn't just stealing the business; he was rewriting Adrian’s mind, making him genuinely believe he was losing his sanity so he would willingly hand over the keys to the kingdom.”

“Can we reverse it?” Marko asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Now that he’s stopped ingestion? Yes. The physical detox will take about two weeks—severe headaches, intense rebound insomnia, muscle cramps. But his mind will clear,” Vance said, handing Marko a small amber glass vial filled with crystal-clear liquid. “Give him ten drops of this neutralizer twice a day. It will bind to the remaining neurotoxins and flush them out of his system.”

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The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped, dimly lit kitchen, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest raging inside Adrian Whitmore’s mind. Standing just beyond the rotting wooden doorframe of her apartment, hidden by the heavy shadows of the crumbling stairwell, the millionaire tried to steady his breathing. His expensive wool coat was soaked through, but he didn’t care. His eyes were entirely fixed on the scene unfolding a few feet away.

The rain tapped a frantic rhythm against the glass of Marissa’s cramped,...

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the source of the warmth against my side wasn't an assassin, an operative from a rival syndicate, or a traitorous lieutenant.

My hand froze inches from the cold steel of the Sig Sauer P226. Beneath...

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the slow, heavy drip of my own pulse in my ears. Dominic Rossi’s dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a feverish intensity that should have sent me running back down the hallway and out into the rain

The silence in the master bedroom stretched so tight I could hear the sl...

Marko snatched the vial, tucking it securely inside his vest. “The boss wants a trap. Dominic thinks he’s getting the power-of-attorney signed tonight at midnight during the private board meeting at the penthouse.”

“Midnight,” Vance murmured, a grim smile playing on his lips. “Tell Adrian to bring an appetite. Because tonight, the lion wakes up.”

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