Chapter 4 - The Poisoner's NestMy private study smelled of aged leather, pipe tobacco, and polished mahogany. It was my sanctuary, or so I had foolishly believed.
Julian, the senior investigator, and I walked into the room, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind us. I walked straight over to the built-in walnut bar against the far wall. The crystal decanter of scotch sat exactly where I had left it, catching the dim evening light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I picked up the crystal stopper and smelled the amber liquid inside. It smelled rich, smoky, and complex—completely normal.
"Don't drink it, Daniel," Julian warned, stepping closer. "If there's an organic alkaloid or a pharmaceutical sedative in there, smelling it might not trigger symptoms, but ingesting a single drop could be catastrophic."
"I have no intention of drinking it," I muttered, opening a sterile evidence bag one of the investigators handed me. I carefully poured a sample of the scotch into a glass vial, sealing it tightly. "Send this to an independent toxicology lab downtown. I want rush results by morning. No hospital connections—use our private corporate channels."
"Done," the investigator said, pocketing the vial.
"Now," Julian said, adjusting his cuffs. "Let’s go have a chat with Ms. Morrison. It’s time to see how strong her corporate resolve really is when she doesn't have a boardroom to hide behind."
We walked back out to the grand staircase, but before we could take our first step upward, a sharp, metallic crash echoed from the upper floor, followed by the muffled sound of shouting.
"Sir!" one of my security guards shouted from the second-floor landing. "She's trying to break through the drywall near the guest room vent! She's got a fireplace poker!"
My blood boiled. I didn't wait for Julian or the guards. I took the stairs three at a time, my shoes hammering against the carpeted steps until I reached the third-floor landing.
The heavy oak door of the guest room was splintered near the handle. Through the gap, I could see Kate’s wild, panicked face staring back out at me, her eyes bloodshot, her hair flying loose around her shoulders. She looked less like a grieving sister and more like a cornered, rabid animal.
"Daniel! You can't do this!" she screamed, slamming the fireplace poker against the wood again. "You owe me! I raised your brats! I kept this house running while you were out sleeping with your board members!"
"Open the door, Kate," I said, my voice cutting through her hysterics with absolute, terrifying calm. "The police are five minutes away. The toxicologists are already testing the scotch. And my daughter’s diary is sitting downstairs with fourteen months of your handwriting, your threats, and your abuse."
The poker stopped mid-swing.
Inside the room, the chaotic thumping instantly ceased. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Kate’s ragged, shallow breathing.
May you like
"You... you found the book," she whispered, her voice dropping from a manic shriek to a flat, chilling monotone.
"I found everything," I replied. "Open the door."
