Chapter 3 - The Price of Silence
By 2:00 p.m., the atmospheric pressure in Houston felt like a thunderstorm was about to rip the city apart. Inside the private penthouse suite of Dr. Aaron Vance, the air conditioning was blasting, but the doctor was sweating through his silk shirt.
He had just poured himself a glass of scotch when the front door lock clicked.
Vance froze. He lived in a high-security high-rise with biometric scanners. Nobody got in without an escort.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Paul Greer walked in, followed by two men in dark suits. They didn't have weapons drawn, which somehow made them infinitely more terrifying. They moved with the casual confidence of movers arriving to pack up a house.
"Dr. Vance," Paul said, pulling out a chair from the dining table and spinning it around. "Sit down. We need to talk about your medical charting software."
Vance’s glass shattered on the hardwood floor. "Who... who are you? I’ll call the police!"
"You could," Paul smiled, a flat, joyless expression. "But the police take about eight minutes to get past the lobby security. My associates take about eight seconds to make sure you never walk again. Let’s save everyone some time. Sit."
Vance collapsed into the chair, his knees completely giving out. "I didn't do anything! It was Wesley! He forced me!"
"We know," Paul said, leaning over the back of the chair. "Barrett Cade wants to know exactly what Wesley told you to delete. And more importantly, we want the original unedited file backup that every smart doctor keeps on a private drive just in case their wealthy patrons turn on them. Don't lie to me, Aaron. A man like you always keeps insurance."
Vance’s eyes darted toward the study down the hall. Paul nodded to one of his men, who immediately walked toward the room.
Within minutes, the enforcer returned holding a encrypted external solid-state drive.
"Excellent," Paul said, taking the drive. "Now, you’re going to come with us for a little medical consultation. Mr. Cade wants to ensure you don't accidentally remember how to use your computer again until this matter is resolved."
Meanwhile, back at St. Catherine Memorial, Wesley Prescott was hosting a private press briefing in the hospital’s main auditorium. He stood before a wall of microphones, the picture-perfect image of a distraught yet resilient husband.
"My wife, Jolene, is a fighter," Wesley said into the cameras, his voice cracking with artificial emotion. "The doctors are doing everything they can to manage her pregnancy complications. The outpouring of love from the Houston community has been our strength during this dark time. We ask for continued prayers."
A reporter raised her hand. "Mr. Prescott, there are rumors circulating on local blog sites that Mrs. Prescott was admitted with physical trauma. Can you comment on that?"
Wesley’s expression instantly shifted to one of deep, righteous indignation. "Those rumors are a disgusting violation of a family’s grief. My wife suffered a fall due to her ongoing battle with anemia. Any assertion otherwise is defamatory, and my firm will prosecute anyone spreading those lies to the fullest extent of the law."
In the back of the auditorium, standing near the exit doors, was Barrett Cade. He wore a heavy overcoat, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He watched Wesley’s performance with an icy, detached fascination.
“Enjoy the cameras while you can, Wesley,” Barrett thought. “Because they’re going to be the very thing that films your execution.”
As the press conference ended, Wesley walked off the stage, flanked by his security team and Connie Brash. He was walking toward the private elevators when he noticed a figure leaning against the concrete pillar in the underground VIP parking level.
Wesley stopped. He signaled his security guards to stay back and walked forward alone.
"Barrett," Wesley said, his voice dropping the grieving-husband act instantly. "I told you not to come here. The media is crawling all over the building."
"You perform well under the lights, Wesley," Barrett said, not moving an inch. "I almost believed you myself. The anemia. The fall. It’s a very clean story."
Wesley adjusted his gold cufflinks. "It’s the only story that matters. The medical records back it up. The hospital administration backs it up. I suggest you go back to your docks, Barrett, and let the professionals handle this."
Barrett took a slow step forward, stepping out of the shadows. The light caught the raw, unchecked fury in his eyes.
"I know about the DA, Wesley," Barrett whispered.
Wesley froze. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, revealing a flash of sheer, unadulterated panic.
"I don't know what you’re talking about," Wesley said, recovering quickly.
"Jolene came to see me last week," Barrett said, his voice dangerously calm. "She didn't tell me everything because she wanted to protect me from doing something illegal. But she told me she found your private ledger. The one detailing the offshore accounts where you funnel bribes to city officials and judges. She took it to the District Attorney’s office on Monday. And on Tuesday night, she suddenly 'falls' into a coma."
Wesley let out a soft, venomous hiss. "Your sister is delusional. Her condition has caused her mind to slip. No court in this state would take the word of a syndicate boss’s sister over a senior partner of Prescott and Crane."
"You’re right," Barrett said, nodding slowly. "The courts won't touch you. You own the judges. You own the hospital. You even think you own the truth."
Barrett leaned in close, his breath hot against Wesley’s ear. "But you don't own me. I don't use judges, Wesley. And I don't use the law. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to sign over full medical guardianship of Jolene and the baby to me. If you don't... I’m going to tear your world down brick by bloody brick."
Barrett turned and walked away into the dark garage, leaving Wesley standing alone in the cold air, his heart hammering against his ribs.
May you like
Wesley pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. He dialed a secure, unlisted number.
"It’s Wesley," he said, his voice trembling with rage. "The nurse, Tessa Morrow. She went to Barrett Cade. And Cade knows about the DA file. Eliminate the nurse. Now. And find out where Vance is hiding. We need to terminate the problem permanently."
