THE DARKNESS WE FED

The truth hit Mark like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. He leaned against the lab table, his knuckles turning white. It wasn't an unfortunate illness. It wasn't genetic bad luck. It was cold, calculated malice executed in the comfort of their own kitchen.

"Why would anyone do this?" Nathan whispered, his hands trembling over the report. "This compound isn't available commercially. It requires high-level chemical synthesis."

"Elena's estate trust," Mark said, his voice hollow as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. "My wife set up a contingency fund. If Lily developed a permanent, debilitating disability before turning seven, the entire estate—twelve million dollars—would be managed under the absolute discretion of a court-appointed primary guardian. And Clara is named as the alternative trustee if I am deemed unfit or overwhelmed."

"You need to call the police right now, Mark."

"No," Mark said sharply, lifting his head. "Clara’s father was a federal appellate judge, and her lawyer is the best in the state. If I go in with a home-brewed tea sample and no direct chain of custody, she’ll claim I contaminated it myself. She’ll file an emergency injunction, claim I’m having a psychotic break from grief, and take custody of Lily tonight."

Mark took the printed report and folded it into his coat. "I need undeniable proof of the source. I need to catch whoever is manufacturing it."

Forty-five minutes later, Mark was back in his neighborhood. He didn't pull into his driveway; instead, he parked two streets away and walked through the foggy shadows of the alleyway behind his house.

A slight rustle came from beneath a blue tarp stacked over old wooden pallets.

"I told you," a raspy voice whispered from the darkness.