Dominic’s hand closed around Dr.
Pendleton’s wrist before the needle reached the IV port.
The movement was weak, no more than a trembling grip, but it froze everyone in the room.
Pendleton stared down at the man he had declared nearly unconscious.
Vincent’s face lost its color.
One of the guards shifted near the doorway, uncertain whether he was supposed to protect Dominic or the cousin who had already begun acting like the new head of the family.
I remained beside my cleaning cart, trying not to look at the black phone hidden beneath the towels.
Its camera was pointed toward the bed.
Somewhere outside the mansion, Julian Costello was watching the room where his father was supposed to die.
Dominic’s gray eyes opened.
“No more,” he rasped.
Pendleton tried to pull away, but Dominic held on with surprising determination.
The effort made his arm shake violently.
Vincent recovered first.
“He’s confused,” he said.
“The medication is making him paranoid.”
“Then why are you frightened?” I asked.
Vincent turned toward me slowly.
Until that moment, I had never openly challenged him.
I had spent three years lowering my eyes whenever he passed, carrying his glasses away from the dining room, and listening while he discussed people as if their lives were numbers on a page.
Now his expression told me that invisibility had been the only thing keeping me alive.
He released my wrist and removed the amber vial from my apron.
“Where did you find this?”
“In the medical waste bin.”
Dr.
Pendleton’s breathing changed.
Vincent looked at him.
That single glance carried more accusation than any shouted question.
“She’s lying,” Pendleton said.
“I’ve never seen that vial.”
Dominic’s fingers slipped from his wrist, but the doctor no longer tried to inject the syringe.
He lowered it toward his case.
“Put it on the tray,” I said.
Vincent gave a quiet laugh.
“You seem to have forgotten your position.”
“No,” I replied.
“You forgot I was standing in the room.”
His smile vanished.
From beneath the towels came Julian’s faint voice.
“Keep him talking.”
Vincent heard it.
His eyes moved to the cart.
I stepped between him and the phone.
“What exactly are you recording?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
Vincent reached past me and threw the towels onto the floor.
The black phone lay in the drawer, its camera lens aimed directly at him.
On the screen, a small red circle showed that the call and video were still connected.
For the first time, Vincent looked genuinely afraid.
He snatched up the phone.
“Who is this?”
Julian answered without hesitation.
“Hello, Uncle.”
The room became silent.
Vincent stared at the screen as if the voice itself had struck him.
