Chapter 2: The Secret Behind My Mother's Death
The reception ended with police cars parked outside our gates.
Guests were escorted away one group at a time. The musicians packed their instruments without speaking. The expensive flowers that had taken three days to arrange stood beneath the white canopy, untouched.
My father sat in his study.
Martin stood beside the desk.
And I sat on the leather sofa, holding a cold towel against my cheek.
Victoria was upstairs under the supervision of two security officers.
For the first time in three years, she wasn't giving orders.
But nobody was celebrating.
“James,” Dad said, breaking the silence.
“How long have you known?””
I looked down at the towel.
“About what?””
“About Victoria putting something in my drink.””
I swallowed.
“Today was the first time I actually saw her do it.””
He leaned forward.
“Then why did you record her?””
I looked toward Martin.
He nodded for me to continue.
“Because I heard her talking on the phone last week.””
Dad's face tightened.
“When?””
“Tuesday night. You were in Chicago. I came downstairs because I couldn't sleep.””
I remembered the night clearly.
It had been raining.
The house was dark except for the light beneath the dining room door. I had gone downstairs for a glass of water when I heard Victoria's voice.
“It's taking longer than expected,” she'd said.
A man answered through the phone.
“Then make sure he signs before the end of the month.””
Victoria laughed softly.
“Don't worry. Richard trusts me completely.””
I had stopped moving.
Then she'd said something that made my blood turn cold.
“And James won't be a problem much longer.””
I hadn't heard the rest.
I'd backed away, returned upstairs, and locked my bedroom door.
The next morning, I started paying attention.
I noticed Victoria pouring Dad's drinks herself. I noticed her insisting that the kitchen staff leave the room whenever she prepared his evening refreshments.
And I noticed something else.
Dad had begun complaining about headaches and exhaustion.
He'd canceled two business meetings because he felt dizzy.
When I mentioned it, Victoria told me I was being dramatic.
“Your father works too hard,” she'd said.
“Stop looking for problems where there aren't any.””
Now Dad was staring at me.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I had tried.
Three weeks earlier, I'd told him I thought Victoria was hiding something.
He'd been sitting at the breakfast table, reading the financial pages.
He hadn't even looked up.
“James, your stepmother is trying very hard to make this family work.””
“But Dad—”
“Enough. I won't have you constantly attacking her.””
I remembered Victoria standing behind him, stirring her coffee.
She'd smiled at me.
Now I looked at my father.
“I did tell you.””
He closed his eyes.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he reached across the desk and covered my hand.
“I'm sorry, son.””
Those three words almost broke me.
Because I'd spent years waiting to hear them.
Before I could answer, Martin cleared his throat.
“Richard, we need to address the message.””
He placed his phone on the desk.
The photograph showed my bedroom window.
The curtains were open.
My silhouette was visible near the desk.
It had been taken from the garden.
“When was this sent?”” Dad asked.
“Five minutes ago.””
“Can you trace the number?””
“Not directly. It's a disposable account.””
Dad stood.
“Get David.””
Martin made a call.
I looked at the photograph again.
“Dad?””
“Yes?””
“Someone was watching me.””
He turned toward me.
“That's why nobody is leaving this house without security.””
Then the study door opened.
A uniformed police officer entered with another officer behind him.
“Mr. Hayes? I'm Detective Laura Bennett. We need to ask you some questions about the incident at the reception.””
Dad nodded.
“Of course.””
Detective Bennett took a seat.
“First, is the glass still available?””
“It's been secured,” Martin replied.
“And the pitcher?””
“In the dining room.””
“Good. We'll need both.””
She opened a small notebook.
“Mr. Hayes, has your wife ever prepared your medication or supplements?””
Dad hesitated.
“Victoria manages most of the household arrangements.””
“Does she have access to your medical records?””
“Yes.””
“Does she know which medications you're taking?””
Dad nodded.
The detective made a note.
Then she turned to me.
“James, I understand you recorded the incident.””
I handed her my phone.
She watched the footage without interrupting.
When the video ended, she asked me to describe exactly what I'd seen.
I did.
She didn't smile or tell me I was confused.
She simply listened.
When I finished, she leaned forward.
“James, you did the right thing by stopping your father from drinking that glass. But I need you to understand something. We don't yet know what was in the pitcher.””
“I know what I saw.””
“I believe you saw something concerning. The laboratory results will help establish what it was.””
Dad's hand tightened around the armrest.
“Could whatever was in that drink have killed me?””
The detective didn't answer immediately.
“That's something the medical examination and laboratory testing will help determine.””
Dad looked toward the window.
Outside, the garden lights were beginning to turn on.
A few hours earlier, he'd been celebrating his marriage.
Now his wife was being questioned by police.
And I couldn't stop thinking about the photograph.
“Detective,” I said.
She turned.
“What is it?””
“Can I ask you something?””
“Of course.””
“If someone was watching my room, does that mean they knew I was recording Victoria?””
Her expression changed.
“It's possible.””
Dad stood immediately.
“I want him moved to another bedroom. Somewhere with no outside access.””
David entered the room.
“Mr. Hayes?””
“Take James to the guest suite. Check every window and camera. Nobody gets near him without my permission.””
I started to stand.
Then I noticed Martin staring at something on his laptop.
“What is it?”” Dad asked.
Martin didn't answer.
He clicked twice.
Then he turned the screen toward us.
It was a scanned legal document.
At the top were the words:
*HAYES FAMILY TRUST — AMENDMENT REQUEST.*
Below that was a list of proposed changes.
My father's name.
Victoria's name.
And mine.
My inheritance was being transferred into a new trust controlled by Victoria.
But the most disturbing part was at the bottom.
There was a signature.
A signature that looked exactly like my father's.
Dad stared at it.
“I never signed that.””
Martin nodded.
“I know.””
“Then who did?””
Martin enlarged the document.
The signature had been witnessed by two people.
One was Victoria.
The other was listed as a family representative.
Dad leaned closer.
His jaw tightened.
“That's impossible.””
“What?”” I asked.
Martin pointed to the name.
*Eleanor Hayes.*
My grandmother.
May you like
She had been dead for eleven months.
And according to the document, she had witnessed the amendment only three weeks earlier.
