“Jerry, what’s going on?” she asked, her voice just a little too high. “Who is this dirty child? Why is he so close to Maya? You know she’s fragile right now.”
Jerry stood up slowly. The dizziness was gone, replaced by a surge of pure adrenaline.
He looked at his wife—really looked at her—and he did not see his partner anymore.
He saw a stranger wearing a mask.
“This boy,” Jerry said, his voice flat and dangerous, “was telling me a very interesting story, Victoria.”
Victoria scoffed, trying to reach for Maya’s hand, but Jerry moved slightly to block her.
“A story? Honey, please. These street kids are professionals at making up lies for money. Guards!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Get this beggar away from my husband.”
The boy did not move.
“I’m not begging,” he said loudly. “I saw you through the window, the powder from your locket. You put it in her broth.”
Victoria gasped, stepping back as if she had been hit.
“He’s lying, Jerry. You can’t listen to this rat. He’s just lying for money.”
But Jerry was not listening to her words. He was looking at her hands.
They were shaking.
Victoria was always the calm one. She had been through scandals and corporate wars without ever losing her cool. But right now, her hands were trembling violently.
He thought back to the last doctor’s visit. The specialist had been stumped.
“It’s like she’s being exposed to some kind of heavy metal poison,” he had said. “But that’s impossible in a home like yours.”
Nothing was impossible if the poison was coming from the person holding the spoon.
“Why are your hands shaking, Victoria?” Jerry asked softly.
“I… I’m just angry. How can you let a beggar talk to me like this?”
She reached up to touch the silver locket at her neck, but as soon as her fingers hit the metal, she yanked them away as if it were red-hot.
Jerry saw it.
The guilt. The pure terror in her eyes.
Suddenly, it all clicked.
The trust fund.
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