Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
The library of the Moretti estate was a grand, two-story room lined with thousands of leather-bound books, floor-to-ceiling oak paneling, and a massive stone fireplace that crackled with burning birch logs.
In the center of the room, tied securely to a heavy oak chair, sat Dr. Harrison Blake.
The fifty-two-year-old physician looked pathetic. His expensive tweed jacket was rumpled, his hair disheveled, and his expensive wire-rimmed glasses crooked on his nose. Two heavy tactical guards stood behind him like granite statues, while Marco stood by the window, idly twirling a heavy silver pocket knife between his fingers.
Vincent sat in a high-backed leather chair directly across from the doctor, swirling two fingers of scotch in a crystal glass. I stood quietly beside the mantelpiece, holding a clean folder containing the photographs I had just taken of the hidden chemical apparatus in the basement.
"Vincent! This is an outrage!" Dr. Blake sputtered, his voice trembling with a desperate blend of anger and terror. "You can't hold me here! I am a respected physician! I have treated senators, judges, and high-ranking officials! If I do not return to my clinic by nightfall, my colleagues will notify the state police!"
Vincent took a slow, deliberate sip of his scotch. He didn't look up from his glass.
"The state police," Vincent murmured softly, setting the crystal glass down on the mahogany table with a soft clink. "The state police colonel owes me two million dollars from a land deal in Greenwich, Doctor. If you call him, he will personally drive down here and hand you the shovel to dig your own grave."
Dr. Blake’s face went chalk-white. He swallowed hard, his throat clicking loudly in the quiet room.
Vincent leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring into Blake’s eyes with a cold, terrifying intensity. "I know about the organophosphate system in the basement, Harrison."
The doctor froze. The color drained completely from his lips. "I... I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Don't lie to him!" I interrupted, stepping forward and slamming the folder of photographs onto the small table between them. "Compound 74-B. An atomized organophosphate derivative fed through a hidden secondary duct into Lucas and Leo’s bedrooms. We found the canisters, Doctor. We documented the flow rates, the atomizer, and the digital timer programmed to deliver a lethal dose tomorrow morning."
Blake stared at the photographs of the stainless steel unit. His eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for an exit that didn't exist.
"Why?" Vincent asked, his voice dangerously soft, stepping right up to the tied man. "I paid you a hundred thousand dollars a month retainer to care for my family. I gave you research grants. I funded your medical foundation. Why were you poisoning my sons?"
"I... I had no choice!" Blake suddenly cried out, tears bursting from his eyes as his composure completely shattered. "They made me do it, Vincent! They threatened my family! They threatened my daughter in Chicago!"
"Who?" Vincent demanded, grabbing Blake by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him forward until their noses were inches apart. "Give me a name!"
"I don't know his real name!" Blake sobbed out, shaking violently. "He called himself 'The Architect'! He contacted me eighteen months ago! He knew about my gambling debts in Atlantic City! He paid off my three million dollar debt to the syndicate in New York, but in return... in return, he demanded I install the atmospheric unit in your house!"
My mind raced. "The Architect? A syndicate rival?"
"He told me the plan wasn't to kill the boys immediately," Blake stammered out, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "He said... he said as long as the boys were sick, you would be distracted! You wouldn't focus on the expansion of the shipping ports in New Jersey! You would spend all your time, money, and energy trying to save your children while his network slowly took over your territory!"
A dark, terrifying expression passed across Vincent’s face. The pieces were finally falling into place.
It wasn't just an attack on his children; it was a slow, psychological execution of his entire empire. By striking at his only weakness—his sick, motherless twin boys—his enemies had turned the most feared mafia boss in the region into a paralyzed, desperate father, completely blind to the corporate takeover happening right under his nose.
"And the dose increase tomorrow?" I asked, my voice cold with disgust. "Why kill them now?"
"Because... because you were bringing in new people!" Blake whimpered, looking up at me with terror. "The Architect called me last night! He said you had hired a new specialist—Claire Morgan! He said she was too clever, that she had a background in forensic pathology! He told me to end it before she figured it out, make it look like sudden respiratory failure, and frame the new nanny for giving them contaminated medicine!"
A cold shudder ran through my body.
They weren't just going to murder two innocent seven-year-old boys; they were going to pin the double murder on me.
Vincent let go of Blake’s jacket, letting the doctor slump back into the chair like a discarded rag. Vincent turned around slowly and looked at me. The rage in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, profound respect—and something warmer, something that sent a strange flutter through my chest.
"You saved my sons' lives today, Claire," Vincent said softly, his voice thick with raw emotion. "And you saved mine."
"We're not finished yet," I replied, holding his gaze firmly. "The air supply is shut off, but Lucas and Leo still have eighteen months of toxic organophosphates built up in their fatty tissues and nervous systems. If we don't start a specialized chelation therapy and cholinesterase reactivator regimen within twelve hours, the long-term neurological damage could be permanent."
Vincent turned back to Marco. "Take Blake down to the holding cells in the lower garage. Keep him alive. I want every phone number, every bank transfer record, and every contact he ever had with 'The Architect.'"
"Understood, Boss," Marco nodded, signaling the two guards to untie Blake from the chair and drag him out of the library.
As the heavy oak doors closed behind them, the massive library fell into a deep, peaceful quiet.
Vincent walked over to the fireplace, leaning his arm against the stone mantel, staring into the bright orange flames. He looked older in that light, the heavy shadows beneath his dark eyes revealing the immense burden he had been carrying alone for four long years since his wife's death.
"I thought I could protect everything," Vincent said quietly, his voice echoing softly in the grand room. "I built concrete walls, hired armed guards, installed surveillance systems... and the threat was inside the air my children were breathing."
I walked over to stand beside him, looking into the crackling fire.
"You're a good father, Vincent," I said gently. "In world full of shadows, you never gave up on them. Most men in your position would have accepted the doctors' diagnoses and lost hope. You didn't."
Vincent turned his head to look down at me. Standing this close, I could smell the warm cedar, expensive leather, and subtle spice of his cologne. His dark eyes searched my face, scanning my features with a gentle intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
"Stay with us, Claire," Vincent said softly, reaching out his hand to cover mine on the cold stone mantelpiece. His fingers were warm, strong, and surprisingly gentle. "Not just as a technician or a nanny. Stay here. Help me heal my boys. Help me rebuild this house."
I looked down at his hand over mine, then up into his dark, sincere eyes.
May you like
"I'll stay," I promised softly. "Until Lucas and Leo are running through these halls completely healthy again."
Vincent smiled—a true, beautiful smile that transformed his sharp, intimidating face into something breathtakingly handsome. "Then you might be here for a very long time, Claire Morgan."
