Chapter 3 - THE FADED PHOTOGRAPH
The dining room erupted into panic.
Guests screamed in the dark, chairs scraped violently against the floor, and glass shattered as people scrambled toward the locked doors.
“Nobody move!” Dominic’s voice roared, cutting through the terror with absolute authority.
Emergency backup lights flickered on along the baseboards, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the walls.
I ignored the chaos. My entire focus was on the old man clutching my hand.
“Mr. Romano,” I whispered urgently, leaning close to his ear. “What did you just say? Why did you say David’s name?”
Salvatore’s breathing was shallow. The stress of the evening was pushing his fragile heart to the limit. He pointed a trembling finger toward Celeste’s discarded designer purse, which had spilled onto the floor when she scrambled away.
Dominic’s guards had already secured the room’s perimeter. Arthur Bell was gone—he had slipped through the servant’s entrance just before the doors locked.
Dominic strode over to Celeste, who was sobbing in the corner. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. His presence was suffocating.
“Where did Arthur go?” Dominic demanded.
“I don’t know!” Celeste cried. “I swear to God, Dominic, he made me do it! He said if I didn’t help him take over the voting rights, he would tell you about us!”
Julian, Vincent’s secret son, walked over to the spilled purse. He knelt down and sifted through the expensive makeup and credit cards.
“She dropped this when she ran,” Julian said, standing up.
He handed Dominic a small, folded piece of paper.
Dominic opened it under the dim emergency lights. His brow furrowed. He walked over to me, his heavy gaze settling on my face.
“Grace,” Dominic said softly, handing me the paper. “What is this?”
My hands shook as I took it.
It was a faded photograph.
The image showed two men sitting at a diner booth. One was Arthur Bell, looking younger, sliding a thick manila envelope across the table.
The other man was David. My husband.
The date stamped in the corner was three years ago—two days before David died in a sudden car accident.
All the air left my lungs.
“I… I don’t understand,” I stammered, my vision blurring. “David was a pharmacist. He worked at the community hospital. Why was he meeting with your lawyer?”
Dominic gently took the photograph back. His dark eyes searched my face, scanning for deception. But all he found was genuine, shattered confusion.
“Grace,” Dominic said carefully. “Did your husband ever work with chemical compounds? Off the books?”
“No!” I insisted, tears burning my eyes. “David was a good man. He worked double shifts just to pay off our mortgage. He never did anything illegal.”
Julian stepped closer, looking at the photograph over Dominic’s shoulder.
“The blue bottle,” Julian said quietly. “It’s not just a poison. I had a chemist look at the residue on one of Celeste’s discarded glasses last week. It’s a highly advanced synthetic neuro-blocker. It mimics the symptoms of dementia, but it’s completely untraceable in standard blood work.”
Julian looked directly at me.
“Only someone with a brilliant medical background could have created it.”
The room started to spin.
My husband didn’t just die in an accident. He was connected to the Romano family. He was connected to the poison running through Salvatore’s veins.
“You’re lying,” I whispered, stepping back. “David wouldn’t hurt an old man. He wouldn’t.”
Salvatore let out a painful cough. He reached for my apron, pulling me back to his side.
“Not… for me,” Salvatore struggled to speak, the poison still fighting his nervous system.
He weakly tapped his chest.
“Made… to cure.”
Dominic knelt beside his father. “Dad, what are you trying to say? Cure what?”
Salvatore’s eyes rolled back slightly. The stress was triggering another micro-stroke.
“Nurse Miller,” Dr. Harris shouted from across the room. “He’s going into shock! We need his emergency medical kit!”
Instinct took over. I shoved the grief and confusion down into a dark box in my mind. Right now, I was a nurse.
“It’s in the study!” I yelled, dropping to my knees and checking Salvatore’s pulse. It was erratic, racing dangerously fast. “Dominic, I need my medical bag from his desk drawer!”
Dominic didn’t hesitate. He kicked the heavy oak door connecting the dining room to the study, shattering the lock frame with a single, brutal blow.
He disappeared into the dark office.
A moment later, a gunshot rang out from inside the study.
“Dominic!” I screamed.
Dominic stumbled backward out of the darkness, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeped through his white dress shirt, stark and terrifying.
Arthur Bell stepped out of the shadows of the study, holding a suppressed pistol.
He didn’t look panicked anymore. He looked like a man who had finally decided to burn the world down.
And his gun wasn’t pointed at Dominic.
May you like
It was pointed directly at me.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” Arthur said, his voice ice-cold. “But your husband left me no choice three years ago. And neither do you.”
