Chapter 3 - THE WAREHOUSE FIRE
The Connecticut facility was empty.
Almost.
We found Claire locked in a treatment room.
Alive.
Eli wasn't there.
Claire collapsed against Julian.
“I didn't know.”
Julian held her.
For all the stories about him, he became simply an older brother in that moment.
“What did Richard do?”
Claire cried.
“He told me Eli was being moved for his protection. Then he took him somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I wanted to hate her.
But fear doesn't look like guilt.
Claire gave us Richard's laptop.
He'd left it when fleeing.
Encrypted.
Knox's people opened enough to find a file labeled NEWARK.
Inside were warehouse manifests.
Medical shipments.
Experimental respiratory compounds.
And photographs from the fire.
Julian stared.
“I wasn't supposed to be at that warehouse.”
“What?”
“The meeting changed at the last minute.”
“Who changed it?”
“Richard.”
The Newark fire wasn't an assassination.
It was cleanup.
Julian had accidentally walked into a facility where Mercer and Helix Meridian were storing unauthorized medical material being moved through Sterling-controlled shipping routes.
Julian saw enough to become dangerous.
The fire destroyed the warehouse.
But Julian survived.
So Richard converted a problem into an opportunity.
He became Julian's physician.
Kept him weak.
Foggy.
Dependent.
And isolated.
“Why not kill me?” Julian asked.
Claire answered.
“Because of the company.”
Sterling Global required Julian's biometric authorization for certain port contracts.
A dead Julian triggered succession rules.
A sick Julian could still sign.
I looked at Claire.
“Who succeeds him?”
She went quiet.
Julian answered.
“Claire.”
Then we all understood.
Richard hadn't married into the Sterling family because he loved proximity to power.
He planned to inherit it through his wife.
Claire backed away.
“No.”
Julian looked devastated.
“Claire—”
“I didn't know.”
“I believe you.”
She started crying harder.
I turned away.
Families deserved privacy even when surrounded by armed men.
Then Knox found another file.
Eli Vance.
My brother had been receiving a legitimate cancer therapy.
But his trial bloodwork had been copied into Mercer's private research.
Why?
Eli had a rare metabolic trait.
One shared by me.
Mercer's team had been studying how certain patients detected volatile compounds at unusually low concentrations.
I stared at the screen.
“How did she smell it?”
It hadn't been surprise that a respiratory therapist recognized danger.
Mercer knew exactly why I could.
My brother's medical data had told him.
Someone had been studying my biology without my knowledge.
I felt sick.
Julian asked, “What does Mercer need Eli for now?”
I knew.
“Leverage.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Richard Mercer.
“Maya.”
“Where is my brother?”
“Alive.”
“If you hurt him—”
“I need Julian.”
Julian held out his hand.
I put the call on speaker.
Mercer continued.
“Midnight tomorrow. Newark.”
Julian's expression hardened.
“The warehouse burned.”
“Not all of it.”
“What do you want?”
Mercer laughed softly.
“What I have always wanted.”
“And that is?”
“Your signature.”
The call ended.
A text arrived.
Photograph of Eli.
Alive.
Holding today's newspaper.
Behind him was a concrete wall marked with one word:
STERLING.
Julian stared at it.
I did too.
He whispered, “That's not Newark.”
“How do you know?”
“My father built those walls.”
“Where?”
Julian looked at Knox.
Knox's face went pale.
Then Julian answered.
May you like
“Under Manhattan.”
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