Chapter 4 - Isabella’s Last Recording
Grant watched Isabella’s video alone first.
Then he watched it again with Noah asleep upstairs.
Then again with Marcus.
Each time, the same sentence felt worse.
“If Daniel says I died in an accident, he’s lying.”
Isabella sat in what looked like a clinic office.
Hair tied back.
No makeup.
Terrified.
Grant had never seen her terrified.
Angry, yes.
Frustrated.
Protective.
But fear had always been something she hid from him.
The recording continued.
“Nathan is running tests through a private protocol called Renewal. Daniel helped finance it. Vincent knows.”
Grant’s father.
His brother.
His doctor.
Three men around him.
Isabella looked directly into the camera.
“They think the drug can be useful.”
Useful.
There was always a word.
Not poison.
Research.
Not coercion.
Protection.
Not betrayal.
Family.
Isabella continued:
“It weakens voluntary muscle response without fully damaging the nerves. The effect can imitate trauma complications.”
Grant looked at his wheelchair.
Everything aligned.
“They tested it on people who couldn’t complain.”
Patients tied to criminal families.
Witnesses.
Debtors.
People whose symptoms could be dismissed.
Isabella had discovered it after being prescribed “vitamins” for migraines.
She secretly sent samples to an outside lab.
Before results returned, her car crashed.
Grant stopped the video.
Marcus asked:
“Need a minute?”
“No.”
He did.
He pressed play.
Isabella’s final part mentioned Thomas Hayes.
“He copied their data. If something happens to me, Thomas has the records.”
Then:
“Grant cannot know until the evidence is safe. He’ll start a war.”
Grant laughed bitterly.
Even his dead wife knew him accurately.
Then Isabella said:
“Tell him I’m sorry.”
Video ended.
Grant sat in darkness.
Marcus waited.
Finally:
“Where’s Daniel?”
“London flight records show no travel under his passport for eight months.”
“Meaning?”
“Could be anywhere.”
Grant called him.
Disconnected.
Then he called an old private number.
Ring.
Ring.
Answer.
Silence.
Grant said:
“Daniel.”
A man breathed.
Then:
“You found Isabella’s recording.”
Grant closed his eyes.
“Where are you?”
“Not where you can shoot me.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“What?”
“Police.”
Daniel laughed.
“You?”
“Growth.”
“Is Nathan arrested?”
“Questioned. Not charged yet.”
“Vanessa?”
“Same.”
Daniel went quiet.
Then:
“Vanessa doesn’t know everything.”
Grant hated that sentence.
“What does she know?”
“That Nathan was keeping you weak.”
“Why did she help?”
“Money. Control. Maybe love twisted into ownership.”
“Why did Nathan do it?”
“Because somebody paid him.”
“Who?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Dad.”
Grant stopped.
Vincent Mercer.
Dead two years.
“Dad ordered Isabella poisoned?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“He ordered Renewal.”
“Why?”
Daniel’s voice tightened.
“To control succession.”
Grant stared.
Succession.
The family empire.
Vincent had two sons.
Grant, older.
Daniel, younger.
Grant was aggressive, independent, impossible to direct.
Daniel was quieter.
More financial.
Vincent wanted leverage over both.
The suppressant began as a way to incapacitate dangerous allies temporarily.
Then Vincent realized it could keep Grant vulnerable if necessary.
Isabella discovered it.
That made her dangerous.
Grant whispered:
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
“You helped Nathan.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know she would die?”
Silence.
Grant’s voice dropped.
“Daniel.”
“I knew they were going to scare her.”
Grant felt something tear.
“Scare?”
“Sabotage the car enough to force her to stop investigating.”
“She died.”
“I know.”
“Did you touch the car?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Daniel whispered:
“Marcus.”
Grant turned slowly.
Marcus stood ten feet away.
His face changed.
Grant’s hand moved automatically toward the drawer where he kept a gun.
Then stopped.
New rules.
Evidence first.
Grant looked at Marcus.
“Leave the room.”
Marcus stared.
“Boss?”
“Now.”
Marcus did.
Grant continued the call.
“Why Marcus?”
“He was Dad’s security chief before he was yours.”
True.
Marcus had transferred after Isabella’s death.
Grant had considered it loyalty.
Maybe it was surveillance.
Daniel continued.
“He arranged the mechanic.”
“Proof?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Safe.”
“Send it.”
“I want immunity.”
Grant laughed.
“Talk to prosecutors.”
“You’d let them have me?”
“You let my wife die.”
Daniel went silent.
Grant ended the call.
Marcus stood in the hallway.
Grant called police counsel.
Then he called Marcus back.
“Sit.”
Marcus obeyed.
Grant did not accuse.
He asked.
“Did you arrange work on Isabella’s car?”
Marcus looked at him.
Years of loyalty inside one face.
“Yes.”
Grant nearly broke.
“What were you told?”
“That Vincent wanted a tracker installed.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Who did you use?”
“Mechanic named Paul Kern.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
Of course.
“Did you know the brakes were touched?”
“No.”
“Would you swear to that?”
“Yes.”
Grant believed him.
That did not make him innocent.
Helping install secret surveillance on Isabella had still enabled the operation.
“You never told me.”
“Your father ordered me not to.”
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then why keep the secret?”
Marcus looked ashamed.
“Because after you hired me, I was afraid you’d think I helped kill her.”
Grant stared.
“You did help.”
Marcus flinched.
“Not intentionally.”
“Intent doesn’t erase consequence.”
Silence.
Grant heard his own growth and hated the circumstances requiring it.
Marcus stood.
“You want my resignation?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then Grant added:
“After you turn over every record you have.”
Marcus agreed.
No gunfire.
No beating.
No dramatic punishment.
Just truth.
Grant felt exhausted.
The next morning toxicology confirmed Vanessa’s orange juice contained the same Renewal compound found in Grant’s blood over previous months.
Enough for charges.
Nathan was arrested.
Vanessa too.
Vanessa requested to speak with Grant.
He refused.
Then she sent a message through counsel:
I KNOW WHO PUT THE BOMB IN YOUR CAR.
Grant read it twice.
The bombing had started his paralysis.
The drug had kept it going.
He thought they were separate events.
Apparently not.
Vanessa claimed the person behind the bombing was not Nathan.
Not Daniel.
Not Vincent.
May you like
It was Catherine.
Grant’s mother.
