Chapter 2 - The Digital TrailDown in the estate’s basement security hub, rows of massive monitors flickered with live feeds from forty exterior and interior cameras. The room smelled of hot electronics, ozone, and stale black coffee.
Vincent Hale stood behind the primary workstation, watching a playback loop from the rehabilitation wing dated twenty-four hours earlier.
"Freeze right there," Vincent ordered.
The technician hit the spacebar, pausing the footage. On the screen, a slender woman in a medical tunic—Angela Pierce—was wheeling a diagnostic cart down the private hallway leading to Dominic’s residential suite.
"Rewind ten seconds," Vincent instructed.
The tape rolled backward. A side door near the service elevator clicked open, and a man’s hand reached out, sliding a small, matte-black electronic key card across the counter into Angela’s open palm. The camera angle didn't show the man’s face, but it clearly captured a distinctive platinum signet ring on his ring finger—a heavy, custom-designed piece bearing the crest of the Voss family holding company.
Vincent felt a cold spike of adrenaline.
"Print that frame," Vincent said quietly. "And pull every visitor log, keycard swipe, and phone record associated with Angela Pierce for the last six months."
"Already running the script, Captain," the tech replied, fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. "It’ll take about ten minutes to cross-reference her communications with external towers."
Before the ten minutes were up, the heavy steel door of the security room swung open. Two guards entered, flanked by a trembling, pale-faced woman with dark hair pulled back in a messy bun.
Angela Pierce looked like she was about to be sick.
"I didn't know!" she blurted out the second she stepped inside, her voice shaking violently. "Mr. Hale, I swear to God, I didn't know he was going to hurt him! He said it was just a therapeutic adjustment! He said Mr. Vale needed to learn humility!"
Vincent stepped away from the monitors, towering over her. His expression was a mask of cold fury. "Who said that, Angela?"
She swallowed hard, tears spilling over her eyelashes. "Mr. Voss. Arthur Voss. He... he came to my apartment three weeks ago. My brother has massive medical debts from his dialysis treatments. Arthur—Mr. Voss—cleared them all in a single wire transfer. All I had to do was... was follow instructions on how to set the orthopedic tension plates during the morning rehabilitation cycle."
Vincent stared at her, his jaw tightening. "You traded your license and your freedom for a wire transfer?"
"I didn't think it would cause permanent damage!" she sobbed, sinking into a metal chair and burying her face in her hands. "He promised it would just cause stiffness and fatigue! He said Dominic was stepping down anyway, that it was just a transitional nudge!"
Vincent didn't waste another breath on her. He grabbed the printed frame from the laser printer, snatched his secure radio handset, and keyed the mic.
"Boss. We have confirmation. Angela confessed. Voss paid her off through a dummy corporation to alter the brace settings."
The radio crackled with Dominic’s voice. It was chillingly calm.
“Bring her up to the great room, Vincent. And bring the printouts.”
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"On my way."
Vincent holstered his sidearm, hauled Angela to her feet by her elbow, and signaled the guards. "Lock her in the security holding cell downstairs after we drop the evidence. Let's go."
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