Chapter 4 - The Investigation Begins
By mid-afternoon, Stonebridge was swarming with men in dark suits who didn't belong to the family.
Federal marshals, state police investigators, and Cameron’s private cyber-security detail had locked down the entire estate. The gates were barred; all outgoing communications were intercepted and screened; and every electronic device belonging to Grant, Vance, and Dr. Andrew Keller had been seized as evidence.
Upstairs in the private study overlooking the Hudson River, Cameron sat behind his massive mahogany desk, reviewing encrypted financial printouts delivered by his lead investigator, Marcus Vance (no relation to the traitorous attorney).
—You were right, boss, — Marcus said, sliding a thick dossier across the desk. — The SUV that forced your car off the road in Millbrook six weeks ago wasn't driven by random thugs. The plates trace back to a shell company registered in Delaware under a subsidiary controlled by Grant’s personal offshore account. And Dr. Keller’s bank records show a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars hitting an account in the Cayman Islands three days after your initial hospital visit.
Cameron didn't look up from the files. His stormy gray eyes remained fixed on a single photograph clipped to the front page: a security still from the estate’s east gate, showing Grant handing a sleek leather briefcase to a shadowy operative in a dark jacket on the night of the attack.
—He wanted the logistics network, — Cameron murmured, his voice laced with cold fury. — He thought my death would trigger an automatic liquidation clause before the board could vet my succession plan. He calculated that twenty doctors prescribing twenty conflicting placebos would burn out my organs before anyone thought to look at the wound itself.
—It was a brilliant plan, — Marcus admitted. — Ruthless, precise, and virtually untraceable. If the wound had healed normally, the poison would have mimicked natural multi-organ failure. The coroner would have signed off on natural causes by Monday.
Cameron fell silent. He leaned back in his leather chair, rubbing his left shoulder where a small white bandage now covered the extraction site.
Amidst all the billions of dollars, the corporate empire, the corrupt politicians, and the high-stakes assassinations, one singular fact remained burning in his mind.
Twenty elite doctors had failed.
One maid, armed with her father’s field knowledge and a pair of cheap tweezers, had seen through the deception.
—Marcus, — Cameron said suddenly.
May you like
—Boss?
—Find Nora Bennett. Bring her to my study. Right now.
