Chapter 2 - The Logic of the Serpent
Dr. Harrison Reed did not look like a murderer; he looked like a man who spent his weekends on a yacht in Lake Geneva. His silver-rimmed glasses were perfectly positioned on his narrow bridge, and his charcoal wool trousers were sharp enough to cut paper. But as his eyes drifted past Fiona’s shoulder and landed on the sliced memory foam and the glint of rusted steel on the sheets, the color drained from his face with the speed of a stroke.
"This is an outrage," Reed stammered, though his voice lacked its usual clinical arrogance. He took a half-step backward into the hallway, his fingers tightening on the handle of his leather bag. "The boy has had a psychotic episode. He’s destroyed his own orthopedic support. Victoria, I told you the neurological degeneration would eventually manifest as violent, self-destructive behavior."
"He didn't destroy it, Harrison. I did," Fiona said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous vibration that filled the space between them. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the blue surgical towel, and allowed three of the rusted, chemical-coated needles to drop onto the marble floor with a series of sharp, metallic pings. "And unless you've started prescribing acupuncture via memory foam, you're going to have a hard time explaining these to the state medical board. Or to Dominic when his plane lands."
At the mention of Dominic’s name, Victoria’s expression shifted from calculated anger to a feral, defensive terror. She stepped into the room, slamming the door shut behind her, cutting off the two armed guards who were stationed at the far end of the east wing corridor.
"The medical board?" Victoria whispered, her face twisting into an ugly, contemptuous sneer as she approached Fiona. "You stupid, working-class little girl. You think the medical board has jurisdiction in this house? You think Dominic’s world is governed by paperwork and licenses?"
"I know murder when I see it," Fiona said, refusing to step back even as Victoria came within inches of her face. The scent of Victoria’s expensive French perfume was sickening when mixed with the copper smell of Arthur’s blood. "You’ve been dosing him with succinylcholine through the hairline. It causes localized muscle spasms, respiratory distress, and intense peripheral nerve pain. It looks exactly like a progressive motor neuron disease if the doctor in charge is helping you falsify the electromyogram reports."
"It would have been perfect," Reed muttered from the door, his hand trembling as he adjusted his glasses. "The boy would have passed peacefully within another month. A tragic, unpreventable genetic anomaly. Dominic would have grieved, he would have turned the entire estate over to Victoria, and we would have moved the logistics accounts to the Swiss trusts."
"Harrison, shut up!" Victoria snapped, her eyes fixed on Fiona like a hawk watching a field mouse. "She’s a nurse. She has no authority here. Look at her—she’s alone in a house where every single guard is paid with my signatures while Dominic is in New York."
Fiona felt a cold drop of sweat trace a path down her spine. Her emergency room training had taught her how to handle combative drug addicts and psychotic patients, but it hadn't taught her how to survive a boardroom execution in a forty-room mansion. She knew she had to play for time. Every minute the storm continued was a minute closer to dawn, and dawn brought the morning shift change for the exterior gate security.
"You think the guards will cover for a child murderer, Victoria?" Fiona asked, keeping her eyes locked on the older woman. "Dominic's men aren't just mercenaries. They’re loyal to the Costello name. If they find out you've been sticking needles into the heir of the family business, they won't put you in a cell. They'll put you in the foundations of the new pier at the Port Authority."
Victoria laughed, a high, brittle sound that was swallowed by a massive crack of thunder outside. "The guards know what I tell them to know, Miss Jenkins. Right now, they know that Arthur has taken a turn for the worse, and that you—an unstable, overworked nurse from the city—have suffered a psychological break and assaulted the family physician."
Victoria turned toward Reed, her voice dropping into a cold, businesslike command. "Get the heavy sedative from the bag, Harrison. The one we brought for the boy. She’s going to have an accidental overdose in the guest quarters tonight. We’ll tell Dominic she couldn't handle the pressure of the case."
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Reed’s hands shook as he unzipped his leather bag, pulling out a large, pre-filled glass syringe containing a clear, amber liquid. The label read Diazepam, but the concentration marking had been scratched off with a razor blade.
Fiona didn't wait for him to clear the air bubbles from the needle. She reached behind her back, her fingers closing around the heavy brass reading lamp on the nightstand, and ripped the cord from the wall.
