Chapter 2 - The Pills Were Not Rowan’sGenevieve called 911.
Not Callum.
Not her mother.
Not the family attorney.
Police.
An ambulance arrived eight minutes later.
Rowan insisted he had swallowed nothing.
Paramedics checked him anyway.
His pupils were normal.
Pulse elevated from fear.
No obvious symptoms.
Maribel was different.
She was disoriented.
Her blood pressure was low.
She had trouble remembering the previous forty minutes.
The paramedic asked:
“Did you take anything today?”
“No.”
“Prescription medication?”
“No.”
“Alcohol?”
“No.”
“Any chance someone gave you medication?”
Maribel looked at Rowan.
“He said Beatrice…”
Genevieve watched.
Maribel’s confusion felt real.
At the hospital, bloodwork answered part of the question.
A sedative was present in Maribel’s system.
Not enough to render her unconscious.
Enough to cause dizziness, impaired judgment, and short-term memory problems.
Genevieve sat beside Rowan in a waiting room while Detective Elise Morgan took notes.
“The pills from the floor appear consistent with the same medication.”
“Whose prescription?”
“We're checking.”
Genevieve already suspected.
Rowan had mentioned Beatrice’s blue bottle.
Her mother had taken medication for anxiety for years.
“Could someone have planted them?”
“Yes.”
“Could Maribel have taken them herself?”
“Yes.”
Genevieve looked toward the treatment room.
“I don't think she did.”
Detective Morgan watched her.
“Thirty minutes ago, you thought she attacked your son.”
“I know.”
“What changed?”
“The recorder.”
The detective had secured it.
Genevieve explained Everett.
The family.
The voice.
Callum.
“Did your father leave a will?”
“Yes.”
“Any disputes?”
Genevieve laughed softly.
“There are always disputes when a man dies owning half of Connecticut.”
Everett Ashford built Ashford Meridian, a private logistics and real-estate empire valued at over six hundred million dollars.
He left voting control divided among his three adult children.
Callum.
Genevieve.
And their younger sister, Laurel.
Beatrice received lifetime income but no direct voting authority.
At least that was what Genevieve believed.
“Who runs the company?”
“Callum.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Did your father intend that?”
“According to the final estate documents.”
Detective Morgan wrote.
“You sound doubtful.”
“I wasn’t until today.”
Rowan sat quietly beside Genevieve.
Then said:
“Grandpa didn’t like Uncle Callum yelling.”
Genevieve looked at him.
“When did you hear Callum yell at Grandpa?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were six when Grandpa died.”
“I remember.”
“What did he say?”
Rowan thought.
“Something about numbers.”
Genevieve’s pulse shifted.
“What numbers?”
“Grandpa said, ‘You moved it without permission.’”
Detective Morgan looked up.
“Anything else?”
“Uncle Callum said Grandpa was confused.”
Genevieve felt cold.
Her father had been seventy-one.
Sharp.
Still working every day.
Callum had later told the family Everett became increasingly forgetful during his final months.
Genevieve had accepted it.
Now she wondered whether that story served another purpose.
A nurse entered.
“Ms. Ashford?”
“Yes?”
“Ms. Santos is asking for you.”
Genevieve left Rowan with the detective and went inside.
Maribel sat upright in bed.
She looked pale.
“I remember something.”
Genevieve waited.
“Your mother came into the study.”
“When?”
“Maybe around two.”
“What did she want?”
“She said she had a headache.”
Maribel frowned.
“No. I had a headache.”
“Which?”
“I…”
She rubbed her temple.
“She asked if I wanted tea.”
“Did you drink it?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I remember feeling tired.”
“What about Rowan?”
“We were working on fractions.”
“Why was he on the floor?”
Maribel closed her eyes.
“I remember him reaching for my bag.”
Genevieve’s chest tightened.
“Why?”
“He said he heard a noise.”
“The recorder.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know it was there?”
“No.”
“Who put it there?”
“I don't know.”
Maribel suddenly looked frightened.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“My car.”
“What about it?”
“I didn't bring that bag inside this morning.”
Genevieve stared.
“What?”
“I had a different tote.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“The brown laptop bag is mine, but I left it in my trunk.”
“Who had access?”
Maribel thought.
“The valet key was on the kitchen hook.”
At the Ashford estate, household staff and family members regularly moved cars.
Anyone could have opened Maribel’s trunk.
Genevieve asked:
“Did Beatrice go outside?”
“I don't know.”
Then Maribel remembered something else.
“Your brother came.”
“Callum?”
“Yes.”
Genevieve’s pulse accelerated.
“What time?”
“After lunch.”
“What did he do?”
“He said he needed to check the west office.”
“Did he talk to Rowan?”
“For a minute.”
“Did he talk to you?”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
Maribel’s face tightened.
“He asked how long I’d worked here.”
Genevieve frowned.
“Why?”
“I thought he was making conversation.”
“What exactly did he ask?”
“He said…”
Maribel looked embarrassed.
“‘Do you ever look through old things when Genevieve isn’t home?’”
Genevieve stared.
“That’s strange.”
“I said no.”
“Then?”
“He asked whether I’d ever been inside Everett’s study.”
Genevieve felt a chill.
Her father’s study had remained locked since his death.
Only family had keys.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did Callum?”
Maribel hesitated.
“He went upstairs.”
Toward Everett’s study.
Detective Morgan entered behind them.
She had heard enough.
“I need to ask something.”
Genevieve turned.
“What?”
“We identified the prescription on the pills.”
“Beatrice?”
The detective shook her head.
“No.”
Genevieve felt a strange relief.
Then Morgan continued.
“They were prescribed to Callum Ashford.”
Genevieve went still.
Her brother’s medication.
In Maribel’s system.
Scattered beside Rowan.
And the recorder warning Genevieve not to trust Callum had suddenly appeared in Maribel’s bag on the same day Callum visited the house.
Genevieve stared at the detective.
“Either my brother made a very stupid mistake…”
May you like
Morgan nodded.
“Or someone wants you to believe he did.”
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