Chapter 2: The Sound of Truth
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Marcus stopped beside Dominic's chair, tilting his head with innocent curiosity.
He wasn't looking at the dark tattoos or the intimidating posture of the man before him.
He was staring intently into Dominic's right ear.
"Marcus!"" I called softly.
He didn't turn.
His tiny finger rose toward Dominic's temple.
I lunged forward, grabbing my son's wrist just before his fingers made contact.
"Don't touch him!"" I gasped.
Dominic's eyes snapped open instantly.
His dark gaze locked onto mine, sharp and intense.
The sudden movement frightened Marcus, but instead of pulling back, my son pointed directly at the side of Dominic's head.
"Mommy, there's a bug in his ear," Marcus said clearly.
Dominic watched his lips.
His brows drew together.
Marcus leaned closer.
"A black one," he insisted.
"It has shiny metal legs.""
Dominic's expression changed.
He raised his hand toward his ear, then stopped halfway.
For three years, he had trusted the medical equipment Victor supplied. He had allowed doctors to examine him, specialists to perform tests, and technicians to adjust the devices behind his ears.
He had never questioned why nothing improved.
Now, his five-year-old son was telling him there was something inside.
"Sweetheart, step back," I whispered.
But Marcus was already reaching again.
This time, his fingers were quicker than mine.
He pinched something small and metallic behind Dominic's right ear and pulled.
A tiny device emerged.
It was no bigger than a fingernail.
Marcus held it between his thumb and index finger.
"See, Daddy? Bug.""
Dominic stared at the object.
Then he inhaled sharply.
A sound escaped his throat.
A raw, broken gasp.
His hand flew to his ear.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The conservatory was no longer silent.
He could hear the distant string instruments from the ballroom.
The faint clinking of champagne glasses.
The whisper of the air-conditioning.
And Marcus.
"Daddy?""
Dominic looked down at him.
His mouth opened, but no words came.
Then he heard something else.
His own breathing.
He touched his throat, his expression twisting with disbelief.
I dropped to my knees beside him.
"Dominic?""
He turned toward me.
I said his name again.
This time, he heard it.
My voice.
The voice he hadn't heard in three years.
His lips trembled.
"Eleanor?""
The sound was rough and unfamiliar, like a man waking from a long nightmare.
I covered my mouth.
"Oh, my God.""
Dominic looked at me.
He could hear me crying.
He could hear the tiny, frightened noises Marcus made as he stepped closer.
He could hear the entire world.
And then his eyes fell on the object in our son's hand.
The device had a narrow black casing, a microscopic metallic frame, and a small indicator light that continued blinking.
Dominic took it carefully.
He turned it over.
His expression became increasingly disturbed.
"What is this?""
His voice was hoarse.
I had never heard him speak that way.
"Dominic, I don't know.""
He looked at the device again.
Then his eyes shifted toward the glass doors.
Victor stood in the doorway.
He was holding a silver serving tray.
His face had drained of color.
Dominic slowly pushed himself out of the chair.
"Victor.""
The tray slipped from Victor's hands.
It crashed against the marble floor, sending silverware scattering across the room.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Victor turned and ran.
"STOP!"" Dominic shouted.
The sound of his voice startled everyone.
Marcus clapped his hands.
"Daddy talked!""
But Dominic was already moving.
I grabbed Marcus and pulled him behind me as Dominic rushed through the conservatory doors.
Victor disappeared down the service corridor.
Two security guards turned at the sound of the commotion.
"Mr. Hale?"" one called.
Dominic pointed down the hallway.
"Get him!""
The guards sprinted after Victor.
I remained frozen in the conservatory, holding Marcus against my chest.
My husband could hear.
After three years, he could actually hear.
But the expression on his face hadn't been happiness.
It had been recognition.
As though the object in his hand had confirmed something he had feared all along.
A moment later, Dominic returned.
His breathing was uneven.
"Where is he?"" I asked.
"Security has him.""
Dominic looked at the device.
"Who gave me this?""
I shook my head.
"I don't know.""
"Who maintained my medical equipment?""
"Victor.""
His jaw tightened.
"Who arranged my appointments?""
"Victor.""
"Who chose the specialists?""
I felt the room tilt.
"Victor.""
Dominic stared at me.
For several seconds, the only sound was Marcus rubbing his small hands against his father's trousers.
Then Dominic knelt in front of our son.
He looked directly into Marcus's eyes.
"Thank you.""
Marcus smiled.
"You're welcome, Daddy.""
Dominic reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace.
I turned away because I couldn't bear to watch them without crying.
Then Dominic stood and took my hand.
"Three years, Eleanor.""
I nodded.
"I know.""
"Three years of silence.""
His voice cracked.
I squeezed his fingers.
"We'll find out what happened.""
He looked toward the corridor.
"Yes.""
His expression hardened.
"We will.""
Ten minutes later, the head of security entered the conservatory.
"Mr. Hale, we have a problem.""
Dominic turned.
"What?""
"Mr. Strand is no longer on the premises.""
"What do you mean?""
"He escaped through the underground garage before our men reached the service exit.""
Dominic's face became expressionless.
Then the security chief placed something on the table.
A small black phone.
"We found this in his office.""
Dominic picked it up.
The screen was already unlocked.
A message appeared.
*PROJECT SILENCE: SUBJECT HAS RECOVERED. INITIATE CONTINGENCY.*
Underneath it was a photograph.
Dominic stared at it.
It showed him leaving the hospital three years earlier.
May you like
And standing beside him was a man I recognized immediately.
My father.
