Chapter 6 - The Doctor’s ConfessionHookCornered in his own underground command center, Roman Calder faces the mastermind who tried to rewrite his empire with a syringe.
The security command center smelled of ozone and overheated circuit boards.
Red emergency LEDs cast long, jagged shadows across banks of dead monitors. In the center of the room sat Dr. Julian Vance, casually spinning a silver scalpel between his fingers as he watched the live telemetry feeds from the perimeter cameras.
The heavy steel security door hissed open.
Roman stepped into the room, his Glock leveled straight at Vance’s forehead. His breathing was heavy, sweat beading along his temples, but his hands were rock steady.
"Dr. Vance," Roman said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "You always did have poor bedside manners."
Vance didn't flinch. He didn't even stop spinning the scalpel. He simply leaned back in the executive leather chair, a thin, patronizing smile playing across his lips.
"Roman. I must admit, I'm disappointed in my compound," Vance said smoothly. "By all medical standards, your heart should have given out forty-eight hours ago. That little deaf girl must have given you quite the adrenaline spike."
"You killed Daniel Ruiz because he found the shipment manifests," Roman said, stepping closer, the muzzle of his gun never wavering. "And you tried to kill me because I wouldn't let your pharmaceutical firm turn the Baltimore harbor into a chemical pipeline for the syndicate."
"Killed?" Vance chuckled softly, standing up and adjusting his crisp white lab coat. "Please, Roman. We are businessmen. You built this city on blood and smuggled steel. I merely wanted a cleaner operation. A more profitable management team. Without you, the board can reroute every single shipping lane from here to Rotterdam without answering to a ruthless warlord who thinks he owns the waterfront."
"The waterfront doesn't belong to the board," Roman said coldly. "And it certainly doesn't belong to a glorified butcher in a lab coat."
Vance smiled, his eyes gleaming with sudden malice. "True. But it doesn't belong to you anymore, either. Look at your watch, Roman."
Roman frowned, glancing down at his wrist.
"The water filtration system in the east wing," Vance whispered, his smile widening into something feral. "It wasn't just the pills. Over the last forty-eight hours, while you were busy playing domestic hero with the cleaning woman and her child... the air scrubbers in your private suite have been releasing an aerosolized booster. Even if you kill me right now, your heart will stop beating before you reach the front gates."
Roman felt a sudden, crushing weight slam into his chest—not a metaphor, but a physical, blinding agony. His vision blurred at the edges, the red emergency lights bleeding into streaks of fire.
He stumbled forward, dropping to one knee, his breath catching in his throat.
May you like
Vance stepped over him, picking up a heavy iron paperweight from the desk. "It’s been a good run, Roman. But empires fall. And men like you always die alone."
Vance raised the heavy iron weight high above his head, ready to bring it down.
