Chapter 6 - The Toxicology Report
The word hung in the damp night air like a shroud, suffocating every sound from the surrounding estate. The fountain’s gentle splash sounded distant and hollow, while the flashing red and blue lights of the newly arrived federal cruisers painted the stone terrace in erratic, dizzying strokes. Clara stared at the document in the investigator’s hand, her chest heaving as the weight of the revelation crashed down upon her. Her prominent baby bump rose and fell with her ragged breathing, and for a terrifying second, her knees buckled beneath her.
"No," Clara whispered, her voice a hollow echo of denial as she gripped Marcus’s forearm with bone-crushing force.
"That’s impossible. The coroner’s report from the hospital stated cardiac arrest. My father had a weak heart for a decade."
The investigator didn't blink. He calmly turned the second page of the file, exposing a detailed chemical breakdown and a signature at the bottom that made Julian’s blood run completely cold.
"The initial autopsy was supervised by a private medical examiner on retainer for Wellington Holdings," the investigator stated evenly.
"A medical examiner whose entire practice was funded by an offshore account registered under Julian’s personal tax ID."
Elena let out a sharp, hysterical sob, her hands flying to her face as she slid down the stone pillar until she was sitting in a crumpled heap on the pavement, her high-slit emerald gown pooling around her knees.
"We didn't do it," Elena sobbed, rocking back and forth.
"We wanted the money, yes, but nobody planned on murder! Julian, tell them! Tell them you didn't touch his medication!"
Julian stood paralyzed, his eyes fixed on the signature at the bottom of the forged medical report. It was his signature. Not a forgery, but his own hand, written in black ink on a rainy Tuesday afternoon three weeks before the old man’s sudden collapse. He remembered signing a release form for emergency medical supplies, or at least that was what Arthur had told him it was. He slowly turned his head to look at Arthur, whose face remained an unreadable mask of cold granite.
"Arthur," Julian whispered, a desperate, pathetic plea dripping from his lips.
"You told me that document was a liability waiver for the estate’s property transfer. You handed it to me yourself!"
Arthur stepped forward, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the stone. He looked down at Julian with an expression of profound, chilling pity.
"I handed you a standard liability release, Julian," Arthur corrected, his voice dangerously soft.
"You were the one who substituted the attachment pages in the solicitor’s office while I was taking a call from the board. Don't try to shift the blame for your own greed onto the firm."
Marcus stepped in front of Clara, shielding her from the horrifying spectacle while his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he stared directly at Arthur.
"Enough of the theater," Marcus snarled, his voice vibrating with suppressed rage.
"If Arthur knew about the neurotoxin and Julian signed the waiver, that means the entire board approved the acquisition of the estate over a dead man's body. Which means you're all accessories."
The lead investigator slowly closed his leather briefcase, the metal latches snapping shut with a definitive, chilling click.
"Nobody is leaving this property," the investigator announced, raising his hand to signal the perimeter agents.
May you like
"And before anyone else speaks, you should all be aware that the security cameras in the old man's bedroom were never actually disabled."
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