I was having dinner at an upscale restaurant with my daughter and her husband. After they left, the waiter leaned down and whispered something that made me freeze in my seat.

Nora took the seat beside me, her posture crisp and impeccably professional. “Marian Miller asked that we meet today,” she said evenly, “to review certain amendments to the financial arrangements.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up for a split second. “Thirty million?” she cut in before Nora could finish. “Mom, don’t you think that’s excessive?”

I lifted a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “There’s been a development,” I replied calmly. “I’ve had time to reflect. When you come this close to the end, you start to see what truly matters.”

The room fell into a thick, unsettling silence. “What are you saying, Mom?” Rachel forced a small laugh. “You look perfectly fine.”

Without answering, I opened my handbag, removed a folded document, and placed it in the center of the table, sliding it toward them. “Do either of you recognize this?” I asked quietly.

Rachel stared at it but didn’t touch it. Derek remained rigid in his seat.

“It’s a toxicology report,” I went on, my tone detached. “An analysis of the cranberry juice I drank two nights ago. The results are… interesting. Propranolol. A dose that could have killed someone with my heart condition.”

All the color drained from Rachel’s face. Sweat broke across Derek’s brow. “Mom, I don’t understand what you’re implying,” Rachel whispered. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

“Funny?” I echoed. “No. What’s not funny is the mountain of debt you’re buried under. Or the fact that you tried to poison me so you could claim your inheritance before I ‘squandered’ it on charity.”

Derek shifted in his chair as if to stand, but Nora stopped him with one sharp movement of her hand. “I strongly advise you to remain seated,” she said coldly.

Rachel burst into tears, dramatic and perfectly staged. “Mom, I swear I’d never do something like that! Never!”

Once, I might have believed her. But I had Victor’s testimony. And the lab results. “Rachel,” I said softly, my voice cracking for the first time, “the waiter saw you. He watched you slip something into my glass while I was taking a call.”

The silence afterward was unbearable. Derek turned to Rachel. Her tears stopped instantly. What replaced them was no fear—only calculation.

“This is absurd,” Derek snapped. “You’re accusing us based on one waiter and a piece of paper that could be forged.”

Nora’s lips curved into a thin, icy smile. “Which is precisely why we invited another participant,” she said, tapping her phone. Moments later, the door opened and a tall, stern-looking man stepped inside.

“This is Martin Miller,” Nora introduced. “Former detective, now private consultant. He’s spent the last two days investigating you both.” Panic finally flared, raw and unmistakable, in Rachel’s eyes. “He discovered that Derek researched the lethal effects of propranolol. That Rachel purchased it under an alias at an out-of-town pharmacy. And that together, you owe more than two million dollars to individuals who do not appreciate delays in repayment.”

Rachel’s shoulders sagged. “What… what do you want from us?” she asked quietly.

“I want to understand how my own child reached a point where money outweighed blood,” I said, sorrow washing through me. “How everything I believed I taught you was abandoned for greed.”

Rachel raised her eyes to meet mine. There was no fear left in them—only a chilling detachment. “You want the truth?” she said flatly. “You loved your empire more than you ever loved me. After Dad died, you disappeared into your work. You promised it would all be mine, then decided to give it away to strangers.”

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