I sat down.
“Exposure to what?”
“They’re running tests.”
For the first time since he entered our house with Leah, I forgot my anger.
Because suddenly, the story made no sense.
Three days later, Daniel called me.
“Claire, you need to come in.”
His voice was unusually tense.
“What happened?”
“We found something on the encrypted drive.”
The drive had contained copies of Rowan Meridian’s archived internal records.
Daniel’s forensic team discovered deleted medical reimbursement files dating back thirteen years.
One was connected to Evan.
Not fertility treatment.
Hospitalization.
He had been admitted for severe abdominal pain, vomiting, neurological symptoms, and temporary kidney dysfunction.
The diagnosis listed food poisoning.
But attached toxicology results had been removed from the
A technician recovered fragments from an old backup.
The substance identified was thallium.
A poisonous heavy metal.
I stared at Daniel.
“You think someone poisoned Evan?”
“Not once.”
He slid several pages toward me.
“Based on his medical history, possibly repeatedly.”
I felt sick.
“Who had access to him?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Back then?”
“Yes.”
“His mother. His father. Household staff.”
“And me.”
“You met him around that time.”
That sentence sat between us.
Then Daniel placed another document in front of me.
A payment record.
The medical laboratory that performed the toxicology screening received a large payment three weeks later.
From a private Rowan family trust.
Authorized by Margaret Rowan.
I drove directly to Margaret’s estate.
She was in the garden, trimming roses.
When she saw the papers in my hand, she didn’t look surprised.
That frightened me more than denial would have.
“You knew,” I said.
Sheplaced the shears down.
“About what?”
“The poisoning.”
Her face remained calm.
“Careful, Claire.”
“Did you poison your son?”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Margaret laughed softly.
“You really do think you’re clever.”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
Relief came too quickly.
Then she added:
“I didn’t poison Evan.”
I stared at her.
“But you knew someone did.”
She looked toward the house.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Margaret’s eyes returned to mine.
“Your father.”
