Chapter 5 - THE PRESCRIPTION BOTTLE
Beatrice’s breathing became ragged.
“You owe my family!” she screamed, dropping the composed billionaire-wife act entirely. “Your father took Arthur away, but he left us with nothing! We grew up in poverty while you lived in this palace! Arthur deserved half of everything!”
“Arthur’s father was an abusive drunk,” Margaret countered fiercely. “I tried to get him back, but the courts wouldn’t listen to a single mother in those days. When I married your father, Julian, I hired private investigators. But they hid from me.”
Julian looked at Beatrice. The betrayal in his eyes was absolute.
“So there was no locksmith today,” Julian said.
“She didn’t need one,” I interjected, stepping forward.
Both of them looked at me.
“Last week, I was doing the laundry,” I said, looking directly at Julian. “I found a receipt in Mrs. Beatrice’s coat pocket. It was for a custom brass molding kit. She didn’t pick the lock, sir. She made a copy of the silver key.”
Beatrice lunged at me.
She didn’t make it halfway.
Julian caught her by the shoulders and shoved her hard against the wall.
“Don’t you touch her,” Julian growled.
He pinned Beatrice with a glare that could have frozen water.
“Where is the will, Beatrice?”
“I burned it!” she laughed frantically. “In the fireplace in the study! It’s gone, Julian! You have no proof of anything! It’s your word against mine, and I’m your legal wife. Half this estate is mine!”
“Not if you’re convicted of a felony,” Julian replied calmly.
He reached into his suit jacket.
He pulled out a small, amber prescription bottle.
The label was torn off.
Beatrice stopped laughing.
“Clara brought this to me three days ago,” Julian said. “She found it hidden in your bathroom vanity.”
My heart pounded. I had given it to Julian in secret, terrified of what would happen if I was wrong.
“I had it tested,” Julian continued. “It’s a heavy sedative. The kind used in psychiatric wards. Not something prescribed for a headache.”
He looked down at his mother, guilt washing over his face.
“You weren’t losing your memory, Mom. You were being poisoned. Slowly. Just enough to make you seem confused. Just enough to make the doctors think you had dementia.”
Margaret closed her eyes, letting out a breath she seemed to have been holding for months.
“Attempted murder,” Julian said softly to Beatrice. “Insurance fraud. Forgery. I’d say that nullifies any pre-nuptial agreement.”
Beatrice’s eyes darted wildly around the room. She was trapped.
May you like
Then, she looked at the heavy wooden front doors.
She shoved Julian backward with all her strength and bolted.
