“That isn’t possible.”
“You said the same thing when I crawled out of the river twelve years ago.”
Vincent’s fingers tightened around the phone.
The guards looked at each other.
They had grown up hearing that Julian Costello died when a bomb destroyed his car on a bridge outside the city.
Dominic had closed the mansion for a month after the funeral.
Vincent had stood beside him at the grave, one hand on his shoulder, promising to treat the family business as if it belonged to Julian.
But there had never been enough of the body to identify.
Julian had survived because the blast threw him through the side window before the car went over the railing.
Two fishermen found him downstream.
By the time he woke in a guarded hospital room, investigators had already discovered that the explosion came from a device hidden beneath his seat.
They also warned him that someone inside the Costello organization had paid to finish the job if he survived.
Julian disappeared into federal protection.
For twelve years, Vincent believed the river had corrected the bomb’s failure.
“You should have stayed dead,” Vincent whispered.
The words came out before he could stop them.
Julian was quiet for a moment.
“Thank you,” he said.
“That was the clearest admission you’ve made all year.”
Vincent hurled the phone against the wall.
The screen shattered, but the call did not end.
Julian’s voice continued through the damaged speaker.
“The recording has already uploaded.”
Vincent turned toward the guards.
“Take the cleaner downstairs.
Lock her in the storage room.”
Neither man moved.
“Did you hear me?”
The older guard, Samuel, glanced at Dominic.
“Mr.
Costello is still alive.”
“He won’t be for long,” Vincent snapped.
That was his second mistake.
The first had been speaking to Julian.
The second was announcing Dominic’s death before it happened.
Dr.
Pendleton stepped backward from the bed.
“I didn’t agree to any of this,” he said.
Vincent faced him.
“You agreed the moment you accepted my money.”
“You said he wanted a painless decline.
You said the family had approved it.”
“You knew exactly what you were putting into that line.”
Pendleton looked at the amber vial in Vincent’s hand, then at the loaded syringe on the tray.
“That final injection was your idea.”
Vincent moved toward him.
“Be quiet.”
“No,” Pendleton said, panic sharpening his voice.
“You told me the new will had already been signed.
You said once Dominic died, you would control the trust and pay the remaining two million dollars.”
Every word traveled through the broken phone.
Vincent understood that too late.
He swept the phone from the floor and crushed it beneath his shoe.
Then the mansion’s security alarm sounded.
Not the fire alarm.
