My Paralyzed Son Collapsed at JFK Airport and a Poor 7-Year-Old Saved Him — Leading Me to My Wife's Betrayal Within Our Syndicate
The Geller & Sons office was housed in a non-descript building near the Brooklyn docks. Not flashy, but solid, like everything Raymon Geller involved himself with. I stormed inside, my bodyguards fanning out behind me.
Raymon looked up from his desk, a stack of inspection reports in front of him. His round face usually held a jovial expression, but today it tightened as he saw me.
“Dominic? What a surprise,” he stammered, his eyes darting to my men.
I slammed the small brass plate Mia had given me onto his desk. “This was found near my son’s wheelchair at JFK. Near his oxygen rig.”
Raymon picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. He actually looked shocked. “My company’s plate. What… what does this mean?”
“It means,” I growled, leaning over his desk, “that you or someone from your company was near my son’s chair. His oxygen line was tampered with.”
Raymon put the plate down, holding his hands up. “Dominic, I swear, I had nothing to do with it. My team and I follow strict protocol. Every piece of equipment that goes through our hands gets a full diagnostic check.”
He cleared his throat. “Especially for someone of Julian’s importance. We had a ‘Priority One’ protocol check, just yesterday morning, before your flight.”
“A ‘Priority One’ check?” I repeated, my voice flat.
He nodded, already pulling up digital records on his computer. “Yes. It specifically states that the oxygen system was functional and secure. We have a signed and notarized certification right here.”
My bodyguards swept his office, overturning files, checking every drawer. They found nothing. No rogue tools, no suspicious paperwork. Raymon’s confidence seemed to grow with every empty drawer.
“It’s all standard procedure, Dominic,” he insisted. “You know how these things go. The ‘Priority One’ check is always performed by a certified technician, cross-referenced with airport security. It’s supposed to be foolproof.”
But I knew the truth about those “foolproof” checks. They were often faked, a rubber stamp for quick passage, especially for syndicate equipment that needed to bypass real scrutiny. Raymon was too good at manipulating the system for me to believe his innocence. He had a way of making everything look legitimate, even when it wasn’t.
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