Chapter 5 - THE BITTER DROPS
The compound was emetine.
Dr. Marsh explained that it could come from preparations related to syrup of ipecac, an outdated medicine once used to induce vomiting.
The hospital had not stocked it in years.
Luke’s concentration suggested more than an accidental taste.
“Could two sips cause this?” I asked.
“Depending on the preparation, yes.”
“Could it kill him?”
Dr. Marsh paused before answering.
“It can affect the heart. He was fortunate.”
Fortunate.
The word felt obscene beside the monitor leads still irritating Luke’s skin.
Police searched the estate’s medicine cabinets and storage rooms.
They found no ipecac.
Madeline told Detective Cole she remembered keeping an old bottle when Brandon was a child but had discarded it decades ago.
The house manager denied taking the dropper from the gardener.
The gardener had photographed it first.
In the image, a faint red residue filled the glass tube.
The dropper disappeared after the house manager carried it inside.
Security footage from that section of the garden had been disabled for “privacy during the family event.”
Cameras covering the driveway and wine cellar worked perfectly.
Cameras near Luke did not.
The relatives’ accounts began to fracture.
Brandon’s cousin Julia admitted Luke had carried a small red cup earlier.
“Who gave it to him?”
“I assumed Anna did.”
“I wasn’t near the drinks.”
Julia looked toward her attorney.
“Madeline was standing at the table.”
“Did you see her hand him anything?”
“No.”
“Did you see Luke drink?”
“Yes.”
Another cousin remembered Madeline taking the cup afterward and pouring its contents into her own glass.
That explained why the tea appeared untouched.
She had replaced the poisoned portion with fresh tea before Luke approached with the cobbler.
No one had seen her add medicine.
The evidence remained circumstantial.
Madeline released a statement saying the emetic could have been placed in the cobbler batter by anyone, including me.
Laboratory analysis contradicted her.
The cake was clean.
Her spokesperson called the testing incomplete.
I drove to the estate despite Rachel’s instruction not to confront her.
That was my first serious mistake.
Reporters waited outside the gates.
The moment I stepped from my car, cameras rose.
Madeline appeared on the balcony above the front entrance.
“Go home, Anna.”
“You poisoned him.”
Her face remained calm.
“You need help.”
“You sent the anonymous letter before he collapsed.”
“You are frightening my neighbors.”
I moved toward the gate.
Security blocked me.
“You called him an animal. You said he wasn’t your grandson. Then he nearly died.”
Madeline touched the pearls at her throat.
“I said what the evidence showed.”
“What evidence?”
“The truth about your marriage.”
I shouted something I later regretted.
“If Luke’s heart had stopped, I would have killed you.”
The sentence reached every microphone.
By evening, the video appeared beside headlines describing a violent custody dispute.
Madeline’s attorney submitted it in the paternity case.
Rachel did not comfort me.
“You gave her exactly what she wanted.”
“I was angry.”
“You are allowed anger. You are not allowed to pretend public threats have no consequence.”
The family court ordered all contact through counsel and required psychological evaluations before either side could seek control over Luke’s trust interests.
May you like
I had handed Madeline a document she could not forge.
My own words.
