Chapter 5 - The Fall of Doctor Vance
By midnight, the heavy storm outside had turned the grounds of the Brookline estate into a muddy battlefield, but inside the soundproof basement cellar, the temperature was icy cold.
Julian Ross was tied securely to a heavy iron chair beneath a single hanging lightbulb. His face was bruised, his three-piece suit torn, and his arrogance completely shattered.
Gideon stood in the shadows near the brick wall, wearing his dark coat, his pale green eyes watching every breath the lawyer took. I stood beside him with a notebook, recording every name and account number that Julian whimpered out.
"It was Vance!" Julian sobbed, his hands shaking violently against the steel restraints. "Vance brought the proposal to Dominic Moretti six months ago! Vance was in debt to Moretti's illegal gambling den in Boston harbor! Five million dollars! Moretti promised to wipe his debt and give him ten percent of the terminal four shipping profits if Vance used the atropine compound on Gideon!"
"And Vincent?" Gideon asked, his voice flat. "Is my cousin part of this?"
"No! No, Vincent is stupid!" Julian shrieked. "We just used his temper to create distractions! We wanted him to attack Moretti's men so New York would think Gideon had lost control of his lieutenants!"
Gideon turned his head toward Marco, who was standing in the shadows with two heavy guards. "Secure Julian in the secondary safe house in Quincy. Keep him alive until we clear the bank accounts."
"Right away, boss," Marco said, gesturing for the guards to untie the lawyer.
Gideon turned and walked toward the heavy iron stairs leading up to the main house. I followed him closely, my boots clicking softly against the concrete floor.
"What about Doctor Vance?" I asked as we reached the top of the stairs, entering the warm, carpeted hallway of the main floor. "He is scheduled to come for your morning examination at eight tomorrow."
"He won't wait until eight," Gideon said, stopping near the window and looking out at the dark driveway. "Julian didn't answer his hourly check-in call at ten tonight. Vance knows something has gone wrong."
As if on cue, the front doorbell rang—a sharp, echoing chime that cut through the silent house.
Gideon turned his head toward me, a dark, dangerous glint in his eyes. "He's here."
I stepped back into the shadows of the coat room as Marco opened the massive front door.
Doctor Donald Vance stepped into the foyer, soaking wet, his heavy leather coat dripping rain onto the polished marble floor. He looked nervous, his eyes darting frantically across the empty hallway.
"Marco," Vance panted, wiping rain from his face. "Is Julian here? His phone is going straight to voicemail."
"Julian left two hours ago, Doctor," Marco said smoothly, closing the heavy door behind him and locking the deadbolt. "Mr. Vitali had a bad reaction to his eye drops an hour ago. He's in the study waiting for you."
Vance’s posture stiffened instantly. "A bad reaction? What kind of reaction?"
"He says his vision is clear," Marco replied flatly.
Vance’s face drained of all color. He instinctively reached into his heavy coat pocket, but before his hand could find what he was looking for, Marco stepped forward, grabbed Vance's wrist, and twisted it behind his back with terrifying efficiency.
A small, chrome-plated pistol dropped from Vance's pocket, clattering against the marble floor.
"Doctor Vance," Gideon's rich baritone echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
Vance looked up, trembling in Marco's iron grip, as Gideon walked slowly down the stairs. He wore no amber glasses. His pale green eyes were clear, sharp, and fixed directly on the doctor's face.
"Gideon..." Vance stammered, his voice trembling hysterically. "I... I can explain! It was a experimental treatment! The optic nerve flare-up was temporary—"
"Save your breath, Donald," Gideon said, stopping three steps from the bottom and looking down at him. "My attendant tested your drops nine days ago. We know about the Cayman accounts. We know about Dominic Moretti."
Vance broke down, dropping to his knees on the wet marble, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. "Please, Gideon! We grew up together! My father saved your life when you were a boy! Moretti was going to kill my family! I had no choice!"
Gideon looked down at the weeping doctor with absolute, glacial disgust.
"My father trusted your father," Gideon said softly. "And I trusted you with my life. You turned my sight into a commodity and sold it to the men who murdered my family's friends."
Gideon looked at Marco. "Take him to the harbor. Let him see if Dominic Moretti's money can keep him floating."
"No! Gideon, please! NO!" Vance shrieked as Marco and two guards dragged him backward out the side door into the howling rainstorm.
Silence returned to the grand foyer.
Gideon stood on the staircase, his breath coming in long, heavy measures. The strain of the past nine days—the deception, the anger, the sheer physical exertion—was visible in the tight lines of his face.
I stepped out from the shadows of the coat room, walking over to the bottom of the stairs.
"Are you all right, Gideon?" I asked softly.
Gideon looked down at me. The harshness in his pale green eyes instantly melted, replaced by a deep, profound warmth that made my heart leap in my chest.
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He walked down the remaining three steps until he stood right in front of me.
"I am clear, Clara," Gideon whispered, reaching out to wrap his large, strong hand around mine. "For the first time in eight months, I can see the world clearly. And the best thing in it is standing right in front of me."
