Chapter 5 - Vincent Found the Gap in His Own Security
Vincent took the attempted attack personally.
That worried Dominic.
Anger makes even excellent security people search for someone to punish instead of something they missed.
Dominic told him exactly that.
Vincent did not appreciate it.
“You had an explosive device concealed in your prosthetic.”
“I noticed.”
“And I’m supposed to be calm?”
“You’re supposed to be accurate.”
That stopped him.
They reconstructed the afternoon.
Not with complicated forensic machinery.
With people.
Who stood where?
Who saw whom?
Who had access?
Clare had been in the foyer with Ellie for almost thirty minutes because Dominic’s conference ran late.
A secretary passed through twice.
Two executives came out for coffee.
Arthur crossed the hall.
Caleb crossed it once.
Only Caleb stopped near the rehabilitation chair.
Clare remembered because Ellie had been watching him.
“She asked me why the man was touching your chair.”
Dominic looked sharply at her.
“You didn’t tell me?”
“I thought she meant the armrest.”
Clare looked sick.
“She asks questions about everything mechanical. I didn’t understand.”
Ellie, playing with a small wooden puzzle beside them, looked up.
“He touched the leg.”
Every adult turned.
“How?” Vincent asked automatically.
Dominic stopped him.
“Don’t turn this into an interview.”
Vincent exhaled and backed off.
Clare crouched beside her daughter.
“What did you see, sweetheart?”
Ellie pointed at her own shoe.
“He moved the cover.”
That was enough.
No need for technical detail.
Then she added:
“He looked at me.”
Dominic felt cold.
“What happened?”
“He smiled.”
“What did he say?”
Ellie thought.
“Secret.”
Clare’s face changed.
“He told you it was a secret?”
Ellie nodded.
Then returned to her puzzle as though the answer were obvious.
Dominic stood so quickly the temporary limb shifted under him.
Vincent caught his arm.
“Easy.”
Dominic pulled away.
Caleb had seen the child watching.
He had spoken to her.
And because she was four, he apparently believed she could be neutralized with one word.
Secret.
The arrogance of it enraged Dominic more than the device itself.
But Vincent had one more failure to admit.
Caleb knew Dominic’s prosthetic care schedule.
“How?” Dominic asked.
Vincent looked embarrassed.
“Because I sent the executive travel team your accessibility notes.”
“Why would Caleb receive those?”
“He was still copied as COO.”
The notes contained no medical detail.
But they did show when Dominic usually changed footwear, rested the prosthetic, or used the rehabilitation chair during long meeting days.
Harmless logistical information.
Until someone wanted opportunity.
Vincent looked toward Dominic.
“I gave him the window.”
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
“But—”
“You gave a trusted executive a schedule.”
Dominic’s voice hardened.
“He decided what to do with it.”
That distinction would become important for all of them.
Failure had many owners.
May you like
Guilt needed precision.
And Caleb’s was beginning to take shape.
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