Chapter 3 - The Signet of the Dead
The emergency ramp of St. Jude Hospital was bathed in the harsh red glow of ambulance beacons.
The armored SUV screeched to a halt beneath the concrete canopy of the trauma bay.
Two private security guards on Roman's payroll immediately moved to flank the doors.
The three pursuing Escalades did not dare follow them onto the hospital premises.
They cruised slowly down the avenue, their dark windows reflecting the street lamps, before melting into traffic.
Roman stepped out into the humid hospital air, his eyes fixed on the photograph on his phone.
The gold ring with the coiled wolf was unmistakable.
His father had worn that ring for forty years until the night his limousine went over the cliff on Route 9.
The car had burned for two hours before firefighters could extinguish the flames.
The coroner had identified Vittorio DeLuca by dental records and bone fragments.
Yet the family ring had never been recovered from the wreckage.
The police had assumed an opportunist tow-truck driver had stolen it from the scene.
Now, three years later, it was resting on the knuckles of the man holding David Mercer hostage.
"Marcus," Roman called out quietly as they entered a private administrative hallway.
"Bring our medical team to Room 104."
"Run a full toxicology screening on Claire Bennett and make sure there are no other devices on her."
Claire walked between two guards, her arms wrapped around herself to stop the shivering.
"I told you everything I know," Claire said, stopping in the middle of the hallway.
"I don't belong in this world, Roman."
"I work forty hours a week, I pay my rent, and I visit my mother in hospice on Sundays."
"Let me go home."
Roman turned to face her, his gaze intense and unyielding.
"Your apartment is already compromised, Claire."
"If I let you walk out those double doors right now, you won't survive the walk to the subway."
"Whoever took Mercer wants that flash drive."
"And now that they have broken into your desk, they will want to eliminate the only witness who held it."
Claire pressed her back against the white drywall, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.
"What was on that drive?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"Mercer told me it was personal."
"He said it was his insurance policy in case things went bad at the firm."
"David Mercer was my father’s most trusted accountant," Roman explained, keeping his distance.
"He managed our offshore accounts, our legitimate real estate holdings, and our private trusts."
"When he disappeared eighteen months ago, forty million dollars vanished from our reserve accounts."
"We thought he got greedy and ran to South America."
"Now it looks like someone took him before we could ever ask him why he left."
Marcus stepped into the hallway, holding a fresh tablet with geolocation data.
"The metadata on that photo wasn't completely scrubbed, boss," Marcus reported in a low murmur.
"The image of Mercer was taken twenty minutes ago at the Whispering Pines Motel."
"That’s an old roadside dive on Route 9, about twenty miles north of the county line."
Roman felt a cold fury rising in his chest.
Route 9 was the exact same stretch of highway where his father’s limousine had been run off the road.
This was not a coincidence.
It was a deliberate, calculated message designed to tear open an old wound.
"Get six men in two discreet sedans," Roman ordered.
"No marked syndicate vehicles, no heavy convoys."
"We move fast and quiet."
Claire stepped forward, her voice trembling but surprisingly firm.
"Take me with you," she said.
Marcus scoffed immediately.
"Are you out of your mind, lady?"
"You're a liability in an assault zone."
Claire looked straight into Roman’s dark eyes, refusing to flinch.
"Mercer was good to me," Claire said softly.
"When my father died of cancer four years ago, Mercer paid for the funeral expenses out of his own pocket."
"He never asked for anything in return."
"He trusted me with that drive because he knew I wouldn't betray him."
"If he is sitting in a motel room surrounded by killers, he will only talk if he sees a familiar face."
"If your men kick down that door with rifles drawn, they might shoot him before he says a word."
Roman studied her pale face for several long seconds.
There was genuine fear in her posture, but beneath the terror was an unexpected core of loyalty.
Most civilians would have crawled under a hospital bed and begged for police protection.
She was offering to walk directly into the line of fire for an old boss who had dragged her into hell.
"If you come, you wear body armor, and you do exactly what Marcus tells you," Roman said.
"If a single shot is fired, you drop flat to the floor and do not move until I say so."
Claire swallowed hard and nodded once.
"Understood."
"Marcus, get her a Kevlar vest from the trunk," Roman commanded.
May you like
"We leave in five minutes."
"Tonight, we find out whether my father truly died three years ago, or if our family has been ruled by ghosts."
