Chapter 1 - The Glass on the Breakfast Tray
Norah Blake held the red drink to the light and whispered, "Don't drink this."
Gideon Wolf looked past her at the breakfast tray beside his hospital bed.
A thin white ring clung to the bottom of the glass.
It had not been there yesterday.
Someone wanted Gideon dead.
For three weeks, twelve of the most expensive doctors in America had come through the doors of Gideon Wolf's private estate.
Cardiologists.
Nephrologists.
Toxicologists.
Neurologists.
Two specialists had arrived from New York. Another had flown overnight from California. One physician had supposedly interrupted a medical conference in Switzerland after Gideon's people offered enough money to make inconvenience irrelevant.
They had tested his blood.
Scanned his organs.
Changed his medication.
Changed it again.
Nothing worked.
Gideon kept getting worse.
His kidneys were failing.
His muscles had weakened so badly that the man who had once broken another man's jaw with a single punch now needed assistance simply sitting upright.
His heartbeat sometimes stumbled across the monitor beside his bed in frightening bursts.
And that morning, Dr. Harold Mercer had finally said what everyone in the room had been avoiding.
"We may be looking at hours rather than days."
Nobody answered him.
Not the other doctors.
Not Gideon's attorney.
Not the two armed men standing near the bedroom doors.
Certainly not Norah.
She wasn't supposed to have an opinion.
Norah Blake was twenty-seven years old and had been working at the Wolf estate for eleven months.
She cleaned rooms.
Changed linens.
Carried meals.
Remembered which guests wanted coffee and which wanted tea.
People rarely noticed servants.
Norah had learned long ago that invisibility could be useful.
It let her hear things.
More importantly, it let her see things.
That morning she saw Gideon's breakfast.
The eggs were untouched.
The toast had gone cold.
The bowl of berries looked exactly as it had when the kitchen prepared it.
But the cranberry-colored drink was half empty.
Norah stopped.
She had collected that glass every morning for nineteen days.
Sometimes empty.
Sometimes nearly empty.
Never untouched.
She knew because washing Gideon's dishes was part of her routine.
"Miss Blake?"
Dr. Mercer sounded irritated.
Norah didn't move.
She lifted the glass.
Behind her, a chair scraped.
"What are you doing?" Mercer asked.
Norah tilted the drink toward the window.
The daylight revealed it.
A faint cloudy sediment swirled near the bottom before settling again.
Her stomach tightened.
Gideon watched her from the bed.
Even sick, the man had an unsettling stare.
His dark hair was pushed away from his face. Black ink climbed from beneath his open shirt and disappeared along his neck. Three weeks of illness had hollowed his cheeks, but nothing had softened his eyes.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
His voice was weak.
The room still went silent.
Norah swallowed.
"Mr. Wolf, has this been served to you every morning?"
Mercer stepped toward her.
"Put it down."
Norah looked at him.
"I asked Mr. Wolf."
"And I'm telling you to put it down."
One of Gideon's bodyguards shifted his hand beneath his jacket.
Norah felt every instinct telling her to obey.
She needed this job.
More than anyone in that room knew.
Her rent had been overdue when she'd first come to the estate. Her mother's debts had swallowed nearly everything left after the funeral. Norah had spent years learning how quickly a person could fall when one paycheck disappeared.
Getting fired by Gideon Wolf would be bad.
Angering Gideon Wolf could be worse.
But watching a man die because she was afraid to speak?
She couldn't do it.
Gideon's eyes narrowed.
"Answer her."
Mercer turned.
"Excuse me?"
"She asked me a question. I'm asking you."
Mercer's jaw tightened.
"The beverage is part of his nutritional schedule. It's prepared according to dietary instructions."
"Every morning?" Norah asked.
Mercer stared at her.
"Yes."
Norah looked at the glass again.
"And his condition started getting worse after the dietary schedule changed?"
Nobody spoke.
That frightened her more than an argument would have.
Gideon's gaze shifted to Mercer.
"When was it changed?"
The doctor glanced toward his notes.
"Approximately three weeks ago."
Norah's pulse jumped.
Three weeks.
Exactly when Gideon's sudden decline had begun.
Mercer noticed the implication.
"This is absurd."
Norah carefully placed the glass on the bedside table.
"I'm not saying anything is in it."
"You just implied exactly that."
"No."
She pointed toward the bottom.
"I'm saying that wasn't there yesterday."
Mercer looked.
For the first time, his expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Norah saw it.
His eyes froze on the sediment.
Then moved immediately to her.
"You handle these glasses every day?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you contaminated it."
Two guns appeared almost simultaneously.
Norah froze.
The bodyguards weren't pointing them directly at her.
Not yet.
But suddenly the room felt much smaller.
Gideon lifted one hand.
"Nobody moves."
His breathing was shallow.
Still, everyone obeyed.
He looked at Norah.
"Come here."
She approached the bed.
"Closer."
Norah stopped beside him.
Gideon studied her face as if searching for a lie.
"Why were you looking at my breakfast instead of me?"
Norah hesitated.
"Because everyone else was looking at you."
Something flickered in his eyes.
She continued.
"The doctors watch your monitor. Your guards watch the doors. Your staff watches the doctors."
"And you?"
"I clear your breakfast."
A pause.
"So?"
"You used to eat."
Gideon's expression sharpened.
"The first week I worked here, you finished almost everything. Black coffee. Eggs. Toast. Sometimes fruit."
One of the guards almost smiled.
Apparently, she was right.
"Then you got sick," Norah continued. "You stopped eating. But you kept drinking that."
She pointed at the glass.
"Why?"
Gideon looked at it.
"Doctor's orders."
Mercer interrupted.
"Which is perfectly normal. His appetite decreased. Liquid nutrition—"
"Stop talking."
Gideon didn't raise his voice.
Mercer stopped.
Norah noticed something else.
The doctor's right hand was trembling.
Only slightly.
She looked down.
Mercer immediately closed his fingers around his clipboard.
Gideon saw that too.
"Rafael."
The bodyguard nearest the door stepped forward.
"Boss."
"Nobody leaves this room."
Mercer's face hardened.
"Mr. Wolf, this is becoming ridiculous."
"Then you'll have nothing to worry about."
Gideon pointed at the glass.
"Bag it."
Rafael took an evidence bag from a cabinet.
Norah blinked.
Apparently, evidence bags were normal household equipment in Gideon Wolf's world.
The guard reached for the drink.
"No."
Everyone looked at Norah.
She immediately regretted speaking.
Gideon raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"If someone really put something in there, don't touch the rim."
Rafael paused.
Norah pointed.
"Use gloves."
The guard stared at her for a second.
Then he smiled faintly.
"She's got a point."
He pulled on gloves.
Mercer stepped forward.
"This is unnecessary."
Rafael's smile disappeared.
"Back up."
The doctor did.
Norah looked at Gideon again.
His eyes were still on her.
Not the glass.
Her.
"How do you know about contamination?" he asked.
Norah's throat tightened.
There it was.
The question she'd hoped nobody would ask.
"I worked around medical supplies before."
"Where?"
"A nursing facility."
"For how long?"
"Three years."
Mercer gave a humorless laugh.
"A nursing assistant is questioning twelve physicians?"
Norah looked at him.
"I didn't question your diagnosis."
"What exactly are you questioning?"
She glanced at the glass.
"Why you're so afraid of testing that."
Silence.
Mercer's face changed.
This time everyone saw it.
Gideon's monitor accelerated.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
He slowly turned toward the doctor.
"Are you afraid, Harold?"
Mercer straightened.
"Of course not."
"Good."
Gideon looked at Rafael.
"Have it tested independently."
"Where?"
"Not our hospital."
Mercer suddenly stepped closer.
"That would be medically irresponsible. Chain of custody, sample integrity—"
Gideon's second bodyguard drew his weapon completely.
"Doctor."
Mercer stopped.
Gideon closed his eyes for a moment.
The effort of speaking was exhausting him.
Norah saw his fingers trembling against the blanket.
Whatever was happening, the man truly was dying.
She picked up a bottle of water.
"Can he drink this?"
Mercer didn't answer.
Gideon opened his eyes.
Norah examined the seal.
Unbroken.
She handed it to him.
He studied the bottle, then her.
"You trust it?"
"The seal is intact."
"And you?"
Norah frowned.
"What about me?"
"Should I trust you?"
The question was quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
Norah looked around the room.
Doctors.
Bodyguards.
Machines.
Weapons.
Money.
Power.
None of it had kept him safe.
"I don't know," she said.
Rafael glanced at her as though she'd lost her mind.
Gideon almost smiled.
Almost.
"Interesting answer."
"It's the truthful one."
"Most people tell me what they think I want to hear."
"Maybe that's part of your problem."
Rafael actually coughed to hide a laugh.
Gideon stared at her.
Then something happened.
His expression tightened.
His hand went to his chest.
The monitor screamed.
"Gideon?"
Norah moved first.
The doctors rushed forward.
Numbers flashed across the monitor.
Mercer shoved past her.
"Arrhythmia. Get her out!"
Norah stepped backward.
Gideon's body jerked.
A nurse from the adjoining room ran inside.
Mercer began issuing orders.
Medication.
Oxygen.
IV adjustment.
Norah watched the IV.
Something didn't make sense.
There was a new bag hanging above Gideon's bed.
She had changed his sheets twenty minutes earlier.
That bag had not been there.
Her eyes followed the clear tubing downward.
"Wait."
Nobody heard her.
"Wait!"
Mercer spun around.
"Get her out of here!"
Norah pointed.
"Who changed that IV?"
The room stopped.
Rafael looked up.
The IV bag swayed gently.
Mercer stared at it.
Then toward the second doctor.
"I didn't."
The other physician shook his head.
"Neither did I."
Gideon's monitor screamed again.
Norah rushed forward and reached toward the line.
Mercer grabbed her wrist.
"Don't touch it!"
She looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
"Why?"
His grip tightened.
Rafael pressed a gun against Mercer's shoulder.
"Let her go."
Mercer released her.
Norah stared at the IV label.
Gideon's name was printed correctly.
The medication name looked correct.
The dosage looked correct.
But someone had written something tiny beneath the printed label.
A time.
6:40 A.M.
Norah looked at the clock.
6:43.
The bag had been changed three minutes ago.
She had been in the room.
Nobody had approached the IV.
Nobody except—
Norah slowly turned toward the adjoining bathroom.
The door was open.
A white medical coat lay on the floor.
Rafael saw it.
His weapon came up.
"Who was in there?"
Nobody answered.
He moved toward the bathroom.
The second guard followed.
Gideon's heartbeat continued racing behind them.
Norah stared at the white coat.
Something metallic glinted beneath it.
A syringe.
Rafael reached the doorway.
Then stopped.
"Boss."
Gideon struggled to look toward him.
Rafael bent down and picked something up with his gloved hand.
Not the syringe.
A hospital identification badge.
The photograph had been scratched away.
But the name remained.
Dr. Samuel Vale.
Mercer went completely still.
Gideon noticed.
"Harold?"
Mercer backed toward the door.
Rafael raised his gun.
"Don't."
Norah looked from Mercer to the badge.
"Who is Samuel Vale?"
Nobody answered.
Gideon's face had gone pale.
Not from illness.
Recognition.
Norah stepped closer to the bed.
"You know him."
Gideon stared at the name.
"Samuel Vale died eleven years ago."
Norah felt cold spread through her.
Then a sound came from inside the bathroom.
A soft click.
Rafael aimed his weapon at the darkness.
May you like
Someone had just locked the second door from the other side.
And whoever was behind it had been standing three feet from Gideon's bed.
