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VIRAL FACEBOOK SENSATION: "THE RICH MAN APOLOGIZED TO THE BEGGAR BOY AFTER UNPLUGGING HIS DYING DAUGHTER—WHAT HAPPENED NEXT SHOCKED THE WORLD!" / Chapter 3 / 8

Chapter 3 - The Secret Poison

At 2:00 AM, the hospital was dead silent.

Rebecca was asleep on the small cot in the adjoining room, her breathing deep and even. Robert stood up from his armchair. He looked at Lily, then walked out of the room, telling the guard at the door he was going to get a cup of coffee.

Instead, Robert took the elevator down to the basement parking garage, where his private driver was waiting.

"Drive to my house," Robert commanded. "Now."

Thirty minutes later, Robert was standing in Lily’s preserved bedroom. It smelled of lavender and old books. He walked over to her desk, where her pink school backpack sat exactly where she had left it three months ago.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he unzipped the main compartment. He searched the front pocket. Nothing. The side pockets. Nothing.

Then, he felt the lining of the bottom of the bag. There was a small, intentional tear in the fabric. Robert slid his fingers inside and felt something hard and cylindrical.

He pulled it out.

It was a small, amber glass vial with no label. Inside were half a dozen small, white, unmarked tablets.

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The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, a rising shriek that cut through the rainy night like a knife. I didn't wait for them. I held Arianne against my chest, feeling the terrifyingly erratic rhythm of her pulse, and bolted down the grand mahogany staircase.

The ambulance siren wailed in the distance, a rising shriek that cut thr...

The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind me, sealing in the scent of expensive cologne, manufactured corporate harmony, and betrayal. As I stepped back onto the sun-baked tarmac of the private aviation terminal, the stifling afternoon heat hit me like a physical blow. Behind the thick, tinted glass of the jet's windows, I could see Carter’s silhouette—his jaw set in that familiar, arrogant angle of a man who believed he had just successfully disciplined a disobedient pet.

The heavy cabin door hissed shut behind me, sealing in the scent of expe...

Warren Voss stepped out from the shadow of the mahogany foyer, his silk robe catching the ambient light of the crystal chandelier. His expression carried the lazy, casual irritation of a man whose evening had been mildly inconvenienced by a stray dog, not the towering gravity of a situation where an old farmer stood on his porch holding a notched aluminum bat.

Warren Voss stepped out from the shadow of the mahogany foyer, his silk...

Robert's breath hitched. He immediately took out his phone and dialed a private number.

"Marcus," Robert said when his personal investigator answered on the second ring. "I need you to contact Dr. Aris Thorne. He’s the head of toxicology at Harvard. Tell him I’m coming to his private lab right now, and I’m paying him one million dollars to analyze a pill. It has to be done tonight. No paper trail. No one can know."

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