Chapter 5 - The Pink MedicineMaribel did not sleep.
By sunrise, anger had replaced exhaustion.
She sat at Luke's sister's kitchen table with a notebook, writing down everything Elodie remembered.
Not interrogating.
Not pushing.
Just listening.
“What does the bottle look like?”
“Small.”
“What color?”
“Brown.”
“Label?”
Elodie shook her head.
“Grandma peeled it off.”
Luke swore quietly.
Maribel looked at him.
“Not in front of her.”
“Sorry.”
Elodie continued.
“Grandma says it helps Jonah nap.”
“Did she ever give it to you?”
“No.”
“Did Uncle Damian?”
Elodie hesitated.
“Once.”
Maribel's pen stopped.
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
The day Constance wasn't home.
The day Damian searched the room.
The day the camera went dark.
“What happened?”
“Jonah was crying.”
“And?”
“Uncle Damian got mad.”
“Did he hit him?”
“No.”
Elodie answered quickly.
“He said he wasn't doing what Grandma does.”
Luke and Maribel exchanged a look.
Damian knew.
Not only about the medication.
About Constance's behavior.
“What did he do?”
“He put some medicine in Jonah's cup.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“He said Grandma told him how much.”
Maribel's stomach turned.
Damian's earlier message:
I won't touch the kids.
Constance:
You're already involved.
It wasn't abstract.
He had participated.
Maybe reluctantly.
Maybe not.
The effect on Jonah was the same.
Luke paced.
“We go to police now.”
“They already know.”
“Not enough.”
Maribel looked at him.
“Luke.”
“He drugged our son.”
“Lower your voice.”
“He drugged—”
“I know!”
Elodie flinched.
Both adults stopped.
Maribel closed her eyes.
This was how Constance won.
Chaos.
Adults shouting.
Children learning silence kept rooms safer.
Maribel took a breath.
“Ellie, I'm sorry.”
Her daughter nodded.
Luke sat beside her.
“Me too.”
A detective arrived that morning.
Renee Calder.
Forty-something.
Direct.
No fake warmth.
Maribel liked her immediately.
Calder took Elodie's account with a child specialist present.
Then spoke privately with Maribel and Luke.
“Constance has retained counsel.”
“Of course,” Luke said.
“She denies intentionally harming either child.”
Maribel laughed.
“I watched her slap my baby.”
“She claims she reacted impulsively.”
“And the medication?”
“Claims she occasionally used an over-the-counter sleep aid based on advice from a friend.”
Maribel's face tightened.
“For a one-year-old?”
Calder nodded.
“She may have just created a serious problem for herself.”
“What about Damian?”
“He denies entering last night.”
“The Tuesday entry?”
“He admits that.”
“The camera?”
“Denies.”
“The medicine?”
“Denies.”
Luke leaned forward.
“The blood on our door?”
“Lab.”
“The prepaid phone?”
“Working warrants.”
Maribel hated warrants.
Procedures.
Time.
Constance and Damian had used the children's home like a stage for weeks.
Now every answer required paperwork.
Calder looked at Maribel.
“I need to ask something difficult.”
“Do it.”
“Your separation from Luke.”
Luke looked away.
Calder continued.
“Did Constance encourage it?”
Maribel swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Did Damian?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That Luke was unstable.”
“Any financial reason they'd want him out of the home?”
Maribel frowned.
“No.”
Luke looked at her.
“Maybe.”
She turned.
“What?”
Luke hesitated.
“Your dad's estate.”
Maribel felt irritation.
“Again?”
“Raymond left you the house.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He left something to the children.”
Maribel stared.
“What?”
Luke reached for his phone.
“I looked after that note he gave me.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn't find much.”
“What did you find?”
“A trust reference.”
Maribel's stomach tightened.
“What trust?”
“Raymond created one six months before he died.”
“For Elodie and Jonah?”
“Jonah wasn't born yet.”
That stopped her.
Jonah was one.
Raymond died two years ago.
So the trust couldn't have named Jonah unless updated later.
Luke continued.
“Originally it named Elodie and any future grandchildren.”
“Amount?”
“I don't know.”
“Who controlled it?”
“Raymond while alive.”
“After?”
Luke looked at her.
“You.”
Maribel stared.
“That makes no sense. I never signed anything.”
“You didn't need to. You were successor trustee.”
“Then why haven't I heard about it?”
“That is the question.”
Calder leaned in.
“Who handled your father's estate?”
Maribel answered without thinking.
“Damian.”
Silence.
Her brother was a financial consultant.
Constance insisted family should handle family.
Raymond's attorney died shortly after him from natural causes.
Damian managed the paperwork.
Maribel had been grieving.
Pregnant with Jonah.
Fighting with Luke.
She signed what Damian put in front of her.
“What did I sign?”
Luke's face tightened.
“I think you signed a temporary delegation giving Damian administrative authority.”
Maribel's chest went cold.
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
Calder asked,
“Can you get copies?”
“Yes.”
Maribel called the estate firm.
No answer yet.
Then Luke said,
“Why would they want me gone?”
Maribel understood before he finished.
Luke had always asked questions.
About Raymond's finances.
About Constance's spending.
About why Damian seemed to know everything before Maribel did.
Constance called him controlling.
Damian called him paranoid.
Maribel believed them.
If Luke was gone, nobody watched the people watching her.
Calder's phone buzzed.
She read.
Then looked up.
“We got preliminary carrier data on the prepaid phone.”
Maribel held her breath.
“D is Damian.”
No surprise.
Still painful.
Calder continued.
“And there is another number in the deleted-contact recovery.”
“Who?”
“We don't know yet.”
“What initials?”
“No initials.”
She turned the screen.
The contact was saved under one word.
LAWYER.
Maribel stared.
“My father's lawyer is dead.”
Calder nodded.
“Then apparently someone else was helping your mother and brother.”
Luke looked at Maribel.
May you like
The family conspiracy had just grown.
And somewhere inside Raymond's old music box was something they were willing to search a child's bedroom for, drug a baby around, and tear a marriage apart to recover.
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