“My people?”
“Yes, Vincent. Your people.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Arthur looked at Dominic.
“The brake line was cut.”
Mercer whispered, “My God.”
Dominic stared at the image.
Eleven weeks earlier he had been returning from a restaurant opening when his driver suddenly screamed that the brakes were gone.
The sedan struck a concrete barrier at nearly fifty miles per hour.
His driver survived with fractured ribs.
Dominic’s knee did not.
He remembered shattered glass.
Smoke.
The smell of coolant.
Vincent dragging him from the rear seat.
Vincent had saved his life.
Dominic slowly lifted his eyes.
“Why wait until tonight?”
Arthur’s answer came quietly.
“Because I didn’t know who to trust.”
Dominic almost laughed.
Neither did he.
A knock sounded.
One of Vincent’s guards entered.
“We found Angela Pierce.”
Mercer stood.
“Where?”
“Staff garage.”
“Bring her.”
The guard hesitated.
“She was trying to leave.”
Angela entered two minutes later, pale and crying.
The rehabilitation technician couldn’t have been older than thirty.
She looked at Dominic and immediately shook her head.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Nobody had accused her yet.
Dominic noticed.
“Sit.”
She sat.
“Who adjusted my brace this morning?”
“I did.”
“Was the retaining plate reversed?”
“No.”
Mercer turned toward her.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did anyone handle it afterward?”
Angela looked at the floor.
Dominic waited.
“Angela.”
Her voice broke.
“Dr. Mercer.”
Every eye turned.
Mercer went white.
“That is not true.”
Angela began crying harder.
“You told me Mr. Vale’s swelling required another adjustment.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Yes, you did.”
“When?”
“Eleven forty.”
“I was downtown at Northwestern at eleven forty!”
Vincent checked his phone.
“He was.”
Angela froze.
Mercer stared at her.
“So who spoke to you?”
“You did.”
“In person?”
“No.”
She wiped her face.
“By phone.”
Vincent took her phone.
He looked at the call record.
Mercer’s number appeared.
11:38 a.m.
Two minutes.
Mercer shook his head.
“My phone was with me.”
Vincent stared at the screen.
“Numbers can be spoofed.”
Dominic’s gaze moved from Mercer to Angela.
Somebody had manipulated the brace.
Somebody had manipulated the cameras.
Somebody had manipulated a physician’s number.
This was not merely sabotage.
It was architecture.
A structure built carefully enough that every beam pointed toward someone else.
Ellie had been sitting on the carpet quietly arranging the latches on her toy.
Suddenly she looked up.
“That’s not the doctor man.”
Nobody understood.
Clare crouched beside her.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
Ellie pointed at Mercer.
“The man yesterday didn’t smell like him.”
Mercer blinked.
“Smell?”
Ellie nodded.
“He smelled like Christmas.”
Arthur slowly turned toward Vincent.
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
Ellie sniffed dramatically.
“Like the red candy.”
“Peppermint?” Clare asked.
Ellie nodded.
Dominic looked around the room.
Arthur used sandalwood cologne.
Mercer smelled faintly of antiseptic.
Vincent chewed peppermint gum almost constantly.
Dominic’s eyes dropped.
Vincent was not chewing now.
For the first time that night, Dominic felt something colder than suspicion.
He felt grief approaching.
Vincent noticed his stare.
“What?”
Dominic said nothing.
Vincent laughed softly.
“You’re not seriously listening to a four-year-old describe smells.”
Ellie looked offended.
“I know candy.”
Clare almost pulled her backward.
But Dominic continued watching Vincent.
Twenty-three years.
Vincent had been beside him for twenty-three years.
He had buried Dominic’s mother with him.
He had stood at Dominic’s wedding.
He had carried Dominic’s wife’s coffin six years later.
He had been the first person through the smoke after the crash.
There were people Dominic trusted with money.
People he trusted with secrets.
Vincent Hale was the only man Dominic trusted with his life.
Which meant that if Arthur was correct—
Vincent had possessed the easiest opportunity of all.
3
Dominic dismissed everyone except Vincent.
