Chapter 4 - The Hidden Camera in the Bookcase
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By 11:30 AM, I was sitting in the private consultation lounge of Emory University Hospital’s Department of Forensic Pathology.
Dr. Sarah Lin, a brilliant toxicologist who had worked with my late father’s medical team years ago, walked into the room carrying a digital spectrogram printout. Her expression was grave.
“Rebecca, where did you get this sample?” Dr. Lin asked, closing the door.
“A private home-care client,” I answered carefully. “What is it, Sarah?”
“It’s an unapproved synthetic analogue of Vecuronium combined with Succinylcholine,” Dr. Lin explained, pointing to the chemical peaks on the paper. “It’s a peripheral neuromuscular blocking agent. In high clinical doses, it’s used in operating rooms to paralyze skeletal muscles during general anesthesia. But in these micro-doses, administered twice daily in hot liquid... it systematically suppresses motor neuron transmission across the neuromuscular junctions.”
My throat went completely dry. “What does that mean for someone recovering from spinal trauma?”
“It means that even if his spinal cord has fully regenerated and his motor pathways are healthy, the acetylcholine receptors in his leg muscles are chemically paralyzed,” Dr. Lin stated with clinical horror. “He would feel like he was permanently crippled. And over six to eight months, the lack of stimulation would lead to irreversible, permanent muscular atrophy. Whoever is giving him this powder is intentionally keeping him in that wheelchair.”
I took the certified forensic report, thanked Sarah, and walked down to the hospital parking garage.
Waiting in the shadows near the elevator was a courier in a dark suit. He handed me a small, sealed leather briefcase without speaking a word, then turned and walked away.
Inside the case lay:
Three micro-optical 4K cameras: Disguised as decorative brass screw-heads for furniture.
An encrypted satellite receiver: Pre-configured to transmit live surveillance feeds directly to Garrett’s tablet.
A master legal ledger: Containing the certified corporate bylaws of Corbin BioTech and Garrett’s original, unrevoked living trust.
I returned to the Buckhead mansion at 1:45 PM.
Douglas and Gertrude were in the formal dining room hosting a private luncheon with Dr. Vance. Their arrogant, self-satisfied laughter echoed through the vaulted hallways as they toasted to their upcoming "corporate restructuring."
While they drank their expensive Chardonnay on the ground floor, I used a miniature magnetic screwdriver to install the micro-cameras inside Garrett’s master study:
One inside the carved oak moulding of the antique bookcase, overlooking the executive desk.
One inside the decorative brass wall sconce near the entrance doors.
One inside the fireplace mantel, angled directly toward the leather armchairs.
Garrett sat by the window, watching me work with surgical precision.
“You have remarkable hands, Rebecca,” Garrett murmured softly, his voice rich with quiet admiration. “Quiet. Steady. Fearless.”
I wiped a fleck of plaster dust from my uniform, looking into his eyes.
“When you spend twelve years trying to make yourself invisible to please a man who doesn't respect you, Mr. Corbin,” I said gently, “you learn how to move without making a sound.”
Garrett reached out, his warm, strong hand closing gently over my fingers.
May you like
“Those twelve years are over, Rebecca,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of an iron promise. “In this house, you are seen. And very soon, the world will see who truly stands tall.”
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