Chapter 3 - The Pediatrician with Shaking Hands
Vivian Vance had been on the Moretti family payroll for five years. She was the daughter of a prominent federal judge and had been personally recommended by my late father.
When my slate-grey eyes locked onto hers, her breath hitched in her throat.
"Adrien... please," Vivian stammered, backing toward the mahogany balcony doors. "I... I just performed the standard cranial examination! I had no idea those devices were under the mattresses! I swear on my medical license!"
"Marcus," I said softly.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Take her bag."
Two armed tactical guards stepped forward, pinning Vivian’s arms behind her back before she could reach for her coat. Marcus unzipped the leather satchel, dumping its contents onto the nursery changing table.
Vials of sterile saline, diagnostic lights, and stethoscopes scattered across the wood.
And rolling out from a velvet padded interior pocket were two additional items:
An un-deployed third black metallic resonator disc with adhesive backing.
A specialized encrypted radio-frequency remote control with four preset timer channels.
Vivian collapsed to her knees on the Persian rug, sobbing in breathless, ragged terror.
"Adrien! Have mercy! They threatened my brother's life!" Vivian wailed, tears smearing her expensive eyeliner. "They said if I didn't activate the transmitters before nine o'clock, they would liquidate my family's clinic in Boston!"
I walked over, carrying my sons, stopping inches from where she groveled on the floor.
"Who is 'they', Vivian?" I asked, each word landing like an iron spike into the hardwood.
May you like
Vivian trembled so violently that her teeth clicked together.
"Julian..." she choked out. "Julian Moretti."
