The apartment smelled of stale air and chemical fumes. Dr. Julian Sterling lay slumped on the floor, his breathing shallow and ragged. The beaker on the nightstand was empty; he had taken a dose of his own formula to silence the pain of losing Maya and the guilt of taking Jaxson’s blood money.
The door clicked open. Jaxson Vane stepped inside, flanked by two large security guards. He looked down at the unconscious doctor with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a failed specimen.
“Sloppy,” Jaxson muttered, kicking a takeout box aside. “He’s becoming a liability.”
“Shall we call an ambulance, sir?” one of the guards asked.
“And have the press report that Vane Tech’s new medical director is a junkie?” Jaxson sneered, the “Shark” surfacing. “No. Get him to the private facility upstate. Confiscate his phone. No visitors.”
The guards lifted Julian’s limp body.
“He needs rest,” Jaxson said, checking his watch. “And silence. A long, long silence.”
Julian was carried out into the night, effectively erased from the board.