Chapter 3: The Evidence Mounts
The bloodwork confirmed what I already knew.
Elevated thallium levels—not lethal yet, but climbing. In my previous life, another eight months of this would have destroyed my father's kidneys and liver, leaving him bedridden and vulnerable to the "business advisors" Nathan planted around him.
I stared at the lab results, my hand steady despite the fury roaring beneath my skin.
"Autumn?" My father sat on the exam table, reading my face. "That bad?"
I composed myself and turned to him with a carefully measured expression. "Dad, I found trace amounts of thallium in your blood."
The color drained from his face. "That's—that's a poison."
"Yes." I let the word hang. "Someone has been dosing you. Slowly, consistently, likely through something you consume daily."
His eyes darted—processing, calculating, the sharp businessman's mind churning behind the shock.
"Who has regular access to your food and drink?" I pressed gently, though I already knew.
"The housekeeper, Meredith when she visits—she always brings my evening tea..." He trailed off, and I watched the realization dawn like a wound opening.
"We need proof before we act," I said firmly. "I'll install cameras. And from today, you eat and drink nothing that hasn't been prepared by your own hand or mine."
He nodded, suddenly looking ten years older. "Meredith," he whispered. "My own niece."
"We don't know anything for certain yet," I lied. I knew everything. "But we need to be careful."
That afternoon, I returned to St. Catherine's Hospital for my shift. Walking through those double doors in my white coat felt like reclaiming a stolen identity.
In my previous life, I'd given this up—this skill, this purpose, this version of myself—because a man told me he was lonely.
Never again.
Between surgeries, Tessa slipped me a folder. "Aegis Holdings," she whispered. "You're not going to like this."
I already knew I wouldn't.
The documents showed it clearly: Aegis Holdings was a shell corporation set up eighteen months ago, with Nathan Cross as the hidden beneficiary. Its sole purpose was to receive transferred shares from Reed Pharmaceuticals—shares that my father would sign over "voluntarily" once he was too sick to manage his own affairs.
The legal architecture was Meredith's work. She'd graduated top of her class in corporate law before conveniently "leaving practice" to become my father's personal consultant.
A fox guarding the henhouse.
"There's more," Tessa said, her voice tight. "Aegis has a secondary account that funnels money into—"
Her pager shrieked. Trauma incoming. She squeezed my arm and dashed toward the ER.
I tucked the folder into my locker and scrubbed in for my next surgery.
That evening, Nathan picked me up from the hospital—a habit he maintained in the courtship phase. In my previous life, this would continue for exactly one month after the wedding before he claimed the drive was "too inconvenient."
"Long day?" He pressed a kiss to my temple as I slid into his car.
"Mm. Lost a patient on the table." A lie—my surgery had gone flawlessly—but I needed to test something.
His response in my previous life to any mention of my work stress was a dismissive subject change. Let's see.
"That's rough, baby." He squeezed my hand. "Want me to draw you a bath when we get home? You work too hard."
There it was—the redirect. Not "tell me what happened." Not "are you okay?" Just—*you work too hard.* Planting the seed early. Making overwork sound like a character flaw rather than dedication.
"Actually," I said, "I was thinking about cutting my hours after the wedding."
The satisfaction that flickered across his face lasted barely a heartbeat, but I caught it.
"Only if that's what you want," he said carefully. "I just want you happy."
Liar.
I leaned my head against his shoulder—performing the role of devoted fiancée while my mind catalogued every micro-expression, every rehearsed line, every crack in his mask.
Two weeks until the wedding. Two weeks to dismantle everything he'd built.
And then I saw it—a faint lipstick smudge on his collar, just below his ear. Meredith's shade. Coral sunset.
In my previous life, I would have missed it. Or rationalized it. Or simply not looked.
Now I memorized its exact position, filed it away, and said nothing.
---
Elevated thallium levels—not lethal yet, but climbing. In my previous life, another eight months of this would have destroyed my father's kidneys and liver, leaving him bedridden and vulnerable to the "business advisors" Nathan planted around him.
I stared at the lab results, my hand steady despite the fury roaring beneath my skin.
"Autumn?" My father sat on the exam table, reading my face. "That bad?"
I composed myself and turned to him with a carefully measured expression. "Dad, I found trace amounts of thallium in your blood."
The color drained from his face. "That's—that's a poison."
"Yes." I let the word hang. "Someone has been dosing you. Slowly, consistently, likely through something you consume daily."
His eyes darted—processing, calculating, the sharp businessman's mind churning behind the shock.
"Who has regular access to your food and drink?" I pressed gently, though I already knew.
"The housekeeper, Meredith when she visits—she always brings my evening tea..." He trailed off, and I watched the realization dawn like a wound opening.
"We need proof before we act," I said firmly. "I'll install cameras. And from today, you eat and drink nothing that hasn't been prepared by your own hand or mine."
He nodded, suddenly looking ten years older. "Meredith," he whispered. "My own niece."
"We don't know anything for certain yet," I lied. I knew everything. "But we need to be careful."
That afternoon, I returned to St. Catherine's Hospital for my shift. Walking through those double doors in my white coat felt like reclaiming a stolen identity.
In my previous life, I'd given this up—this skill, this purpose, this version of myself—because a man told me he was lonely.
Never again.
Between surgeries, Tessa slipped me a folder. "Aegis Holdings," she whispered. "You're not going to like this."
I already knew I wouldn't.
The documents showed it clearly: Aegis Holdings was a shell corporation set up eighteen months ago, with Nathan Cross as the hidden beneficiary. Its sole purpose was to receive transferred shares from Reed Pharmaceuticals—shares that my father would sign over "voluntarily" once he was too sick to manage his own affairs.
The legal architecture was Meredith's work. She'd graduated top of her class in corporate law before conveniently "leaving practice" to become my father's personal consultant.
A fox guarding the henhouse.
"There's more," Tessa said, her voice tight. "Aegis has a secondary account that funnels money into—"
Her pager shrieked. Trauma incoming. She squeezed my arm and dashed toward the ER.
I tucked the folder into my locker and scrubbed in for my next surgery.
That evening, Nathan picked me up from the hospital—a habit he maintained in the courtship phase. In my previous life, this would continue for exactly one month after the wedding before he claimed the drive was "too inconvenient."
"Long day?" He pressed a kiss to my temple as I slid into his car.
"Mm. Lost a patient on the table." A lie—my surgery had gone flawlessly—but I needed to test something.
His response in my previous life to any mention of my work stress was a dismissive subject change. Let's see.
"That's rough, baby." He squeezed my hand. "Want me to draw you a bath when we get home? You work too hard."
There it was—the redirect. Not "tell me what happened." Not "are you okay?" Just—*you work too hard.* Planting the seed early. Making overwork sound like a character flaw rather than dedication.
"Actually," I said, "I was thinking about cutting my hours after the wedding."
The satisfaction that flickered across his face lasted barely a heartbeat, but I caught it.
"Only if that's what you want," he said carefully. "I just want you happy."
Liar.
I leaned my head against his shoulder—performing the role of devoted fiancée while my mind catalogued every micro-expression, every rehearsed line, every crack in his mask.
Two weeks until the wedding. Two weeks to dismantle everything he'd built.
And then I saw it—a faint lipstick smudge on his collar, just below his ear. Meredith's shade. Coral sunset.
In my previous life, I would have missed it. Or rationalized it. Or simply not looked.
Now I memorized its exact position, filed it away, and said nothing.
---