Chapter 3 - The Poisoned Paper Trail
For forty-eight hours, the Beacon Hill brownstone became a fortress of quiet tension. Erin was subjected to round-the-clock IV drips, designed to flush the thallium from her bloodstream while protecting the delicate life growing inside her. Damien barely slept, moving between the medical room and the makeshift war room downstairs.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was thick with cigar smoke and the hum of encrypted servers. Frank tossed a stack of tablet computers onto the mahogany dining table in front of Damien.
"We ran the toxicology sweeps on her office, boss," Frank said, running a hand over his shaved head. "Coffee machine in her suite? Clean. Water cooler? Clean. Her personal travel mug? Clean. Her apartment? Clean."
Damien’s eyes narrowed. "The toxin is in her system, Frank. It didn't get there through osmosis."
"We checked her daily routine," Frank continued. "For the last three months, she didn't eat out much. Brought her own lunches. But we found something in the waste audit of the executive floor. The custom sugar packets she uses for her morning tea—the ones imported from the Italian supplier."
Damien picked up a pen, tapping it against the table. "The sugar."
"Three out of the ten packets remaining in her desk drawer had microscopic punctures near the seal," Frank explained. "Injected with liquid thallium nitrate. Tasteless, odorless, easily soluble in hot tea."
"Who had access to those packets?" Damien’s voice dropped to a whisper that made Frank’s spine stiffen.
"They’re stored in the executive pantry. Restricted access. Keycard logs show only five people have been in that pantry over the last sixty days." Frank swiped his tablet, pulling up five photos.
The photos appeared on the screen: Julian Vance, the head accountant; Victor Reyes, Damien’s chief logistical officer; Clara Hayes, the junior receptionist who reported directly to Erin; Marcus Thorne, a board member with ties to rival shipping networks; and Damien himself.
Damien stared at the faces. "Clara brings Erin her tea when Erin is stuck at her desk."
"Yeah," Frank nodded. "And Clara’s bank records show three sudden cash deposits over the last six weeks. Ten grand each. Wire transfers from an offshore account in the Cayman Islands."
"Bring her in," Damien said simply.
May you like
"Quietly?"
"No," Damien replied, rising from his chair, his eyes cold as ice. "I want everyone in Atlantic Harbor Logistics to see her leave. I want whoever paid her to know that I am hunting."
