Chapter 5 - A Calculated Trap
I walked down to the hospital’s main lobby. My mind was churning with a single question: Why? Why would Marlene poison her own daughter? Sarah was an only child. The Whitaker estate was worth tens of millions. Was it money? Control?
I found a quiet bench in the lobby and opened Marlene’s notebook again, turning to the very back pages. Tucked into the binding was a faded newspaper clipping from fifteen years ago. The headline read: LOCAL HEIRESS TRUST FUND REVISED UPON MARRIAGE.
I read the article rapidly. It revealed that Sarah’s trust fund, established by her late father, was structured with an unusual clause: if Sarah remained married to a non-wealthy spouse past her 35th birthday—which was coming up in two weeks—the full control of the $40 million Whitaker estate and its pharmaceutical shares would permanently transfer from Marlene to Sarah and her direct heirs. But if Sarah passed away or was declared mentally incompetent before her 35th birthday, the entire estate remained under Marlene’s absolute control for the rest of her life.
It was never about Sarah's health. It was about pure, unadulterated greed and power. Marlene couldn't stand losing her fortune, nor could she tolerate the fact that her daughter had chosen a modest life with me over her elite social circle.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a call from an unknown landline.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Ethan," Marlene’s voice echoed through the speaker, crisp and unbothered. "I know you have my notebook."
"You're a monster, Marlene," I spat. "I know about the trust fund. I know about the Digoxin. You're trying to kill your own daughter for money."
A sharp laugh came over the line. "Money? Do not be so pedestrian, Ethan. That money built this family. It built the legacy your pathetic little salary could never match. Sarah was going to ruin it all, throwing it away on your middle-class mediocrity."
"She’s in the hospital because of you!"
"And she will remain there until she is safely out of your reach," Marlene replied coldly. "By the way... Clara is such a sweet old woman. So trusting."
My blood ran cold. "What did you say?"
"I'm sitting in your living room right now, Ethan. Clara was kind enough to make me tea. And little Lily is upstairs in her room... playing quietly."
A wave of nausea washed over me. "If you touch my daughter, I swear to God—"
May you like
"You have one hour, Ethan," Marlene interrupted, her voice dipping into a sinister whisper. "Bring me my notebook and the vials you stole from the drawer. Bring them back to the house. If you call the police, or if anyone else shows up, I will ensure Lily has a very sudden, very severe allergic reaction of her own. Do you understand me?"
The line went dead.
