Vivian’s hand tightened on her cane until her knuckles turned white.

For a second, the formidable mask of the Thornton matriarch slipped, revealing a tired, aging woman.

“Dr. Harrison has been our family physician for twenty years,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual certainty.

“Dr. Harrison has a gambling debt in Macau that was paid off three months ago,” I said. “The transaction came from a shell company registered in Delaware.”

I had spent the last three hours before dinner digging through the financial files I found in Jason’s study.

“I found the bank routing numbers in Jason’s desk,” I added.

Vivian leaned forward, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the envelope.

She pulled out the photocopied charts, her eyes scanning the columns of chemical names and dosage times.

The room was silent except for the wind howling against the stone exterior of the mansion.

“This is treason,” she whispered, her voice cold and sharp as glass.

“It is attempted murder,” I corrected her.

Vivian looked up at me, her expression hardening once more.