“Lock the door,” he ordered Maria quietly. “Don’t open it for anyone except me or the police.”
Downstairs, Victoria was giving instructions to event planners when Richard approached her with terrifying calm.
“It’s over,” he said.
She smiled. “What are you talking about?”
He threw the lab report onto the glass table. “I know about the formula. The sedative. And I have your voice planning my son’s death.”
The mask fell. Sirens wailed outside the estate gates. Claire tried to run. Security stopped her. As officers placed handcuffs on Victoria, she snapped. “He was a burden!” she screamed. “A crying reminder of your dead wife! I did it for us!”
Richard stepped closer, voice ice-cold. “My only mistake was letting you into this house.”
The arrests shook Palm Beach society. But it didn’t end there. From jail, Victoria attempted intimidation — anonymous threats toward Maria’s family. Photographs of her children. Messages warning her to retract her testimony.
Maria was afraid. But every time doubt crept in, she remembered Sebastian’s fragile body growing stronger each week. At trial, Maria testified calmly. No designer clothes. Just steady truth.
Guilty. Thirty years. No parole.
