I set the bag on the counter and met the tech’s eyes.
“I need a full toxicology screen,” I said. “Rush it. I will pay whatever it costs.”
He took one look at my face and did not argue.
While I waited, I drove back to Dublin.
The Morrison house looked the same as it had the day before. White siding. Black shutters. Maple tree. Perfect lawn. It should have felt familiar.
Instead it felt like a mask.
I did not ring the bell for long. No one answered. I used my key.
Inside, the air was thick and stale, like the house itself was holding its breath.
Dad sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at a dark television. Evelyn paced near the kitchen doorway, phone clutched in her hand so tightly her knuckles were pale. Melissa stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, mascara smudged as if she had been crying and wiping her face with anger.
They all snapped their gaze to me at once.
“Brandon is awake,” I said.
Evelyn froze mid-step. Dad’s head jerked up. Melissa made a small wounded sound like the word awake had stabbed her.
I pulled out my phone and opened the audio recorder. The red dot glowed bright.
I did not hide what I was doing.
“Start talking,” I said.
Evelyn tried the soft voice first. The concerned stepmother voice she used when she wanted to look reasonable.
“Kendall, we are worried sick about the children,” she said. “This is not the time to accuse anyone.”
“Stop,” I said. “Brandon told me you warned him the chocolates were only for me. He told me you ordered him not to eat any. Why did you do that?”
Dad opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes flicked to Evelyn, pleading without words.
Evelyn’s gaze darted to my phone, then back to me. I watched her make a choice.
She chose anger.
“Because they were meant for you,” she snapped.
The air in the room turned to ice.
Dad’s voice came out sharp. “Evelyn, stop.”
She ignored him and stepped closer, her face twisted with contempt I had seen in flashes for years.
“You hoard everything,” she said. “That money your mother left you sits there while we struggle. Do you have any idea what it is like to worry about the mortgage and tuition while you live downtown pretending you are better than us?”
I kept my voice flat. “I pay my bills with my job. The inheritance has never been accessible to you. So again, why were the chocolates meant for me?”
Her lips curled. “One heart episode,” she said, like she was reciting a plan she had rehearsed. “That is all it would take. Middle of the night. They would say stress. Or genetics. It would go to your father. To us. The way it should have from the beginning.”
Melissa broke into sobs, mascara streaking down her cheeks. “We just wanted Brandon to have a future,” she cried. “Private school. A chance. You never share. Mom’s money should have been for all of us.”
Dad’s shoulders slumped, and he still did not stop them.
I let them talk.
I let every word land on my recording like a nail sealing the coffin of their excuses.
When Evelyn finally realized what she had done, her eyes widened with sudden fear. “I was upset,” she stammered. “You are recording this out of context.”
“You meant every word,” I said.
I stopped the recording and slipped my phone into my pocket.
“You just confessed to attempted murder,” I said. “And two of the victims are minors. I hope you understand what happens next.”
I walked out.
The front door clicked shut behind me with a quiet finality that felt like a chapter ending.
I drove for hours. Up and down 315. Over the bridge by the Scioto Mile, the river reflecting city lights like broken glass. Out toward the suburbs and back again, my hands locked on the steering wheel.
By dawn, I made a decision that was not logical but felt necessary.
I went to a salon in the Short North as soon as it opened.
The receptionist looked startled. “Can I help you?”
“I need a cut and color,” I said. “I need to look like someone they cannot intimidate.”
Four hours later, my hair was a sharp angled bob, dark chestnut and glossy. It framed my jaw like armor.
I did not feel like a different person. I felt like the same person with her edges sharpened.
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