Chapter 2 - The Skeleton in the BookshelfDr. Julian Kenneth—a Harvard-trained concierge physician who usually only treated politicians and titans of industry—arrived within twelve minutes. He burst through the private side entrance of Lumière, clutching a heavy leather medical case.
“Where is the patient?” Kenneth demanded, his eyes scanning the opulent room until they landed on the bizarre scene at table twelve: a billionaire in a bespoke suit holding a dirty, unconscious toddler.
“Here,” Victor said, clearing away the untouched filet mignon and crystal water glasses to make space on the mahogany table.
Kenneth moved with practiced efficiency. He slapped a pediatric pulse oximeter onto Leo’s tiny, ice-cold finger, pressed a stethoscope to the boy’s paper-thin chest, and shined a penlight into his eyes. The seconds ticked by in agonizing silence. Maya gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned bone-white, her eyes darting frantically between the doctor and her brother.
“He’s severely dehydrated,” Kenneth reported, his brow furrowing as he pulled out an IV kit. “His blood sugar has flatlined. If you had waited another hour... he wouldn't have survived the night, Victor. How long has he been like this?”
“She said yesterday morning,” Victor answered, keeping his gaze fixed on Maya. “Maya, look at me. When was the last time you two ate a proper meal? Where are your parents?”
Maya swallowed hard, her chin trembling. “Mom... mom went out three days ago to find work. She said she’d be back by nightfall with groceries. She left us some bread, but the landlord threw our stuff out yesterday because we couldn't pay rent. We’ve been sleeping in the subway station at Park Street. A lady gave us a coat, but... but Leo got too weak to walk this afternoon.”
Victor’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “What is your mother’s name?”
“Sarah. Sarah Miller.”
Victor immediately pulled out his encrypted smartphone. “Marcus, patch me into Boston PD dispatch and the municipal registry. I want every record on Sarah Miller, born 1994, last known address in South Boston. Run her credit cards, her phone ping, everything. Drop everything you're doing right now.”
On the other end of the line, Marcus, Victor’s ruthlessly efficient chief of security and personal fixer, didn't hesitate. “On it, boss. Give me five minutes.”
Meanwhile, Dr. Kenneth successfully inserted a micro-IV line into the back of Leo’s hand, hooking it up to a saline and glucose drip. Within moments, color began to creep back into the toddler’s pale, waxy cheeks. Leo let out a weak, raspy sigh and shifted, his small fingers loosening their death grip on Maya’s sweatshirt and resting against Victor’s wrist instead.
Victor looked down at the tiny hand resting on his arm. A strange, suffocating heat rose behind his eyes.
“He’s stabilizing,” Dr. Kenneth announced, packing up his stethoscope with a sigh of relief. “He needs an overnight stay at Massachusetts General Hospital for observation and nutritional monitoring. I’ll ride with them in your car.”
“No,” Victor said softly, standing up while keeping Leo securely in his arms. “We’re taking them to my estate in Back Bay. My private medical wing is better equipped than half the hospitals in the city, and it has complete privacy.”
Maya gasped, stepping back. “Your... your house? Mister, we can’t go to a rich person’s house. People will get mad. The police—__”
“Nobody touches you,” Victor interrupted, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked zero argument. He turned to Sophia Moretti, who was standing nearby wringing her hands. “Sophia, cover the bill for everyone in this restaurant tonight. Put it on my tab. And make sure Arthur Sterling’s company account is blacklisted from every property I own.”
Sophia nodded quickly, her eyes wide with shock. “Consider it done, Victor. Godspeed.”
As Victor carried Leo toward the private exit, flanked by Dr. Kenneth and a bewildered Maya, the patrons of Lumière watched in stunned silence. But as they stepped out into the pouring rain, Marcus’s voice crackled through Victor’s Bluetooth earpiece.
“Boss? You there?”
“Talk to me, Marcus,” Victor said, sliding into the leather-lined interior of his bulletproof Maybach while holding Leo in his lap. Maya scrambled in beside them, shivering violently.
“I ran Sarah Miller’s background,” Marcus said, his voice uncharacteristically tense. “She didn't run off, boss. Her phone was found downtown near the Financial District three hours ago. Smashed. And get this—she was an administrative assistant at Sterling Properties.”
Victor froze. The name hung in the damp air of the car like a curse.
“Arthur Sterling’s firm?” Victor asked quietly.
“The very same,” Marcus replied. “And according to city records, her apartment building was bought out last week by a shell company owned by Sterling. She wasn't just evicted, boss. She was fighting them over illegal rent hikes and safety code violations. She filed a whistleblower complaint against them yesterday morning.”
Victor looked across the luxury car at Maya, who was staring out the rain-streaked window, completely unaware that her mother’s disappearance was tied directly to the monster sitting two tables away from Victor just twenty minutes ago.
May you like
Victor’s eyes narrowed into twin points of steel.
“Marcus,” Victor whispered, a dark, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Cancel my meetings tomorrow morning. We are going to destroy Arthur Sterling piece by piece, and then we are going to find out what happened to Sarah Miller.”
