Chapter 72 #72
Chapter 72
~Dwayne~
“Jack?” I said
"We need to talk," he said without preamble. "Now."
"I was just about to find you," I replied, my grip tightening on the phone. "Where are you?"
"The old warehouse on Harbor Street. It's the only one."
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Come alone, Dwayne. And bring an open mind."
He hung up before I could respond.
I stood there for a moment, weighing my options. Meeting Patterson alone could be dangerous, I don't even know him. But if he had information about Cynthia, about Jesse, about everything that had been hidden for twenty-nine years...
I had to risk it.
But first, I needed to make sure Shailyn was safe.
“What's wrong? What did he say?” she said in a worried tone.
"Shailyn," I said softly, not wanting to startle her.
"I need you to be careful," I said, moving closer. "Very careful. There are things happening in this family, dangerous things, and I don't want you caught in the crossfire. I can't explain everything right now, but I need you to trust me. You can't be at home alone now, I know you don't feel safe."
"Dwayne, you're scaring me."
"I don't mean to scare you Shailyn. I'm just trying to let you know what's happening.
She nodded. She seems tired and exhausted.
"Can I take you to Dante at the office?"
Even though that's the last thing I want.
"You want me to go to the office? But Dante told me to rest..."
"I know what Dante said. But right now, the safest place for you is surrounded by people. Not alone in this manor with her. I will just tell him that I left the house and I didn't think it was safe for you to be alone."
Shailyn studied my face for a long moment. "Okay. I trust you."
"Thank you," I breathed. "Come on. I'll drive you myself."
…
The drive to SentientIQ was tense. Shailyn kept glancing at me, questions written all over her face, but she didn't ask them. I was grateful for that.
"Stay with Dante," I said as I pulled up to the building. "Don't leave the office floor. Don't go anywhere alone."
"You're really worried, aren't you?"
"Yes," I admitted. "More than you know."
She reached over and squeezed my hand. "Be careful, whatever you're doing."
"I will."
I watched her walk into the building, waiting until she was safely inside before pulling away.
The moment she was out of sight, I slammed my palm against the steering wheel.
"Fuck!" I shouted to the empty car. "What the hell was happening?"
She didn't need any of these worries. She was still fragile, still recovering, still trying to piece together four years of missing memories. But at this point, with everything unraveling, with danger closing in from all sides… She needed to remember. She had to remember.
I just didn't know how to make that happen without destroying her in the process.
The warehouse was exactly described. The only one in the street and it stood out. I entered. It looked abandoned, deteriorating, the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
Jack was waiting inside, leaning against a rusted support beam, his expression unreadable in the dim light filtering through broken windows.
"You came," he said.
"You said you had information. Start talking."
"Direct as always." Jack pushed off the beam, moving closer. "Alright. Let's start with who I really am."
"Jack Patterson, businessman, Cynthia's lover. Did I miss anything?"
"Yes. You missed everything." He took a breath. "My real name is Jack Morrison. Jesse Morrison was my sister."
The words hit me like a freight train.
"What?"
"Jesse was my younger sister, and you are my nephew." Jack continued, his voice thick with emotion. "And Cynthia Belmar murdered her."
"Do you have proof?"
"I have a recording," Jack said. "Audio from the night Jesse died. Cynthia's voice, clear as day, talking about what she'd done. How she'd injected potassium into Jesse's IV. How she'd watched her die. There's just no video."
My blood ran cold. "Why haven't you gone to the police?"
"Because I want more than prison for her," Jack said, and his eyes were dark with rage. "Prison is too easy. Too clean. She ruined my sister's life, took her away from her son, from me. I want her to feel what Jesse felt. The fear. The helplessness. The knowledge that everything she loves is being torn away."
"So what's your plan?"
"To destroy her completely. Her reputation, her marriage, her standing in society. Everything she's built on the bones of the people she's killed. Which is why I dragged Monica into it, she was a means to an end," Jack admitted. "A way to destroy Cynthia by having a thing with her and her daughter and to get close to the family, and one other thing which I won't reveal now. But..."
I was curious. What could it be?
“But what?"
My phone rang, cutting him off. Marcus.
"I need to take this," I said to Jack.
"Go ahead."
I answered. "Marcus, what've you got?"
"Dwayne, I found something. About Shailyn's hospital visits with Dante."
"What about them?"
"The day she went for that supposed memory treatment? I pulled the hospital's visitor logs and security footage. Dante took her to see a Dr. Gerald in the psychiatric wing."
"Psychiatric wing? She said it was a neurologist."
"That's what I thought was strange. So I dug deeper. Dr. Gerald isn't a neurologist, Dwayne. He's a psychiatrist who specializes in memory manipulation and experimental psychotropic medications."
My heart stopped. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying the injection Shailyn received wasn't to restore her memories." Marcus's voice was grim. "It was designed to suppress them."
"What?"
"The medication Dr. Gerald prescribed is used in experimental trials for memory suppression. It's not FDA approved. It's dangerous, especially for pregnant women. And Dwayne... there's more."
"Tell me."
"Dr. Gerald's license was suspended five years ago for unethical practices. He was brought back specifically by Dante, who's been paying him under the table. But Dante doesn't know that it can harm the baby."
The warehouse seemed to tilt around me.
"Marcus, send me everything you have. Every document, every piece of evidence."
"Already done. Check your email."
I hung up and looked at Jack, who was watching me with concern.
"What happened?"
"Dante's been poisoning Shailyn," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "Deliberately suppressing her memories.”
He was about to say something when my phone buzzed with an incoming email from Marcus. I opened it, my eyes scanning the first medical report.
"Fuck," I breathed.
I was going to confront Dante.