Chapter 3 - The Ghost Of Baltimore
Dominic did not panic. He walked slowly to the edge of the conservatory, looking out through the reinforced glass down the long, snow-covered driveway. Red and blue emergency lights flashed silently against the bare winter trees near the heavy iron gates half a mile away.
He turned back to Hannah. Her composure had completely vanished, replaced by a visceral, animal terror that no beating from Vanessa could have ever elicited.
“Julian Vance,” Dominic said flatly. “Who is he?”
“My husband,” Hannah whispered, her voice choking. “Or... he was. I fled Baltimore two years ago. I changed my name, abandoned my accounts, threw away my phone, and lived off cash.”
“Why?” Dominic demanded. “If he’s a doctor, why is he rolling up to my front gates with state warrants and police escorts?”
“Because he’s not just a doctor, Dominic!” Eleanor interrupted sharply from her wheelchair, her eyes flashing with sudden realization. “Julian Vance... the chief administrator of the Vance Medical Foundation in Maryland. His family owns half the pharmaceutical distribution networks on the East Coast. They aren't just doctors, son. They are high-society royalty with federal judges in their pockets.”
Hannah swallowed hard, leaning against a marble pillar for support. “Julian isn't trying to save me. He’s coming to finish what he started. If I walk out those doors with him, I will end up in a private psychiatric facility in Virginia, heavily sedated, until I sign over my family’s research patents—or until I simply cease to exist.”
Dominic looked at her quietly. “What research patents?”
“My father spent thirty years developing an advanced neural-regeneration compound for severe spinal cord trauma,” Hannah said, tears finally welling in her eyes. “When he died three years ago, he left the entire intellectual property portfolio solely in my name. Julian married me to gain access to it. When I refused to license it to his shell companies—because I found out they were going to monetize it for elite military contracts instead of treating civilian paralysis—he tried to have me committed.”
She looked up at Dominic, her eyes filled with desperate clarity. “The night I ran, he trapped me in our home in Baltimore. I had to perform an emergency cricothyroidotomy on his lead security officer just to escape the grounds. I broke my own wrist jumping from a second-story balcony. I ran with nothing but the clothes on my back.”
Dominic listened, his mind working with cold, methodical speed. He knew men like Julian Vance. They were far more dangerous than street thugs because they did their violence in sterile white rooms behind gold-plated legal shields. They used subpoenas instead of handguns, but the result was precisely the same.
“Walter,” Dominic said calmly, without turning around.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Tell the gate guard to let Captain Miller and Dr. Vance through. Tell them they may park in the courtyard, but only Dr. Vance and the Captain are permitted inside the house. If their armed private security steps one foot past the threshold, have our boys on the perimeter take their tires out.”
Walter bowed quickly. “Understood, sir.”
“Dominic, what are you doing?” Hannah asked, panic rising in her voice again. “You can’t let him in here! He has warrants—”
“Warrants signed by a county judge don't mean much on Moretti property, Miss Vance,” Dominic said, stepping toward her. He reached out and gently pulled his oversized suit jacket tighter around her shoulders. “You are currently under my roof. In this house, my word is the only law that carries weight.”
He turned to his mother. “Mother, go to your suite upstairs with Walter. Stay there until I call for you.”
Eleanor nodded solemnly. “Don't let that slick bastard take her, Dominic. She saved my heart tonight.”
“Nobody is taking anyone out of my house unless I permit it,” Dominic said coldly.
Ten minutes later, the massive double oak doors of the Moretti estate opened. Cold winter air swept into the grand foyer, accompanied by two men.
The first was Police Captain Thomas Miller—a beefy, grey-haired man who had been on the Moretti family payroll for fifteen years. The second was Dr. Julian Vance.
Julian was forty years old, exquisitely groomed, wearing a tailored cashmere topcoat over a three-piece charcoal suit. He possessed the striking, artificial handsomeness of a man who spent tens of thousands of dollars annually on his appearance. His silver hair was swept back perfectly, and his blue eyes radiated a sharp, arrogant confidence.
“Dominic,” Captain Miller said nervously, tipping his hat. “Sorry to bother you at this hour, but Dr. Vance brought an emergency interstate custody order and a bench warrant signed out of Maryland.”
Julian stepped past the police captain, his eyes scanning the cavernous foyer until they locked onto Hannah, who was standing behind Dominic near the grand staircase.
A sickening, warm smile spread across Julian’s face. “Hannah. My sweet girl. Look at what you’ve reduced yourself to... scrubbing floors for criminals.”
Hannah shrank back slightly, her hand gripping the wooden banister so hard her knuckles turned white.
Dominic stepped directly into Julian’s line of sight, cutting off the visual connection entirely. “You’re trespassing, Dr. Vance.”
Julian’s smile faded, replaced by an amused condescension. “Mr. Moretti, isn't it? I’ve read about you in the papers. The local shipping magnate with colorful associations. But this isn't Chicago mob business. This is a private family matter. My wife disappeared two years ago following a severe psychotic breakdown after her father’s passing. I have spent millions searching for her.”
He pulled an official gold-sealed document from inside his coat. “I have full legal guardianship papers right here, certified by a Maryland federal court. She is mentally unstable and requires immediate medical custody. Stand aside, and let me take my wife home.”
Dominic didn't look at the paper. He didn't even reach out to take it. He simply stood motionless, six feet two inches of cold, unyielding iron, looking down at the surgeon.
“Captain Miller,” Dominic said quietly, his eyes never leaving Julian.
“Yes, Dominic?” the police captain answered quickly, wiping sweat from his neck.
“Did you check the validity of this warrant with the Cook County State Attorney before bringing this man to my gates?”
Miller hesitated, stammering. “Well... no, Dominic. Dr. Vance had federal marshals on standby, and the paperwork looked completely official—”
“Then you are conducting an illegal search on private property,” Dominic said smoothly. “In Cook County, an out-of-state custody warrant for an adult citizen must be endorsed by a local circuit court judge before execution. You know that, Thomas. Which means you brought an unauthorized civilian onto my estate with armed guards.”
Captain Miller’s face turned red. “Dominic, please, don't make this difficult—”
“If you don't take your vehicle and leave my property in two minutes, Thomas,” Dominic said softly, “I will call the State Police Commander and report a rogue precinct officer executing illegal extractions for out-of-state billionaires. I believe your pension is due in fourteen months, isn't it?”
Captain Miller swallowed hard. He looked at Julian, then at Dominic’s icy expression, and made his decision instantly. “Dr. Vance... we have to fall back. We need to go through local processing first.”
Julian’s jaw tightened in fury. “You absolute coward! I paid your department—” He cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say.
Julian turned back to Dominic, his eyes burning with intense malice. “You think you can protect her, Moretti? You’re a glorified dock worker with a bank account. I have federal agencies on my payroll. I have five different medical boards ready to declare her legally insane by sunrise.”
“You might have federal judges in Maryland, Dr. Vance,” Dominic said quietly, taking a single step forward until he was inches from Julian’s face. “But this is Chicago. The docks belong to me. The streets belong to me. And right now, the woman standing behind me belongs to my household.”
Julian stared at Dominic, feeling the undeniable, dangerous weight of a man who dealt in real power, not administrative titles.
“She’s damaged goods, Moretti,” Julian spat, taking a step backward toward the open door. “She owes my foundation forty million dollars in defaulted research grants. You can’t buy your way out of that debt. I will bleed your assets dry through federal litigation before this month is over.”
“Try it,” Dominic replied simply. “Now get out of my house before I have my men throw you into Lake Michigan.”
Julian glared at Hannah one last time—a look promising utter destruction—before turning on his heel and walking out into the freezing night. Captain Miller followed hurriedly behind him, closing the massive oak doors.
The foyer fell into absolute silence.
Hannah stood on the stairs, her chest heaving as she let out a breath she felt she had been holding for two years.
Dominic turned around to face her. “He’s not going to leave the city.”
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“I know,” Hannah whispered, her voice trembling. “He won't stop until he has me back in a room where nobody can hear me.”
Dominic walked up the first three steps of the grand staircase, stopping right in front of her. “Then it’s time we give him something else to worry about.”
