Chapter 3 - The Broken Circle
"Harrison," I muttered, the betrayal striking harder than the fractured ribs from the crash. "I built that man's entire medical wing. I paid for his daughter's Ivy League tuition."
"Greed doesn't care about gratitude, Mr. Moretti," Grace said, checking the hallway through the crack in the door. "Dr. Harrison isn't just helping them cover up your murder. He’s the one who deliberately adjusted your dosage to keep you conscious while your body remained paralyzed. He wanted you awake to feel your empire crumble."
"Where is he now?"
"He just left his office," Grace replied, her eyes narrowing as she watched the corridor mirror. "He’s heading toward the basement storage. He carries a physical ledger for off-the-books prescriptions. If we get that ledger, we don't just prove murder—we destroy his medical license and send him to federal prison."
"You can't go down there alone," I warned, reaching out to grab her wrist. "Harrison has private security guards stationed near the morgue."
Grace looked down at my hand, then up at my eyes with a chilling calmness. "Mr. Moretti, security guards look for men in suits carrying guns. They never look at the woman changing the trash bins."
Ten minutes later, Grace returned. Her uniform was slightly rumpled, her breathing steady, and in her hand was a thick, leather-bound black book. But her face was pale.
"I found the ledger," she whispered, setting it on my chest. "And I found something else in the sub-basement holding cells."
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"What?"
"Nico," she said softly. "Your driver. He didn't die on the FDR, Dominic. Anthony hid him downstairs. He’s alive, but they’re torturing him to get the master codes to your family vaults before Friday."
