Chapter 6 - The Poison in the Teacup
Dr. Harrison looked like he was about to throw up.
The rain beat down upon his thinning gray hair, plastering it against his forehead as he stared at me in total, absolute horror.
“The... the Steinway?” he whispered, his lower lip trembling violently. “No... she didn't... she was delirious... she didn't write anything down...”
“She wrote down every date, Dr. Harrison,” I said, taking another step forward, using every ounce of courage I possessed to keep my voice from shaking. “Every dose of Thallium sulfate. Every time Julian brought the cup into her room. And she gave the Toronto toxicology reports to Nathaniel’s lawyers thirty minutes ago.”
“It wasn't my idea!” Dr. Harrison suddenly shrieked, collapsing against the hood of his Mercedes, his hands clutching his chest as if he were having a heart attack. “Julian threatened my license! He had photos of my gambling debts in Macao! He said if I didn't sign the death certificate as a natural heart arrest, he’d have my sons ruined!”
I pulled my phone out of my sweater pocket. The screen was glowing.
I hadn't just stepped out to confront him—I had started an encrypted voice call with Nathaniel’s security desk the moment I left the third floor.
“Did you supply the poison, Harrison?” a deep, thunderous voice roared from the darkness behind the archway.
Dr. Harrison gasped, spinning around.
Nathaniel stepped out from the shadows of the courtyard, accompanied by four heavily armed private security guards wearing dark tactical vests.
Nathaniel didn't look like a grieving widower anymore. He looked like an executioner.
“Nathaniel!” Harrison sobbed, dropping to his knees on the wet cobblestones, pulling at his own hair in desperate terror. “Please! Please, Nathaniel! I’ll testify against Julian! I’ll give you everything! The bank transfers, the emails, the chemical orders from Germany! Just don't kill me!”
Nathaniel stopped two feet from the weeping doctor, looking down at him with utter disgust.
“Where is Julian right now?” Nathaniel asked, his voice deathly quiet.
“He... he’s still in the library!” Harrison rasped, pointing a frantic, trembling finger toward the main house. “He brought a bottle of Scotch! He’s... he’s going to pour you a drink to celebrate the new shareholder agreement!”
My blood turned to liquid ice.
“Nathaniel,” I gasped, grabbing his arm. “The Scotch.”
Julian wasn't just here to sign papers. He knew the net was closing in around him, or he wanted to finish what he started two years ago. He was going to poison Nathaniel tonight!
Nathaniel turned to his chief of security, a broad-shouldered man named Vance. “Take Harrison to the holding room in the sub-basement. Fasten him to a steel chair. If he tries to speak, choke him.”
“Understood, Mr. Reed,” Vance barked, grabbing Harrison by his trench coat collar and dragging the wailing doctor away into the rain.
Nathaniel turned to me. His eyes were wide, dark, and burning with a terrifying mix of gratitude and lethal intent.
“You caught the doctor, Clara,” he whispered, his hand gently cupping the back of my neck for a brief, intense second. “You just saved my life.”
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“Now go save your son’s future,” I whispered back.
Nathaniel nodded once, unbuttoned his collar, pulled a heavy steel tactical pocketknife from his belt, and walked swiftly back toward the main house entrance.
