Chapter 2 - The Medicine Cabinet
Dominic did not ask what the letter said.
That told me more than any confession could have.
He simply stood near the entrance of the winter garden, staring at Audrey’s handwriting like he had just seen a ghost.
Maybe he had.
“Everybody out,” I said.
Vincent hesitated.
“Boss—”
“Not you. Elena and the children stay.”
Dominic’s eyes moved toward Elena.
“You.”
She stiffened.
“You know her?” I asked.
Dominic took too long to answer.
“She works here.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
His jaw tightened.
Lily suddenly stepped between her mother and Dominic.
“Don’t look at my mom like that.”
Dominic almost laughed.
Almost.
Then he looked at me.
“Why are her children in your private garden?”
“Interesting question. Mine is better.”
I held up Audrey’s recorder.
“How long have you known this existed?”
He said nothing.
So I pressed play.
Audrey’s voice returned.
If I’m dead, you need to look at Dominic.
Dominic shut his eyes.
One second.
Two.
Then he whispered, “Turn it off.”
I did.
“You don’t get to give orders in this room.”
“Caleb, you don’t understand.”
“Then help me.”
He looked at Vincent.
“Not with him here.”
“Vincent has taken bullets for me.”
“And the people who arranged your accident have bought people more loyal than Vincent.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
Dominic looked exhausted.
Not guilty.
Not innocent.
Exhausted.
That frightened me more.
I pointed toward a chair.
“Sit.”
He sat.
I leaned forward in my wheelchair.
“What happened to my car?”
“I didn’t cut the brakes.”
“Did you know somebody planned to?”
Silence.
“Dominic.”
“Yes.”
Elena gasped.
I felt something inside my chest crack.
“You knew?”
“Not until the morning it happened.”
“And you didn’t warn me?”
“I tried.”
“You were at my house that morning.”
“I came because I was trying to stop you from leaving.”
I remembered.
Dominic had shown up unexpectedly before Audrey and I drove to Connecticut for a charity event.
He had argued with me about a shipping contract.
At the time, I believed he wanted my signature.
Now the memory looked different.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know exactly what had been done. I thought the threat was meant to frighten Audrey.”
My fingers curled.
“Frighten my wife?”
Dominic stared at the floor.
“She found something.”
“The transfers.”
“Yes.”
“Who was behind them?”
He looked up.
“I can’t tell you yet.”
I laughed once.
A cold sound.
“You’re sitting inside my house telling me you knew someone threatened my wife, and you think you get to choose when you tell me who?”
“You survived because for eight years certain people believed you were harmless.”
The words cut deeper than he intended.
Harmless.
The Harbor King.
Reduced to a man in a chair.
“I protected you.”
“You helped bury me.”
Dominic’s expression flashed with guilt.
“That part is true.”
The room fell silent.
“What does that mean?”
He looked at my legs.
I followed his gaze.
A chill ran through me.
“What does that mean, Dominic?”
“There were doctors after the crash who disagreed with the final diagnosis.”
My mouth went dry.
“Ninety-nine specialists.”
“No. Ninety-nine physicians eventually examined you. But the first team wasn’t unanimous.”
I remembered very little from those first weeks.
Pain.
Morphine.
Funeral arrangements whispered outside my room.
Audrey’s coffin.
My father sitting beside me telling me not to look at it.
Doctors saying words I couldn’t process.
Permanent.
Severe.
Unlikely.
Impossible.
“What are you saying?”
Dominic rubbed both hands across his face.
“One neurologist believed there was preserved signaling below the injury.”
I stopped breathing.
“Name.”
“Dr. Amelia Bennett.”
“I don’t know that name.”
“You never met her awake.”
“Why?”
“Because she was removed from your case.”
“By who?”
Dominic looked toward the glass ceiling.
Then at me.
“Dad.”
My father.
Salvatore Marino.
Seventy-six.
Retired, supposedly.
Living most of the year in Florida, supposedly.
A man who had built half the empire I inherited and destroyed the other half of himself doing it.
“What did she say?”
“That your spinal injury was incomplete. Serious, but incomplete. She believed aggressive rehabilitation might restore some function.”
Every word felt like a knife.
“And instead?”
“You were transferred.”
“To Dr. Wynn.”
“Yes.”
Dr. Harrison Wynn had overseen my medical care for nearly seven years.
Quiet.
Polished.
Expensive.
He had sat across from me three weeks earlier and told me to stop reading experimental rehabilitation studies because hope could be psychologically damaging.
My stomach turned.
“What medicine am I taking?”
Dominic stared at me.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Every morning, my nurse arranged pills.
For pain.
Spasms.
Blood pressure.
Sleep.
I had stopped asking which was which years ago.
“Vincent.”
He moved immediately.
“Get my medication.”
Elena spoke quietly.
“Mr. Marino…”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Jacob used to say the same thing.”
“What thing?”
“That somebody wanted you sick.”
Dominic stood.
“What did Jacob know?”
Elena glared at him.
“More than you wanted him to.”
“Where are his records?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
Lily raised her hand.
Everybody stared at her.
“What?” Elena asked.
“I know.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Of course you do.”
Lily seemed offended.
“I find things.”
“That is becoming painfully clear.”
Owen muttered, “She means she breaks things until things fall out.”
“I investigate.”
“You hit Dad’s old toolbox with a hammer.”
“It worked.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled again.
Vincent returned with a locked medication case.
A nurse followed him, confused.
“Mr. Marino?”
“Who fills these?”
“Dr. Wynn’s pharmacy sends sealed packs every Monday.”
“Has anyone else reviewed them?”
“Dr. Wynn manages your prescriptions.”
Dominic cursed.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Wynn worked for my father before he worked for you.”
That was enough.
“Vincent, call a hospital outside the Marino network. I want blood work. Full toxicology. Independent neurologist. Nobody connected to this family.”
“I know someone at Hudson Memorial.”
“Do it.”
Dominic stepped toward me.
“Caleb, if Dad finds out—”
I looked at him.
“He’ll what? Put me in a wheelchair?”
He flinched.
Good.
Lily walked closer.
“Can you move it again?”
She pointed at my foot.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
I looked down.
For eight years, trying had been the cruelest thing anyone could ask me to do.
Trying meant failing.
Failing meant remembering.
But Lily didn’t know that.
Maybe that was why I listened.
I focused.
Move.
Nothing.
My heart dropped.
Lily crossed her arms.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
I stared at her.
“Is that your professional medical opinion?”
“Yes.”
“You’re eight.”
“Eight and a half.”
“My mistake.”
She turned on the speaker.
The same song filled the garden.
A ridiculous upbeat old soul track Audrey loved.
My throat tightened.
Lily began moving.
Not dancing.
Not yet.
Just snapping her fingers.
“Don’t think about your foot.”
“What should I think about?”
“Something funny.”
“I don’t have anything funny.”
She pointed at Dominic.
“He looks like he smells expensive.”
Owen burst out laughing.
Even Elena covered her mouth.
Dominic looked offended.
I laughed.
And my foot jerked.
Hard.
This time everyone saw it.
I felt a current race through my calf.
Pain followed.
Sharp.
Real.
I grabbed the chair.
“Again.”
Lily grinned.
“Your brother looks like he practices being serious in the mirror.”
My foot moved again.
Vincent whispered, “Boss…”
I couldn’t answer.
Because sensation was spreading through my leg.
Not normal sensation.
Pins and needles.
Fire.
But after eight years of emptiness, fire felt like mercy.
Two hours later, Dr. Amelia Bennett walked into my mansion.
She was sixty-one, gray-haired, sharp-eyed, and visibly furious.
The moment she saw me, she stopped.
“Caleb Marino.”
“You remember me.”
“I’ve remembered you every day for eight years.”
She approached slowly.
I showed her my foot.
“I moved it.”
Her eyes filled.
Not surprise.
Vindication.
“I knew it.”
My anger returned.
“Knew what?”
She knelt beside me and began examining reflexes.
“I told them the injury was incomplete.”
“Who is them?”
“Your father. Dr. Wynn. The board.”
“You were removed.”
“I was threatened.”
“With what?”
“My license. My husband’s business. My daughter’s safety.”
The entire room went silent.
Dr. Bennett looked at Dominic.
“You.”
He lowered his gaze.
“You signed the complaint against me.”
I looked at my brother.
He didn’t deny it.
Something inside me went cold.
Dr. Bennett finished her initial exam.
“I need imaging before I say anything definitive. But Caleb…”
She touched my knee.
I felt pressure.
Faint.
But there.
“You are not clinically where a completely severed pathway patient would be after eight years.”
Hope hit me so hard it hurt.
“Can I walk?”
“I don’t know.”
Not yet.
She refused to lie.
I respected her instantly.
“But I can tell you this: somebody should have been reassessing you for years.”
A laboratory team arrived before sunset.
Blood.
Medication samples.
Records.
Everything went to an independent hospital.
At 8:43 that evening, Vincent entered my study with a face I knew meant trouble.
“What?”
“The preliminary medication screen came back.”
I waited.
“One of your prescriptions doesn’t match the label.”
My stomach tightened.
“What is it?”
“They’re still identifying the exact concentration. But according to Dr. Bennett, the dose appears far higher than anything listed in your chart.”
Dominic stood abruptly.
“Wynn.”
Vincent nodded.
“We sent men to his apartment.”
“And?”
“He’s gone.”
Of course he was.
Then Elena screamed from the hallway.
I wheeled toward the sound.
She ran into the study.
Wild-eyed.
“Owen is here.”
My blood chilled.
“Where’s Lily?”
Elena could barely speak.
“She was upstairs five minutes ago.”
Vincent grabbed his radio.
The mansion erupted into motion.
Doors locked.
Security teams spread across the property.
Cameras were checked.
Bedrooms searched.
The garden.
Kitchen.
Garage.
Nothing.
Then Owen appeared at the doorway holding Lily’s little pink backpack.
His face was white.
“I saw her leave.”
Elena grabbed him.
“With who?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“He told her you fell downstairs.”
Elena’s knees nearly gave out.
Owen swallowed.
“He said if she came with him, he’d take her to you.”
Vincent barked into his radio.
“Get every camera from the west gate!”
I looked at Dominic.
He looked terrified.
Truly terrified.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Lily sat in a wooden chair inside a dark warehouse.
She looked angry rather than frightened.
Beneath the photograph were seven words.
BRING AUDREY’S KEY TO PIER NINE. ALONE.
May you like
And under that—
OR THE GIRL LEARNS WHAT YOUR WIFE DID.
