Chapter 3 - THE FOURTH STREET CLINIC
The rain had turned into a steady, gray sheet by the time the town car slid into the underground bay of the Veil Meridian medical facility. The building looked less like a clinic and more like a corporate archive—windowless, heavily reinforced, and guarded by men who wore plain suits and carried radios clipped inside their belts.
Silas didn't wait for the attendant. He killed the engine, stepped out into the damp chill, and opened Lena’s door before she could push it herself.
"Stay close to me," he instructed, his hand hovering just behind her elbow—not quite touching, but close enough to catch her if the expensive, unfamiliar environment caused her to stumble.
They bypassed the front reception desk entirely, taking a private service elevator down to Sub-Level Two. The air here was cold and smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper.
When they reached Room 204, Owen Price was sitting up on the examination table, his face ashen, an IV drip taped to the back of his trembling hand. A private physician was packing up his stethoscope, while two security guards stood silently by the door.
Owen looked up as Silas and Lena entered. His eyes widened with animal panic.
"Mr. Veil," Owen gasped, his voice cracking. "I swear to God, I didn't know what was in the bottle. Wade told me it was just a digestive aid—he said my stomach was acting up—"
Silas walked straight to the side of the bed, resting his palms on the metal railing. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Wade Carver is currently sitting in a holding cell answering questions about who gave him the synthetic paralytic. But right now, Owen, you're going to answer a question for me."
Owen swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. "Anything, Mr. Silas. Just... don't let them take me back to the docks."
"Who killed Daniel Mercer?" Silas asked.
The name hit the room like a physical blow. Owen flinched, his gaze darting nervously toward Lena before snapping back to Silas.
"That was an accident," Owen stammered, shaking his head. "The transformer blew. The union investigated. It was a maintenance failure."
Lena stepped out from behind Silas's shoulder. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, stripped of all the fear she had felt in the car. "My father could strip a three-phase breaker blindfolded in the dark, Owen. He didn't make maintenance errors. And he certainly didn't leave thirty thousand dollars in a safety deposit box for fun."
Owen stared at her, recognition finally breaking through his denial. "You're... you're Daniel's girl. You have his eyes."
"I have his ledger," Lena lied smoothly, holding up the empty envelope Silas had given her as if it contained the missing pages. "And I know that the South Dock wiring diagrams were altered the night he died. Either you tell us who ordered the alteration, or I hand this entire file to the federal prosecutor currently investigating Veil Meridian's shipping manifests."
Owen let out a ragged breath, his shoulders collapsing. He looked down at his IV line, tracing the plastic tubing with a shaking finger.
"It wasn't Silas," Owen whispered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial shudder. "And it wasn't Grant. It was Everett."
Silas didn't flinch. His expression remained carved from granite. "My father died twenty years ago, Owen. My uncle Everett has been the public face of this company, but he never ran the dock logistics."
"He ran the shadow logistics," Owen corrected, looking up with pleading eyes. "The untracked cargo. When Daniel found the transshipment logs linking Veil Meridian to overseas arms brokers, he went straight to Everett's office. He thought the old man didn't know."
"And what did Everett do?" Lena asked, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"He smiled," Owen whispered. "He poured him a glass of scotch, thanked him for his diligence, and told him the discrepancy would be corrected by morning. Then he called me into the office ten minutes later and handed me an envelope to drop at your father's bank before the night shift started."
A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the room.
Silas slowly turned his head to look at Lena, the dark secret of his family's foundation laid bare between them. But before he could speak, the wall-mounted security monitor near the door flickered to life.
The camera feed showed the elevator doors on Sub-Level Two sliding open.
Stepping out into the hallway, leaning heavily on his polished cane, was Everett Veil. Behind him walked two private bodyguards carrying medical bags, their expressions entirely devoid of human warmth.
Silas's hand dropped instinctively to his side. "He shouldn't be here."
Owen began to hyperventilate, pulling against his IV line. "He knows. If he's here, he knows we talked."
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The heavy metal door of Room 204 swung open before Silas could reach the lock. Everett stood in the doorway, his silver hair immaculate, his blue eyes smiling with that same terrifying, grandfatherly warmth from the dinner table.
"Family business always brings us together in the end, doesn't it?" Everett murmured, stepping into the room. "And I see you've brought our favorite archivist along to help dig up the past."
