Chapter 7 - The Doctor's Ledger
Dr. Mercer stood with the calculated detachment of a surgeon about to make an incision. His spectacles reflected the pale emergency light, his white cuffs stained with drops of red that Clara knew did not belong to him.
"You're late, Mercer," Julian wheezed from the floor, coughing up flecks of dark blood as Moreva slowly stood, his hands held at shoulder height.
"Traffic was rather heavy on the estate drive, Julian," Mercer replied without looking down. "Your hired men have made quite a mess of the foyer. The Don's antique vases are entirely ruined."
Clara remained on the floor beside Vittorio, the submachine gun concealed beneath the heavy folds of her maid's apron. Her fingers were slick with cold sweat, the metal edge biting into her bruised palm. Don Vittorio was barely conscious now, his breathing shallow, his pulse fluttering like a trapped moth beneath his pale skin.
"Mercer," Moreva said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, even register. "Thirty years you served this family. My father paid for your medical education. He bought your clinic in Geneva."
"And he treated me like a well-dressed servant for every second of those thirty years," Mercer sneered, his gun never wavering from Moreva's forehead. "Julian offered me twenty percent of the estate’s liquid reserves. More importantly, he offered me freedom from this archaic circus of honor and blood."
"Julian lied to you," Clara spoke up, her voice carrying a steady venom that surprised even herself.
Mercer glanced toward her with disdain. "Quiet, girl. You were supposed to die of congestive heart failure alongside the old man next week. Gable was too soft on you. She should have doubled the dose."
"He doesn't have the money, Doctor," Clara said, leaning forward slightly, using her body to shield the weapon in her lap. "Moreva closed the accounts. Julian was using you to break the vault door because he couldn't crack the biometric locks himself."
Mercer’s eyes flicked to Julian, a sliver of doubt piercing his clinical arrogance. "Is this true?"
"She's lying!" Julian spat, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Kill them both! The bearer bonds are inside! She's just a maid!"
"A maid carrying the child you were too cowardly to protect," Moreva said softly.
Mercer hesitated, his weapon drifting a fraction of an inch to the left.
May you like
That fraction was all Clara needed.
She dragged the heavy barrel from beneath her apron, resting the weapon across Vittorio's limp legs for stability, and pulled the trigger.
