Chapter 4 - the doctor's secret
The mansion's private medical wing was located in the eastern basement sub-level, built with state-of-the-art surgical bays and secure chemical storage rooms.
Dominic walked down the sterile, white-tiled hallway, his polished white shoes making no sound against the floor. Behind him walked four heavy enforcers carrying silenced sidearms.
Inside the primary examination room, Dr. Harris was standing near an open stainless-steel cabinet, carefully packing specialized glass vials into a leather medical briefcase. His dark suit jacket was off, hanging on the back of his desk chair, and his stethoscope lay beside a glowing computer monitor.
"Leaving so soon, Doctor?" Dominic’s deep voice echoed through the sterile room.
Dr. Harris flinched, turning around quickly. He forced a calm, professional smile onto his face, wiping a small bead of sweat from his forehead.
"Dominic," Dr. Harris said, adjusting his glasses. "I was just gathering my emergency toxicology equipment to run a full secondary analysis on the chemical residue from the cake. I want to identify the exact lab source of that neurotoxin so we can trace where Victor acquired it."
Dominic stepped into the center of the room, his broad frame blocking the only exit. "That won't be necessary, Harris."
Dr. Harris paused, his hand hovering over the leather briefcase. "What do you mean?"
"The child noted a detail we all missed," Dominic explained calmly, stepping closer. "She said the man in the service corridor smelled like sour medicine. Antiseptic alcohol. The same high-grade chemical you used to clean your testing kit before you walked into the ballroom."
Dr. Harris laughed softly, a nervous sound that lacked his usual smooth composure. "Dominic... I am a doctor. I work with medical antiseptics all day. Naturally, I carry that scent."
"Yes," Dominic agreed, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly cold whisper. "Except you didn't enter the main ballroom through the front foyer tonight, Harris. You claimed you arrived ten minutes before the cake was brought out... yet the service corridor security camera showed a man in a dark suit leaving the kitchen prep room twenty minutes earlier."
Dominic reached out, taking the leather briefcase from Dr. Harris's hand. He unzipped the main compartment, turning it upside down over the stainless-steel table.
Out tumbled medical tools, glass vials, and a small, velvet-lined silver box—the exact silver box little Lily had described to Dominic in the ballroom.
Dr. Harris dropped to his knees, his face turning ghostly pale as the heavy enforcers seized his arms.
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"Who paid you, Harris?" Dominic demanded, leaning down until his eyes were inches from the trembling physician's face. "You have been my family's private doctor for ten years. Who turned you?"
Dr. Harris wept silently, trembling in pure terror. "It wasn't Chicago, Dominic... I swear it wasn't Chicago! They... they have my daughter in Boston! They threatened to kill her if I didn't deliver the neurotoxin during the party!"
