Chapter 8 - The Greenwich Clinic
At 11:00 p.m. that night, a heavy rainstorm lashed the quiet, tree-lined streets of Greenwich, Connecticut.
Dr. Raymond Warren’s private cosmetic and medical clinic was dark. The sleek glass-and-steel building sat set back from the main road, surrounded by security fences and manicured hedges.
Inside his top-floor office, Dr. Warren was frantically packing leather saddlebags with stacks of bearer bonds, passport files, and gold bullion. Ever since the incident with the maid’s toddler that morning, a dark, gnawing dread had been consuming his gut.
He had tried calling Daniel Mercer six times in the last three hours. Every call had gone straight to voicemail.
"Dammit, Daniel, pick up," Warren muttered to himself, his silver hair unkempt, his hands trembling as he unlocked his floor safe behind a painting of the Hudson River.
Suddenly, the lights in the office flickered once... twice... and died completely.
The room plunged into pitch-black darkness, illuminated only by the faint, blue flashes of lightning from the storm outside the wide window.
The heavy electronic lock on the office door let out a sharp click.
The door swung open slowly.
Warren spun around, pulling a small silver revolver from his desk drawer. "Who's there?! Security is on their way!"
No voice answered him.
Silently, a tall, imposing figure stepped through the threshold into the dark room.
A flash of lightning illuminated the space for a fraction of a second.
Dr. Warren’s heart nearly stopped.
Standing in the center of the room was Adrian Vale. He wore a heavy black wool overcoat, his dark hair damp from the rain, his broad shoulders filling the doorway like a spirit of vengeance.
"A-Adrian..." Warren gasped, holding the gun with two shaking hands. "What are you doing here?! How did you get past the gate security?!"
Adrian didn't make a sign. He didn't look at Warren’s lips.
He walked slowly toward the desk, his dress shoes making a heavy, rhythmic thud... thud... thud against the hardwood floor.
"You dropped my ear drops this morning, Raymond," Adrian said softly.
Warren let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek, dropping the revolver onto the rug as if it had turned into a burning coal. He backed away until his spine hit the glass window behind his desk.
"You... you're speaking..." Warren rasped, his chest heaving wildly. "It's... it's a miracle... the scar tissue must have cleared—"
"The rice-grain titanium dampener is sitting on my desk in Long Island, Raymond," Adrian cut him off, his deep voice slicing through the sound of the thunder outside. "Along with the petroleum gel."
Warren collapsed to his knees behind his desk, holding his hands up in frantic supplication. "Adrian! Please! It was Victor Sutton! Sutton threatened to ruin my practice! He had evidence of my insurance wire fraud from ten years ago! He forced me to do it!"
Adrian reached into his coat, pulled out a digital audio recorder, and set it on the mahogany desk.
He pressed Record.
"Tell me about the explosion that killed my brother," Adrian said softly.
Warren wept, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "Sutton... Sutton hired a rogue crew from Philadelphia! They planted the device under Julian's car outside the restaurant! You weren't supposed to be near the vehicle, Adrian! You were supposed to be inside! But when you walked out early, the blast caught you... it knocked you out... and Sutton realized he could use your injury to take total control!"
"And my brother?" Adrian asked, his voice deathly quiet.
"Julian died instantly," Warren sobbed. "Sutton paid the coroner to rush the cremation so no secondary forensic sweep could be conducted! I signed the medical release forms!"
Adrian looked down at the recorder, watching the tiny red light pulse with every word of Warren’s confession.
He reached out, picked up the recorder, and turned it off.
"Marcus," Adrian said to the dark hallway behind him.
Marcus Vance stepped into the light of the lightning flash, holding a set of heavy steel handcuffs.
"Hand Dr. Warren over to the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s organized crime division in Manhattan," Adrian commanded. "Along with the contents of that open safe."
"No! Please! Adrian! Don't leave me to the Feds!" Warren screamed as Marcus dragged him to his feet. "Sutton will have me killed in prison!"
May you like
Adrian turned toward the door, stopping briefly to look back at the broken physician.
"Then I suggest you start talking fast, Raymond," Adrian said. "Because by tomorrow morning, Victor Sutton won't have the power to kill a fly."
