Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Elena
I crossed the marble floor in long, deliberate strides. Before Julian could even lift his glass, I slammed my hand onto his shoulder, pinning him to the velvet seat.
"Dominic?" Julian gasped, his eyes widening in shock. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Sweet tobacco, Julian," I growled, leaning down until my breath touched his ear. "You were in the west wing twenty minutes before the cake was brought out."
"I was checking the sound system for the band!" Julian insisted, his hand shaking so violently that scotch spilled over his knuckles. "Dominic, look at me! I raised Ethan with you! I loved Elena like a sister! Why would I poison her son?"
"Because Ethan turns eight today," a cold voice interrupted from the edge of the room.
It was Dr. Harris. He walked toward us holding a yellowed medical folder he had pulled from his emergency bag.
"What is that, Doctor?" I demanded.
Dr. Harris swallowed hard, looking terrified. "Seven years ago, when your wife Elena died, the official cause was listed as sudden cardiac arrest. But I conducted her private autopsy, Dominic. I was forced to forge the report."
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The entire room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "What are you saying?"
"Elena didn't die of heart failure," Dr. Harris whispered. "She was poisoned with the exact same refined toxin found on Ethan's cake tonight. And the order to hide the report came from inside your own bloodline."
