Chapter 3 - The Fifty-One Minute Tape
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At 10:00 AM the following morning, the sun beat down on the private harbor of the Ferrante estate. Inside the subterranean security bunker, the air was cold and smelled of ozone and expensive espresso.
Elias Ferrante leaned back in his leather chair, his dark eyes fixed on the three high-definition monitors in front of him.
On the screen, the night nurse was dragging three grown, heavily armed mercenaries into the hallway, binding their wrists with heavy-duty plastic zip-ties from her medical supply kit, and re-attaching Adelaide's manual suction line—all within nine minutes.
"Run it again," Elias said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
Beside him, his chief of security, Marco, swallowed hard. "Boss, we searched the three men. They're former foreign legion contractors. Someone paid them half a million dollars to make Mrs. Ferrante’s death look like natural respiratory failure."
"I don't care about the contractors," Elias said, pointing a ringed finger at the screen. "I care about her. Who is she?"
"Marin Hollis. Twenty-eight years old," Marco read from an iPad. "Hired fourteen months ago through St. Jude Home Health Services. Clean background. No record, no family, no debt. She lives in a studio apartment in the East District."
"No clean civilian takes down three armed legionnaires with a penlight and a surgical clamp," Elias said, standing up. His broad shoulders blocked the light from the screen. "Look at her stance. Look at how she checked the floor for blood before she wiped her hands."
Elias adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket.
"Where is she right now?"
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"She finished her shift at seven this morning," Marco replied. "She took the city bus home."
Elias turned, his eyes burning with a dark, intense fascination. "Bring her back. Not in handcuffs. Put her in the back of my car. It's time Miss Hollis and I had a real interview."
