Chapter 4 - The Poisoner’s Alibi
"Mr. Moretti?" I stepped forward, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What did they say?"
Vincent didn't answer. He looked like a man who had just been struck by a physical blow. His eyes drifted slowly from the shattered phone on the floor up to Dr. Harrison Blake, who stood by the doorway with his hands calmly folded in front of his tailored slacks.
"The blood," Vincent finally managed to speak, his voice a hollow, shattered whisper. "It wasn't an autoimmune deficiency. It wasn't chronic fatigue."
"No, Mr. Moretti," Dr. Blake interrupted, his tone chillingly polite. "It never was."
"Tetrodotoxin derivatives," Vincent snarled, a sudden, primal rage erupting from him as he lunged across the room, grabbing Dr. Blake by the collar of his silk shirt and slamming him hard against the bedroom wall. "Low-dose neurotoxins mixed with synthetic barbiturates! Administered in micro-doses every single night through the air supply! You were slowly paralyzing my sons!"
Dr. Blake didn't fight back. He didn't even look scared. He simply stared down at Vincent’s clenched fists with an expression of profound, sickening pity.
"You can break my nose, Vincent," Dr. Blake said calmly. "You can throw me out of this mansion, and you can even call the police. But within twenty-four hours, my legal team will present a federal judge with your signed institutional guardianship transfer documents."
Vincent froze, his grip loosening slightly on the doctor's shirt. "My what?"
"Your guardianship transfer," Blake repeated, adjusting his collar the second Vincent let go. "When Isabella died four years ago, her estate wasn't settled under standard New York probate law. Her family—the Sterling Trust—retained medical and developmental custody rights over the twins in the event of a neurological regression."
My blood ran cold. The Sterling Trust.
"Isabella's family," I whispered, the pieces suddenly clicking together in a terrifying puzzle. "They didn't die in the accident. Her family... they're behind this."
"Smart girl," Dr. Blake smiled, stepping away from the wall and brushing off his sleeves. "Isabella tried to take the boys and leave the Moretti empire three weeks before her car crash. She realized that marrying a ruthless real estate mogul meant raising her children inside a gilded cage. But accidents happen on wet mountain roads, Miss Morgan. Tragic, sudden accidents."
Vincent stared at him, horror dawning in his eyes. "You... you killed Isabella."
"I certified the autopsy," Dr. Blake corrected smoothly. "Just as I was certifying the slow, natural decline of your precious twins. You see, Vincent, if Lucas and Leo had reached their eighth birthday, the primary controlling shares of Moretti Holdings would have legally reverted to an independent trust controlled by Isabella's bloodline—not you. But if both boys unfortunately passed away from an 'undiagnosed degenerative neurological disorder' before then... well, the entire empire reverts back to the Sterling family trust, represented by your beloved late wife's grieving relatives."
The room spun. Three million dollars spent on specialists, hospitals, and clinics—and every single one of those medical institutions had been hand-picked, funded, and funneled through the Sterling Trust’s subsidiary medical networks.
Dr. Blake wasn't just a corrupt doctor. He was an executioner working on a corporate payroll.
"Guards!" Vincent roared, turning to the tactical officers by the door. "Arrest him! Take him down to the basement vault and lock him in!"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Moretti," a cold, metallic voice echoed from the hallway intercom speaker.
We all spun around.
The security monitor mounted near the bedroom door flickered to life. On the screen, the front gates of the Connecticut estate were surrounded by three black SUVs. Men in uniform tactical gear were pouring out across the perfectly manicured lawn, weapons drawn, bypassing the estate's automated security grid with administrative master override codes.
May you like
"Federal marshals?" Vincent gasped.
"No, Mr. Moretti," Dr. Blake smiled, walking leisurely toward the bedroom door as the tactical team parted to let him pass. "That is the Sterling private security detail executing a court-ordered emergency extraction of the children under suspicion of child endangerment and medical neglect—fostered by your unstable new nanny."
