Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Needle
Thursday evening arrived, heavy with rain and low-hanging fog over the East River.
Inside suite 704, the hospital room was kept dark, lit only by the rhythmic blue glow of the heart monitor. I lay back in the bed, perfectly still, my eyes closed, simulating the hollow, lifeless posture of a man hours away from brain death.
Grace sat in the corner chair, holding a book, acting as the quiet attendant watching over a dying boss.
At 11:30 PM, the door lock clicked.
Dr. Julian Thorne walked in, wearing an expensive silk suit beneath a white lab coat. Behind him walked Anthony Moretti, his hands tucked into his tailored overcoat, looking at my motionless form with a mixture of cold satisfaction and faint impatience.
"Is everything ready, Thorne?" Anthony asked, stepping up to the foot of my bed.
"It's completely routine, Mr. Moretti," Thorne said calmly, pulling a pre-filled syringe from his coat pocket and inserting the needle into the rubber injection port of my IV tube. "Once this three-milligram dose clears the line, his heart rhythm will become erratic within forty seconds. By midnight, he will be gone."
"Good," Anthony sneered, leaning over me, his foul breath smelling of expensive cigars and cognac. "You were a king for twenty years, Dominic. But you got soft. You let a pretty face fool you, and you let your own family get hungry."
I took everything inside me not to reach up and tear his throat out right then.
Thorne began pushing the plunger on the syringe.
Now.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Doctor," Grace said calmly from the corner of the room.
Thorne and Anthony whirled around in surprise.
Grace was standing up, holding her smartphone, its camera lens focused directly on them.
"What the hell is this?" Anthony growled, stepping toward her. "Get out of here, girl, before I have you thrown off the roof!"
"I wouldn't move another step, Anthony," a deep, dark voice echoed from the bed.
Anthony froze mid-stride, his face draining of color as if he had seen a ghost.
I slowly sat up in the hospital bed, pulling the IV line completely out of my arm and tossing it onto the floor. I met my cousin's terrified gaze with eyes cold enough to freeze the room.
"You... you're in a coma..." Anthony stammered, backing away until his spine hit the wall. "You're brain-dead!"
"I was never in a coma, cousin," I said softly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Despite the pain in my ribs, I stood at my full height, towering over both of them. "And your little poison trick just put you directly under federal indictment for attempted murder."
Thorne panicked, dropping the syringe onto the floor and reaching for his pocket, but the bathroom door suddenly burst open.
Dominic’s personal security chief, Marco, stepped out with a silenced weapon drawn, pointing it directly at Thorne's forehead.
"Freeze," Marco commanded coldly.
Anthony dropped to his knees, his hands trembling violently. "Dominic... please... it was Veronica! She planned the crash! She cut the lines!"
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I walked over to Anthony, looking down at him with utter disgust.
"Veronica cut the lines," I said quietly. "But you bought the doctor. You're going to sit in this room, Anthony, tied to that chair, until tomorrow morning. Because you and I have a meeting to attend."
