Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
Sylvia looked like she had seen a ghost. She pressed her back against the hospital room wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're... you're fine? But the doctor said—the glass—Jason said—"
"Jason is a fool, and you are a coward," I said, standing up. My legs were perfectly strong. "Did you really think a forensic toxicologist of thirty-two years wouldn't notice a glass of wine spiked with Succinylcholine? Did you think I wouldn't recognize the chemical signature of a paralytic agent?"
Sylvia’s face went entirely bloodless. "Succinyl... what? No! Jason said it was just a mild sedative! He said it would just make you a little confused so you’d agree to let us help with the estate! He said you were wasting away your money!"
"He lied to you, Sylvia. Or perhaps you lied to yourself to make the guilt bearable," I said, taking a step toward her. "The dosage Jason put in my drink would have paralyzed my diaphragm. I would have suffocated while looking into your eyes, fully conscious, unable to scream while you put on your coat and went to your 'charity event.'"
"No!" Sylvia screamed, dropping to her knees, covering her ears. "No, he wouldn't! He loves me! He wanted to build a future for us!"
"He wanted my thirty-million-dollar estate, Sylvia. And he used your resentment and greed to get it."
The door to the hospital room swung open. Jason walked back in, a smug, arrogant grin on his face. "The notary just stamped the papers, Sylvia, we are officially in con—"
Jason froze.
He looked at me standing in the middle of the room, completely alert, dressed in my own clothes which Kim had delivered earlier. He looked down at Sylvia sobbing on the floor.
His smug expression vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. "What is the meaning of this?"
"The meaning, Jason, is that you are an amateur," I said calmly. "You tried to poison a woman who literally wrote the state textbook on lethal compounds."
Jason’s eyes darted to the door, his survival instincts kicking in. He reached into his jacket, likely looking for his keys or his phone, but I didn't give him the chance to run.
"You think you’re smart because you got a corrupt notary to stamp those papers?" I asked, tilting my head. "Go ahead. Look at the signature I left on your document."
Jason frantically pulled the papers out of his briefcase. He stared at the signature line. Through my deliberate trembling, I hadn't written my name. I had written two words in clear, jagged print: UTTER FRAUD.
"You bitch," Jason hissed, his face contorting with rage. He took a menacing step toward me, his fists clenching. "You think you’ve won? It's your word against ours! The hospital records will show you’re experiencing dementia! Nobody will believe an old, senile widow over a respected businessman!"
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"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Mr. Warren," a new voice boomed from the doorway.
Detective Kimberly Soto stepped into the room, flanked by four uniformed police officers.
