Chapter 8 - HE WON’T REMEMBER BY MORNINGEverett found the medication organizer at six the next morning.
It was behind a stack of cookbooks in the pantry.
Lorraine swore she had never put it there.
Mrs. Keene swore the same.
Everett did not take the pills.
Instead, he placed the organizer into a plastic storage bag and drove to his physician’s office.
Dr. Aaron Patel had treated Everett for fifteen years.
He listened without interrupting.
When Everett finished, the doctor opened the organizer and compared each pill with Everett’s prescription list.
Most were correct.
Two were not.
Dr. Patel frowned.
“What are these?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me.”
The doctor photographed them.
“I don’t want to guess.”
“Could they make me confused?”
“I’m not going to speculate.”
“Could they make me sleepy?”
“I’m still not going to speculate.”
Everett almost smiled.
“Fine.”
Dr. Patel sealed the pills separately.
“We’ll identify them through the pharmacy and lab.”
“How long?”
“I can get a preliminary answer today.”
Everett nodded.
“Until then?”
“Do not take anything from that organizer.”
He wrote out a fresh list.
“I also want bloodwork.”
“For what?”
“To establish whether you’ve been exposed to anything unusual recently.”
Everett stared at him.
“You believe me.”
Dr. Patel looked annoyed.
“I believe you found unidentified medication mixed into your prescription organizer. That’s enough.”
Those words steadied Everett more than sympathy would have.
Facts.
Not fear.
Not family impressions.
Facts.
By afternoon, the pharmacy confirmed one of the pills was a prescription sedative not prescribed to Everett.
The second was an over-the-counter sleep aid.
Dr. Patel called personally.
“Neither belongs in your regimen.”
Everett stood by the window in his study.
“Could they affect memory?”
“Yes. Especially combined with alcohol or certain medications.”
“How seriously?”
“Drowsiness, poor concentration, confusion, impaired recall. It depends on dose.”
Everett closed his eyes.
The birthday champagne.
Celia offering him a glass.
The cognitive papers.
The bird saying before he signs.
He felt cold.
“Can you tell how often I took them?”
“No.”
“Can bloodwork?”
“Possibly recent exposure. Not weeks of history.”
“Document everything.”
“I already am.”
Everett hung up.
He did not call Preston.
He did not call Lorraine.
Instead, he called his attorney.
Then security.
Then Samuel.
By six, three things were in motion.
A forensic accounting review.
A preservation request for all security footage.
And a private legal review of every document in the birthday folder.
At seven, Celia appeared in the study doorway.
“Dinner.”
Everett looked up.
“I’m not hungry.”
She lingered.
“You should eat.”
He studied her.
“You’re unusually concerned about my health.”
Her expression tightened.
“I’ve always been concerned.”
“Have you?”
She folded her arms.
“I know you think I’m some kind of villain now.”
“I haven’t said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
Everett leaned back.
“Celia, why were you upstairs at 1:17 in the morning?”
“I told you.”
“Linen.”
“Yes.”
“Security footage is missing.”
She blinked.
“Then ask security.”
“I did.”
She looked toward the door.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“The truth.”
“I’ve given it to you.”
Everett nodded.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
She left.
Ten minutes later Preston called.
“Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Celia says you’re interrogating her.”
“I asked a question.”
“She feels attacked.”
“Did she tell you why she was upstairs at 1:17?”
“She was getting linen.”
“Do you believe that?”
Silence.
Everett listened.
Finally Preston said, “I don’t know.”
That was new.
“Come tomorrow morning,” Everett said.
“Why?”
“Because you need to hear something.”
“What?”
“In person.”
Preston exhaled.
“Dad, I have a meeting.”
“Cancel it.”
“I can’t just—”
“Then don’t come.”
Everett hung up.
He turned toward the open doorway.
Onyx sat in the hall.
The parrot looked at him.
Everett walked closer.
“What else did you hear, old friend?”
Onyx said nothing.
Everett smiled sadly.
“Of course.”
Then the bird rocked once.
In a low voice, he said:
“Put it in his drink.”
Everett stopped breathing.
Onyx repeated:
“Put it in his drink.”
A pause.
Then:
“He won’t remember by morning.”
Everett gripped his cane.
He did not know who had said those words.
He did not know when.
He did not know whether they referred to him.
But for the first time, he understood why the missing medication mattered.
This was no longer an argument about succession.
Someone had tried to manipulate his state of mind.
May you like
And if Onyx was repeating the conversation accurately—
someone had discussed doing it deliberately.
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