Chapter 6 - The voice came from the corridor behind us.Calm.
Almost amused.
Victor stepped into the red room.
He was holding no weapon.
That frightened me more than if he had been pointing a gun.
“You really should have left the house,” he said.
I stared at him.
“You killed my wife.”
Victor's expression did not change.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
He looked at Elena.
“She knows.”
Elena stepped backward.
Victor smiled.
“She has known for eleven years.”
“Did you poison her?”
“No.”
“Did you order it?”
He paused.
“That is a different question.”
I took one step forward.
Gabriel blocked me.
Victor looked toward Sophia.
“Come here.”
Sophia clung to Elena.
“No.”
He sighed.
“I never hurt you.”
Sophia shook her head.
“You hurt everyone.”
Something flashed in Victor's eyes.
Anger.
Then it disappeared.
“You drew the wrong picture,” he said.
Sophia whispered, “No.”
Victor looked at me.
“You think this is about killing you.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
He opened his hand.
A small key rested in his palm.
“This is about what happens after you die.”
“What happens?”
“Everything.”
He tossed the key onto the desk.
“You own more than you realize, Julian.”
“I know what I own.”
“No.”
He pointed to the files.
“You know what your name owns.”
He stepped toward me.
“But you do not know what your name controls.”
Gabriel raised his weapon.
“Stay where you are.”
Victor smiled.
“You still think he is working for you?”
Gabriel did not react.
Victor laughed softly.
“Ask him who authorized the security override last month.”
I looked at Gabriel.
“Did you?”
“No.”
Victor spoke again.
“Ask him who had access to the east wing two weeks ago.”
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Routine inspection.”
Victor smiled.
“You see?”
He looked at me.
“Everyone has secrets.”
Gabriel moved closer.
“Why are you here?”
Victor's voice hardened.
“Because the wrong pill failed.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we move to the second phase.”
Gabriel raised his gun.
Victor did not blink.
Then a shot came from behind him.
Victor collapsed.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Elena screamed.
Sophia buried her face in her mother's chest.
Gabriel rushed toward the corridor.
“Stay here!”
I followed anyway.
The corridor was empty.
Victor was still alive.
I turned him over.
His eyes opened.
“Who shot you?”
He smiled.
“You're asking the wrong question.”
“What?”
“Who benefits if I die?”
His breathing became shallow.
Then he grabbed my wrist.
“There is a second bottle.”
“What?”
“Your medication.”
He coughed.
“The real one.”
“Where?”
Victor looked toward Sophia.
“Ask her.”
Then his eyes closed.
Gabriel checked his pulse.
“Alive.”
I stared at Sophia.
“What did he mean?”
She slowly raised her head.
“I know where it is.”
“Where?”
“In your office.”
My office.
We ran.
The door was locked.
Gabriel forced it open.
Everything was untouched.
Desk.
Computer.
Books.
Safe.
Medication cabinet.
I opened the cabinet.
One bottle sat inside.
Same label.
Same prescription.
Same pills.
I looked at Gabriel.
“Test it.”
He took one.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
A tiny mark was printed under the label.
A red dot.
My original pharmacy had never used red dots.
I pulled out my phone.
Called the pharmacy.
A manager answered.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Did you send this?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the bottle again.
One bottle had been planted in the dining room.
The second had been planted in my office.
Then I remembered Victor's words.
The real one.
“Gabriel.”
“Yes?”
“Take me to the medicine room.”
We ran downstairs.
The cabinet was empty.
Except for one loose panel.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside was a third bottle.
The pharmacist confirmed the serial number.
Authentic.
My real medication.
I stared at it.
Two fake bottles.
One real bottle.
Three versions of my life.
Then Gabriel looked at me.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The real bottle has six pills missing.”
I counted.
He was right.
Someone had taken six doses from the real medication.
Not replaced it.
Taken it.
I looked at the dates.
Six doses over the previous twelve days.
My heart began to race.
I had been taking fewer pills than I thought.
Which meant someone had been changing my dose.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Over time.
And if I had become weaker, more tired, more confused, more dependent on my doctors, it had not been illness.
It had been manipulation.
Then Gabriel's phone rang.
He answered.
His face went white.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“They moved Victor.”
“Who?”
“The ambulance.”
“Where are they taking him?”
Gabriel stared at the screen.
“There is no ambulance.”
My blood froze.
May you like
“Then where is Victor?”
“He's gone.”
Related Stories
