Chapter 4 - THE DOCTOR'S BETRAYAL
The concrete holding cell beneath the mansion smelled of damp earth and iron.
The driver hung from steel chains hooked to the ceiling rafters.
His face was bruised purple, blood dripping from his split lips.
Dominic stood beside him, wiping a brass knuckle with a white towel.
"He talked, boss," Dominic said as I entered.
"Victor Moretti paid five million for the coordinates to the nursery."
I stepped into the pool of yellow overhead light.
"Who gave Moretti the security codes?" I asked.
The driver coughed, spitting a mouthful of red onto my polished shoes.
"Your own doctor, Cross," the man wheezed, laughing weakly.
"Dr. Robert Sterling."
The world seemed to stop spinning.
Robert Sterling had been our family physician for ten years.
He was the man who delivered the twins.
He was the specialist who managed Claire’s weekly physical therapy prescriptions.
"Why would Sterling betray me?" I whispered, my voice vibrating with lethal venom.
"Because Moretti owns his gambling debts," Dominic answered, handing me a printout of bank wires.
"Twelve million owed to the Moretti casinos in Atlantic City."
I turned on my heel and marched up the stairs.
Hannah was waiting in the kitchen, brewing chamomile tea for the girls.
The twins were back asleep under armed guard in my master bedroom.
I set the printout on the granite island.
"You knew about Sterling," I stated.
Hannah poured the steaming water into a porcelain cup.
"Dr. Sterling didn't just sell your security codes, Damian," she said softly.
She had never used my first name before.
It sounded strange on her lips—intimate, heavy with history.
"What else did he do?"
Hannah reached into her pocket and pulled out an amber prescription bottle.
The label read: Claire Cross – Neuromuscular Stimulant.
"I spent three years working as an orthopedic pediatric nurse at Johns Hopkins," Hannah revealed.
"Before Victor Moretti destroyed my family's clinic."
She opened the bottle and emptied two capsules onto a saucer.
She crushed them with the back of a silver spoon.
"This isn't a stimulant," Hannah said, her eyes flashing with pure fury.
"It’s a low-dose botulinum compound mixed with muscle relaxants."
"It was designed to keep Claire’s right leg weak."
My heart stopped beating.
"What did you say?"
"Every time you gave her this medicine, you were paralyzing her nerve endings."
Hannah stepped toward me, her gaze fierce and burning.
"Dr. Sterling wasn't trying to heal your daughter."
"He was keeping her crippled so you would stay distracted, desperate, and vulnerable."
"And you paid him two hundred thousand dollars a month to do it."
A primal roar ripped from my chest.
I punched the solid walnut pantry door, the wood splintering under my bare fist.
Three years.
Three years of watching my little girl cry in frustration.
Three years of watching her fall while I wrote checks to the monster poisoning her.
"Where is Sterling right now?" I asked Dominic, who had just entered the kitchen.
"His private clinic in Midtown," Dominic said, checking his watch.
"He's preparing to board a 6:00 AM private flight to Zurich."
I pulled my heavy overcoat off the hook.
"Hannah," I said, turning to her.
"Stay with my daughters. If anyone approaches that room, shoot them."
Hannah looked down at the knife in her apron pocket.
"Don't worry about the girls, Damian."
"Just make sure Dr. Sterling never touches another child again."
May you like
I walked out into the rain, my soul burning with cold, unforgiving fire.
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