Chapter 3 - THE SYRINGEClara stopped so suddenly Dominic nearly crashed into her.
Mrs. Hargrove stood beneath the emergency lights with the syringe held low beside her skirt.
“What is that?” Dominic asked.
Hargrove did not flinch.
“Sedative.”
“For whom?”
“Noah.”
Dominic's voice became terrifyingly quiet.
“Why?”
“He's hysterical.”
Clara pushed past Dominic.
“Noah?”
No answer.
The room was empty.
The race car bed had been pulled slightly away from the wall.
One window stood open.
Cold Chicago wind pushed the curtains inward.
Dominic crossed the room.
“Noah!”
Nothing.
Clara dropped beside the bed.
She saw scratches across the floor.
Fresh ones.
Someone had moved it recently.
Behind the headboard was a narrow service panel painted the same color as the wall.
She pulled it open.
Darkness.
A maintenance passage.
“He went inside.”
Dominic turned toward Hargrove.
“You knew about this?”
“Of course. It's an old house.”
“Why didn't you tell security?”
“I was about to.”
Clara looked at the syringe again.
Something was wrong.
She stepped closer.
“What drug?”
Hargrove's face hardened.
“Excuse me?”
“You said it's a sedative. What's in it?”
“I don't answer to you.”
Dominic did.
“Answer.”
Hargrove looked at him.
“Midazolam.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
Clara's heart hammered.
Her brother had been given midazolam before surgery.
This syringe looked full.
Too full.
“How much?”
Hargrove didn't respond.
Dominic took it from her.
“Lock her in the east sitting room.”
Two guards moved forward.
Hargrove's composure finally cracked.
“Dominic, don't be ridiculous.”
He looked at her.
The use of his first name made every guard in the hall stiffen.
“You've served this family for twenty-seven years,” he said. “That is the only reason you're not already on your knees.”
Hargrove lifted her chin.
“You're letting a cleaning girl poison your judgment.”
“No,” Dominic said. “I'm letting my missing son do that.”
The guards escorted her away.
Clara entered the passage.
Dominic grabbed a flashlight.
“You stay behind me.”
“You've said that twice.”
“And you've ignored me twice.”
They moved through the narrow corridor.
Dust covered the floor except for small footprints.
Noah's.
The passage descended behind the walls.
Clara could hear pipes.
Wind.
Then a whimper.
“Noah?”
The sound stopped.
They rounded a corner.
A tiny figure crouched beside an old wooden door.
Clara rushed toward him.
“Noah.”
He ran into her arms.
Dominic exhaled.
Relief softened him for exactly one second.
Then Noah saw his father and pointed at the door.
“Mommy.”
Dominic froze.
Clara looked at him.
He had heard it too.
Noah's second clear word.
Mommy.
Dominic stepped toward the door.
It was locked.
He kicked it once.
Wood cracked.
Again.
The lock broke.
The room beyond smelled stale.
They entered what appeared to be an old storage chamber.
Dusty furniture.
Boxes.
Covered paintings.
And against the wall, a child's easel.
Dominic stared.
“This was Elena's studio.”
His wife.
Noah pulled Clara toward a cabinet.
Inside were dozens of paintings.
Most were landscapes.
Some showed Noah.
Several were unfinished.
Then Clara found one that made her blood turn cold.
It showed the Vale rose garden at night.
A black SUV stood near the gate.
Beside it was a woman.
Gray hair.
Pearl brooch.
Mrs. Hargrove.
Dominic took the painting.
On the back, Elena had written:
If anything happens to me, look at the garden cameras. She knows.
Dominic stopped breathing.
Two years earlier, the garden surveillance system had mysteriously failed on the night Elena died.
Someone had deleted six hours of footage.
Dominic had blamed the attack on a rival organization.
Three men had died in retaliation.
Maybe he had killed the wrong people.
Clara found another canvas.
This one showed a man beside Hargrove.
His face was only partially painted.
But Dominic recognized him.
“Victor Shaw.”
“Who?”
“My mother's attorney.”
Noah whimpered.
Dominic looked down.
His son pointed toward the man's unfinished face.
“Bad.”
Clara felt sick.
Dominic lifted Noah into his arms.
For the first time, the boy did not fight him.
Dominic closed his eyes.
His hand trembled against Noah's back.
Only once.
Then the dangerous calm returned.
“Seal the estate.”
Within minutes, every gate was locked.
Phones were collected.
Security teams searched rooms.
Mrs. Hargrove was brought to the study.
The painting lay on Dominic's desk.
For the first time in nearly three decades of service, she looked old.
Dominic stood across from her.
“Tell me why Elena painted this.”
Hargrove stared at the image.
“She was paranoid near the end.”
“She wrote your name.”
“She was unstable.”
Noah, standing behind Clara, began shaking his head.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
Hargrove looked at him.
The boy stepped behind Clara.
“No.”
Dominic's jaw flexed.
“You've heard him speak before.”
Hargrove said nothing.
“You knew he remembered.”
Silence.
That was enough.
Dominic slammed his palm onto the desk.
“What happened to my wife?”
“I loved Elena.”
“Then answer me!”
Hargrove finally cracked.
“You think you loved her?”
Dominic froze.
“You brought war into this house,” Hargrove whispered. “You made enemies every day. You gave that woman diamonds and guards but never peace.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“No.”
She smiled bitterly.
“It doesn't.”
Before Dominic could speak, one of the guards rushed inside.
“Sir, we found something.”
They led Dominic to Hargrove's quarters.
Behind a false panel in her wardrobe were medical records.
Noah's.
Dozens of prescriptions.
Several not authorized by his doctors.
Clara picked up a bottle.
Antipsychotics.
Sedatives.
Adult dosages.
Dominic looked murderous.
A second guard handed him a burner phone.
One message was visible.
THE BOY SPOKE. MOVE TONIGHT.
Dominic slowly turned toward Hargrove.
She closed her eyes.
“Noah wasn't violent because of grief,” Clara whispered.
The medications.
The confusion.
The withdrawal.
The screaming.
Someone had been keeping him drugged.
Keeping him unstable.
Making sure nobody believed him.
Dominic looked at his son.
Then at Clara.
“Get Noah out.”
Clara took the boy's hand.
As she reached the doorway, Hargrove suddenly laughed.
Clara stopped.
“You think you've found the truth?” the woman asked.
Dominic turned.
Hargrove's eyes were wet now.
“Elena was trying to leave you.”
His face changed.
“She had evidence.”
“Of what?”
Hargrove looked directly at Clara.
“Ask your new little hero why Elena had been contacting the FBI.”
Dominic's face went still.
Clara's stomach dropped.
Hargrove leaned forward.
“And ask him what will happen when the FBI learns she was murdered before she could testify against Dominic Vale.”
That same second, sirens sounded beyond the gates.
Red and blue lights flooded the estate.
A guard looked through the window.
“Federal agents.”
Dominic stared at Hargrove.
She smiled.
“You're too late.”
Someone had called them.
May you like
And from the expression on Dominic's face, Clara understood one frightening thing.
For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Dominic Vale did not know who controlled the room.
