Chapter 2 - House of Mirrors
The hum of the heavy iron security gates locking shut echoed throughout the three-story estate like a prison sentence. Heavy steel shutters slid down over the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan, cutting off the grey light of the storm outside and trapping everyone inside a gilded cage.
In the grand study, Vincent set a thick black hard drive onto the mahogany desk. His face was pale beneath the dim ambient light. "I pulled the direct feed from the rehabilitation wing, Boss. But someone accessed the main server two days ago. Three days of footage are completely scrubbed."
Dominic sat behind his desk, resting his left leg on a leather ottoman. The relief in his calf was significant, but the betrayal cut far deeper than physical pain. "Who has server access?"
"Only three people," Vincent said quietly. "You, me, and Dr. Mercer."
"Where is Mercer now?"
"In the clinic room under guard. Arthur tried to speak with him five minutes ago, but my men blocked him. Arthur's raising hell in the west wing, claiming you're holding council members hostage."
Dominic reached for a crystal tumbler of scotch, holding it against the firelight. "Let him scream. Bring Mercer here."
A moment later, Dr. Samuel Mercer was escorted into the study. The doctor was sweating despite the cool temperature of the room. He wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief, his eyes darting toward the security monitors lining the wall.
"Dominic, this is insane," Mercer began, his voice pitchy. "Locking us in? Accusing Arthur based on the word of a four-year-old child? The brace modification could have been a manufacturing flaw or a careless error by an physical therapy intern!"
"Ellie saw a man in my room yesterday while her mother was collecting linens," Dominic said softly. "She pointed at Arthur. But Arthur wasn't in the house yesterday afternoon according to the gate logs."
Mercer blinked. "Then... then she made a mistake! She's a child!"
Dominic leaned forward, the shadows catching the hard angles of his jaw. "Or she recognized the suit. Arthur wears bespoke charcoal wool tailored by a shop on Oak Street. Only one other person in this house wears that exact cut." Dominic looked at Mercer's expensive dark jacket. "You."
Mercer took a step back, but Vincent slammed the door shut, standing like a wall behind him.
"You reversed the retaining plate, Samuel," Dominic said, his voice dangerously low. "You knew the nerve compression would mimic a degenerative setback. You signed the medical reports recommending I relinquish control to Arthur."
Mercer’s knees gave out, and he collapsed into a leather armchair. "I had no choice, Dominic! You don't understand what Arthur has on me!"
"Explain it to me," Dominic commanded.
"My son... Julian," Mercer stammered, tears welling in his eyes. "He was running an offshore trading desk in London. He got leveraged into illegal short positions. Arthur bought his debt. Three million dollars. Arthur told me if I didn't make you sign over the authority papers by midnight tonight, Julian would be thrown in a British prison—or worse."
"So you crippled me," Dominic said, cold rage vibrating in his chest.
"It wasn't permanent!" Mercer cried out. "I swear it! Once Arthur took the vote, I was going to adjust the plate back! In two weeks, you would have recovered! I just needed you to hand over the signature!"
Dominic looked at Vincent. "Where are the real medical files?"
Mercer reached trembling hands into his coat pocket, pulling out a encrypted flash drive. "Here. The real nerve conduction velocity tests are on this. Your knee is actually healing remarkably well. The damage wasn't coming from your body, Dominic. It was coming from the brace."
Dominic took the drive. Before he could speak, the estate's internal intercom buzzed sharply.
Vincent tapped his earpiece. "Talk to me." He listened for five seconds, his jaw tightening. He looked up at Dominic. "Boss. We have a breach in the east basement corridor. Someone opened the secondary fire exit from the inside."
Dominic stood up, taking his cane. The leg held his weight firmly now. "Arthur's not waiting for the vote anymore. He knows Mercer broke."
Downstairs in the maid's quarters, Clare sat on the edge of a small twin bed, holding Ellie close to her chest. The little girl was fast asleep, her tiny hand still clutching her wooden latch toy. Clare stared at the locked brass door handle, jumping at every muffled sound echoing through the mansion's vast ductwork.
Suddenly, the brass handle turned silently.
Clare gasped, shielding Ellie with her body. The door swung open, and Arthur Voss stepped into the room. Behind him stood two men in black tactical gear—men Clare had never seen among Dominic's regular security team.
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Arthur looked down at the terrified mother and child, his expression devoid of the warmth he usually displayed. He held a small silver silenced pistol at his side.
"Hello, Clare," Arthur whispered politely. "I need you and the little girl to come with me. It seems your daughter's keen eye for hardware has ruined a very expensive timeline."
