Chapter 5 - Toxic Secrets
By noon, the glass mansion had been converted into a command site for my private legal and medical teams.
Dr. Harrison, a trusted world-renowned toxicologist from my firm’s medical advisory board, set up a mobile diagnostic station in the master bedroom suite. Sophie lay under a warm feather duvet, her arm resting on a small leather cushion while Dr. Harrison pulled a second vial of blood for testing.
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding her other hand tightly. Every time she looked at the door, her eyes flicked with residual anxiety, but seeing Marcus’s men stationed outside gave her a sense of safety she hadn't felt in half a year.
Dr. Harrison capped the syringe, his face grim as he looked at the initial screening monitor resting on the nightstand.
“The preliminary blood panel is conclusive, Nicholas,” Dr. Harrison said, lowering his voice so as not to alarm Sophie. “Your wife has high concentrations of Scopolamine and liquid Lorazepam in her system.”
My jaw tightened. “What does that mean in plain English?”
“Scopolamine is an anticholinergic drug—in small doses, it causes severe confusion, memory loss, dizziness, and extreme compliance,” Dr. Harrison explained, pointing to the chemical chart on his tablet. “When combined with daily doses of Lorazepam, a powerful sedative, it induces extreme lethargy, spatial disorientation, and visual hallucinations. It effectively erases a person’s short-term memory while leaving them in a perpetual state of terror and exhaustion.”
I squeezed Sophie’s hand so hard my knuckles turned white.
Sophie looked up at the ceiling, a bitter, tragic realization dawning on her face. “The tea... every morning after Nick left for work, she brought me a mug of lavender tea. She told me it was a special herbal blend from her apothecary in Boston to help with my postpartum anxiety...”
“She was slowly poisoning you, Mrs. Sterlington,” Dr. Harrison said gently. “In those specific dosages, it wouldn't kill you, but within another month, your cognitive functions would have deteriorated to the point where any psychiatric board would have deemed you legally incompetent.”
“And Julian?” I asked, my heart dropping into my stomach. “What did she give my son?”
Dr. Harrison pulled up a separate diagnostic file. “The eyedropper we secured from your mother contained a diluted solution of infantile colic drops laced with a mild synthetic opioid. It caused severe digestive cramping—making the infant cry uncontrollably for hours—followed by sudden, unnerving stupors. It was designed to make the baby appear constantly distressed under your wife’s care.”
A cold, lethal stillness settled over me.
Penelope hadn't just been mean. She had conducted a calculated, chemical assault on a mother and her newborn child. It was a cold-blooded campaign designed to destroy Sophie’s mind, steal my son, and keep her absolute power over the Sterlington family intact.
“Can you flush it out of their systems?” I asked, looking down at Sophie.
“Yes,” Dr. Harrison nodded. “With proper detox protocols, intravenous hydration, and complete rest, Sophie will recover fully within ten days. The physical symptoms will fade quickly once the drugs clear her liver. The emotional healing, however, will take time.”
“We have time,” I said firmly. “We have all the time in the world.”
After Dr. Harrison left the room to process the official medical reports that would be submitted directly to the district attorney, I leaned over and kissed Sophie’s forehead.
“Get some rest, sweetheart,” I whispered. “Julian is asleep in the portable bassinet right beside you. Nobody is getting near this room.”
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“Where are you going, Nick?” she asked, a sudden flash of panic returning to her eyes.
“I’m going to my office in the west wing,” I replied, my voice dropping into the tone I used when preparing to liquidate a hostile competitor. “My mother thinks she can use her social status and money to hide behind expensive lawyers. She’s about to discover who actually controls the Sterlington fortune.”
