Chapter 8 - Turning the Tables
I threw the gold pen down onto the mahogany table. It rolled across the polished wood, clinking against Daniel’s coffee cup.
"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Vance asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at Daniel, then at me.
"Sarah, please," Rachel chimed in, her voice rising in pitch. "Don't make a scene. You need to take your medicine."
"You mean this medicine?" I reached into my pocket and tossed a small, clear plastic vial onto the table. Inside were three of the white pills I had spit out over the past few days.
Daniel’s face drained of color.
"This is Fluphenazine," Clara announced, stepping forward and placing a heavy stack of medical documents and lab reports on the table. "And this is a certified toxicological report from the State Medical Laboratory, signed by Dr. Aris. It details the chemical compounds found in my client's bloodstream as of six o’clock this morning. It also contains the chemical analysis of the pills my client's husband, Daniel Sterling, has been forcibly administering to her under the guise of 'vitamins' for the past three weeks."
Mr. Vance’s jaw dropped. He looked at the lab reports, then stared at Daniel. "Daniel... what is this?"
"It’s a lie!" Daniel shouted, slamming his hands on the table as he stood up. "She’s insane! She’s fabricating this! She’s been having a psychotic break since her father died. Mr. Vance, you have the evaluation from Dr. Harrison!"
"Ah, yes. Dr. Robert Harrison," Clara said, smiling coldly. "We spoke with the State Medical Board this morning. It turns out Dr. Harrison has been under investigation for writing fraudulent prescriptions in exchange for kickbacks. When we presented him with our forensic toxicological evidence and threatened him with immediate criminal accessory to attempted murder, he broke. He’s currently at the police precinct signing a full confession detailing how you, Daniel, paid him fifty thousand dollars to fabricate Sarah's dementia diagnosis."
Rachel let out a sharp shriek and stood up, knocking her chair backward. "Daniel! You said she wouldn't find out! You said this was foolproof!"
"Shut up, Rachel!" Daniel roared, his polished facade completely shattering. He glared at me, his eyes wild with rage. "You think you’re so smart, Sarah? You think you can ruin me? You have nothing! It’s your word against mine!"
"Actually, it’s not," I said calmly.
I reached into my canvas bag and pulled out a small, black digital voice recorder. I pressed play.
“If she doesn't sign willingly tomorrow,” Daniel’s voice rang out clearly through the high-end speakers of the conference room, “we'll make it look like another mental breakdown.”
“Once the transfer is complete, we'll have to admit her to the clinic,” Rachel’s voice followed. “If she stays here, she'll figure everything out.”
The room went dead silent. Daniel stared at the recorder as if it were a venomous snake.
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"You recorded us..." he whispered, his voice shaking.
"In our bedroom," I said, leaning forward. "Where you thought I was drugged and helpless. You underestimated me, Daniel. You thought because I was grieving my father, I was weak. But the truth is, I was just tired. And now, I’m wide awake."
