Chapter 2 - The Medicine That Kept Him Broken
The ballroom remained sealed for forty-three minutes.
Long enough for the first police officers to arrive.
Long enough for Grant’s attorney to start shouting over the phone.
Long enough for every person at the Bellamy Hotel to understand that something enormous had happened.
Grant did not shout.
That worried Marcus.
Grant was most dangerous when he became quiet.
Vanessa and Nathan were separated before police questioning.
The orange juice was placed in an evidence container.
The vial under Grant’s wheelchair was collected too.
Grant’s wheelchair itself was photographed.
Lucy sat with Emily across the room, drinking water through a straw while Catherine remained at Grant’s table.
Grant had not spoken to his mother since Vanessa mentioned Isabella.
Finally Catherine said:
“Please don’t do this here.”
Grant almost laughed.
“Everyone says that right before they ask me to ignore something.”
“This has nothing to do with tonight.”
“That’s not what Vanessa implied.”
“She was trying to distract you.”
“Was she lying?”
Catherine looked away.
Grant knew the answer.
He rolled the wheelchair backward.
Catherine reached toward him.
“Grant.”
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
Grant had loved his mother his entire life.
After Isabella died, Catherine had moved into his home for eight months.
She helped raise Grant’s son, Noah.
She sat outside his bedroom when grief left him unable to sleep.
When the car bomb injured him, Catherine had been at his hospital bed before he woke.
If Vanessa’s accusation was true, then Catherine had been protecting something for years.
“What happened to Isabella’s toxicology report?”
Catherine whispered:
“It was complicated.”
Grant closed his eyes.
That phrase.
Complicated.
The universal word for truth adults did not want to say.
“Try again.”
“Your father was alive then.”
Grant’s eyes opened.
His father, Vincent Mercer, had died two years after Isabella.
“He ordered it sealed.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Grant stared.
Catherine corrected herself.
“I didn’t know then.”
“And now?”
She began crying.
“Now I think Isabella had been poisoned before the accident.”
Grant’s hands tightened.
Marcus stepped closer.
Grant lifted a finger.
Stay.
His mother continued.
“Small doses. Over months.”
The room tilted.
Exactly what Vanessa appeared to be doing to him.
Grant looked down at his leg.
“Same substance?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
Catherine looked toward Nathan, now speaking to police.
Grant followed her eyes.
Of course.
Nathan Bell had been Isabella’s doctor too.
Grant remembered.
Headaches.
Fatigue.
Nausea.
She had collapsed twice before her death.
Nathan called it stress.
Grant believed him.
Why wouldn’t he?
Nathan had been family physician for twelve years.
Grant turned toward Marcus.
“Get every medical record Nathan ever signed for Isabella.”
Police officer nearby cleared his throat.
“You’ll need legal access.”
Grant looked at him.
“Then we’ll get legal access.”
Progress.
Old Grant would have broken into the clinic.
Tonight he wanted records admissible in court.
Because somebody had tried to turn his own body into evidence.
He intended to return the favor legally.
Emily approached cautiously.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Grant turned.
Lucy hid slightly behind her mother.
Grant softened.
“Yes?”
“We should probably go.”
Grant nodded.
“You can.”
Emily hesitated.
“Will we be safe?”
That question changed the air.
Grant looked at Marcus.
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
Emily swallowed.
“Because my daughter saw them.”
Grant understood.
Witness.
A five-year-old witness.
His stomach turned.
“No one goes near you.”
Emily gave a humorless smile.
“You can promise that?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Grant looked toward Vanessa.
“Because anyone who wants to reach her has to come through me first.”
Emily did not look reassured.
Fair.
Grant corrected himself.
“And the police.”
That helped slightly.
He asked Marcus to arrange a hotel under police awareness, not secret relocation.
Lucy stepped forward.
“Mr. Grant?”
“Yes?”
“Are your legs gonna get better?”
Nobody moved.
Grant looked down.
“I don’t know.”
Lucy nodded.
“My grandpa uses a cane.”
Grant almost smiled.
“Does he?”
“He says doctors guess a lot.”
Marcus covered a laugh.
Grant nodded.
“Smart man.”
Then Lucy pointed at Grant’s untouched plate.
“You should eat.”
Emily looked horrified.
Grant laughed.
Actually laughed.
The first time all night.
“Not from this kitchen.”
Lucy accepted that.
Then she left holding her mother’s hand.
Grant watched them go.
Something about Emily bothered him.
Not suspicion.
Recognition.
Where had he seen her?
He asked Marcus.
“Who is she?”
“Emily Hayes. Temporary event coordinator. Works for Bellamy Hospitality.”
“Background?”
“Clean.”
“Family?”
“Single mother. Husband died.”
Grant looked toward the ballroom doors.
“How?”
Marcus checked.
“Construction accident three years ago.”
Grant froze.
“Where?”
Marcus frowned.
Then read.
“Mercer Recovery Clinic expansion project.”
Grant stared.
Emily’s husband had died building the same clinic now tied to his poisoning.
Coincidence.
Maybe.
But Grant had recently stopped believing in convenient coincidences.
“Find the accident report.”
Marcus nodded.
Police eventually transported Nathan and Vanessa for questioning.
Neither was formally arrested yet.
The substances required testing.
Grant remained at the hotel until 2:00 a.m.
Then he returned to his penthouse with Catherine.
He did not want her there.
He also did not want her leaving before she talked.
Noah, Grant’s nine-year-old son, slept upstairs.
Grant stopped outside the boy’s room.
For a moment, all mafia business disappeared.
He watched his son breathe.
Healthy.
Safe.
Then he thought of Isabella.
Had someone slowly poisoned her in this same house?
Had she known?
Had she tried to tell him?
Grant remembered one argument three weeks before her death.
Isabella had wanted to move.
Not houses.
Cities.
She said Chicago was “not safe anymore.”
Grant thought she meant his enemies.
Maybe she meant his family.
Downstairs, Catherine waited in the study.
Grant entered.
“Tell me everything.”
She did.
Isabella had privately asked Catherine to help obtain a second toxicology panel after repeated illness.
Catherine agreed.
Before samples were processed, Vincent Mercer found out.
He threatened to cut Catherine off from Grant and Noah if she continued.
She backed down.
Isabella died two weeks later.
Grant stared at his mother.
“You were afraid of him.”
“Yes.”
“So you let her face it alone.”
Catherine cried.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than defense.
Grant rolled toward the fireplace.
“What did she suspect?”
“She said someone was putting something in her vitamins.”
Grant closed his eyes.
Vitamins.
Vanessa managed his supplements.
History repeating through different hands.
“Did Isabella name Nathan?”
“No.”
“Vanessa?”
“She didn’t know Vanessa then.”
Of course.
Grant rubbed his face.
Then Catherine said:
“She did name one other person.”
Grant looked up.
“Who?”
Catherine’s voice dropped.
“Your brother.”
Grant went still.
Daniel Mercer.
Younger by three years.
Officially living in London.
Estranged after Vincent’s death.
Grant had not spoken to him in fourteen months.
“Daniel?”
“She said he knew what was happening.”
“Knew or did it?”
“She never said.”
Grant stared at the dark window.
Then Marcus entered without knocking.
Bad sign.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We got preliminary results on the drink.”
Grant waited.
Marcus’s face was grave.
“Neuromuscular suppressant.”
Grant looked at his legs.
Marcus continued.
“Not enough to kill you.”
Catherine covered her mouth.
“Enough to keep me in the chair.”
“Yes.”
Grant felt something inside him settle.
Not rage.
Certainty.
His paralysis was not recovery failure.
It had been maintained.
He looked at Marcus.
“Call another neurologist.”
“Already did.”
Grant nodded.
Then Marcus added:
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“What?”
“The chemical isn’t commercially distributed.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“It was developed privately.”
“Where?”
Marcus swallowed.
“At Mercer Recovery Clinic.”
Grant stared at him.
May you like
The clinic did not merely administer the poison.
It manufactured it.
