swapped his heart medication three weeks ago. I’ve been crushing digoxin into his morning ginger smoothies. It mimics a gradual cardiac decline. One day, very soon, he’ll just fall asleep in his armchair and not wake up. Then, we control the board. We own everything.”
Tony put a hand on my shoulder, but I couldn’t feel it. For four decades, this woman had prayed beside me, held my hand through surgical recoveries, and smiled at me across a thousand breakfast tables. And every single morning for the past month, she had looked me in the eye and handed me poison.
Then came the kill shot.
Harper sighed, leaning against the vanity. “God, Preston is so gullible. I swear, he gets it from his father.”
Eleanor offered a thin, cruel smile. “Richard?” she scoffed. “No. Preston isn’t Richard’s. He’s Marcus’s son.”
Reverend Marcus Thorne.