Chapter 3 - The Forensic Net
The sterile smell of antiseptic and formaldehyde in Marcus Vance’s private forensics lab was a stark contrast to the sugary scent of vanilla and pink lemonade still lingering in my memory.
Marcus stood over a stainless-steel workbench, adjusting the magnification of a high-end gas chromatograph-mass spectrometer (GC-MS). The blue light of the monitor cast sharp angles across his weathered face. He had been a federal investigator before transitioning into private corporate security, and his eyes had seen every flavor of human greed and malice.
“Well, Camille,” Marcus said, not looking up from the screen as the printer beside him began chattering out a fresh sheet of data. “Your instincts haven’t rusted a bit. Whatever was in that unicorn cup wasn't just a mild sedative or kids' party prank syrup.”
My hands tightened around the disposable coffee cup I had brought from home. My knuckles were white. “What was it?”
“Tetrahydrozoline,” Marcus replied quietly, tearing the report off the machine and handing it to me. “Commonly found in over-the-counter eye drops like Visine. Ingested orally, especially by a child of seven with lower body mass, it causes a rapid drop in blood pressure, severe respiratory depression, bradycardia, and ultimately cardiovascular collapse. It mimics a sudden, unexplained cardiac event or a severe allergic reaction. To an emergency room doctor without a toxicology screen on hand, it looks entirely natural until it's too late.”
The room seemed to tilt. I gripped the edge of the steel table to steady myself.
Sabrina hadn't just wanted to make me look unstable. She hadn't just wanted to embarrass me or cause a scene.
She had wanted to kill Harper.
Why? The question echoed through my mind with sickening repetition. Harper was a child—seven years old, full of giggles, missing her front teeth, drawing pictures of unicorns and rainbows. What possible threat could a little girl pose to Sabrina?
Then the pieces clicked into place with the cold precision of a bank vault lock.
Three months ago, our aging father had finally updated his estate plan regarding the family manufacturing business—Vance Global Logistics, a multi-million-dollar shipping and freight enterprise built by our grandfather. For years, Sabrina had acted as the golden-child heir apparent, running operations while treating me like an incompetent outsider because I had stepped away to raise Harper and support Nolan. But when our father consulted independent auditors, he discovered a series of massive financial discrepancies in the overseas logistics accounts—discrepancies that pointed directly to unauthorized shell companies managed under Sabrina’s direct oversight.
To prevent a public scandal and protect the family name, our father hadn't called the police. Instead, he had quietly restructured the voting shares, granting an equal controlling block to me, the former corporate fraud investigator, with explicit instructions to audit the books.
If I held the controlling shares, Sabrina’s corporate empire—and her freedom—were built on sinking sand. But under state inheritance laws, if a primary shareholder and her immediate descendants were no longer in the picture... the remaining corporate assets and trusts would automatically revert to the surviving senior sibling.
Harper was standing in the way of Sabrina’s embezzlement cover-up. And I was standing in the way of her entire inheritance.
“You have the video evidence?” Marcus asked, pulling me back from the dark abyss of my thoughts.
I nodded, sliding the encrypted thumb drive across the steel table. “Pantry camera footage. Clear angle of her face, the amber dropper bottle, and the exact moment she introduced the substance into the pitcher.”
“Good,” Marcus said, reaching for his phone. “I’ve already got two of my best guys parked down the street from your parents' estate in Westover Hills. Sabrina is likely celebrating her handiwork over expensive wine with your folks right now, convinced you’re the one running around looking like a frantic, unstable mess.”
May you like
“I don’t want her just arrested, Marcus,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that made even the seasoned investigator look twice at me. “I want her legal, financial, and social foundation completely dismantled brick by brick. Every asset she hid, every shell company she built, every lie she told my parents—I want it all laid bare in front of a judge before the sun comes up tomorrow.”
Marcus offered a grim, approving smile. “Welcome back to the field, Camille. Let’s go hunt.”
