Chapter 2 - THE ANATOMY OF A DECEPTION
Dominic Mercer did not become the head of the Mercer family by reacting recklessly to sudden threats.
He sat behind his desk for twenty minutes, his face transformed into a mask of total, cold immobility. He looked down at the brass button, his thumb tracing the cold raised lettering of CRD.
If Dr. Hale was administering a neuro-suppressive toxin under the guise of medical treatment, then every specialist Dominic had consulted over the last three years had either been deceived—or paid off. And if the Corneille Corporation was involved, then the explosion that killed Ethan three years ago was not a random territorial dispute with a rival crew.
It was an assassination. An assassination designed to kill his brilliant brother and render Dominic helpless, opening the door for a corporate takeover of the Mercer family’s maritime empire.
Dominic pressed a hidden button beneath his desk.
Two minutes later, Grant Bell walked into the study, holding his small dry-erase whiteboard. Grant was forty-five, built like an iron pillar, with a broken nose from his years in military intelligence.
Grant wrote on the board: Everything alright?
Dominic took the marker from Grant’s hand. He did not write on the board. Instead, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote in precise handwriting:
I need a private chemical analysis lab outside New York. Not associated with our usual contacts. Someone who owes you a personal debt.
Grant read the note. His eyes widened slightly, a subtle flicker of surprise crossing his hardened face, but he asked no questions. He took the pen and wrote: Dr. Samuel Chen. Queens. Served with me in Fallujah. Completely dark.
Dominic reached for a small cotton swab from his desk drawer. He leaned his head sideways, wiped the inside of his left ear where Dr. Hale had administered the drops three hours prior, and sealed the wet swab inside a small plastic medical tube.
He handed the tube to Grant, along with a note:
Take this to Chen personally. Test for heavy metals, neuro-inhibitors, or custom synthetic toxins. Tell no one. Not Vanessa. Not the house staff. Not my security detail.
Grant took the tube, his expression darkening as he realized the horrific implication of the request. He nodded once—a firm, solemn gesture—and slipped the tube into his inner jacket pocket.
Dominic then pulled out a second sheet of paper and wrote:
I want full background surveillance on Dr. Calvin Hale. Bank accounts, offshore wire transfers, private meetings over the last thirty-six months. Check his connections to Corneille Reconstruction & Development.
Grant read the name Corneille, and his jaw tightened until the bone showed against his skin. He erased his whiteboard entirely, nodded to Dominic, and walked quietly out of the study.
Dominic stood up from his desk and walked to the high windows overlooking the formal gardens.
Down on the stone terrace, Vanessa Russo was sitting at an outdoor glass table, sipping tea and talking animatedly on her gold-cased mobile phone. She looked radiant, her styled dark hair catching the afternoon light, her laughter silent behind the double-paned glass.
Dominic watched her mouth move.
For eighteen months, he had believed their arranged marriage was a peaceful merger between two old families seeking stability after tragedy. But now, every detail of his life over the last three years seemed covered in a thick coat of suspicion.
Who had suggested Dr. Hale continue his weekly treatments after the specialists gave up?
Vanessa’s father, Anthony Russo.
Who had introduced the Mercer legal team to the bankruptcy attorneys representing the port terminals?
Vanessa.
Dominic felt a cold, sharp rage blossoming in his chest—not a chaotic anger, but a lethal, quiet clarity. They believed he was a broken lion. They believed that by stripping away his hearing, they had stripped away his power, turning him into a hollow figurehead who would sign away his family’s legacy while smiling politely at lip movements he couldn't fully comprehend.
A small touch at his elbow broke his train of thought.
Dominic turned down. Lily was standing beside him, holding Captain the rabbit by his green-stitched ear.
Dominic slowly knelt on the hardwood floor until his eyes were level with the four-year-old girl.
He reached out, taking her tiny hand. He pointed to his ear, then made a motion of throwing something into the trash, followed by a bright, open smile.
Lily stared at him for a long moment. Then, a massive, radiant smile spread across her small face. She clapped her hands together—a soft vibration Dominic felt through the floorboards—and hugged her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest.
She knew he understood.
May you like
Dominic pulled the silver-framed photograph of Ethan toward him on the window ledge. He looked at his brother’s laughing face in the sunlight.
I am coming back, Ethan, Dominic swore in the dark silence of his mind. And I am going to tear down everyone who did this to us.
