“On this date, the trust created under Eleanor Holloway Bell’s estate reaches review.”
Beatrice frowned.
“Review?”
Nathaniel spoke.
“Vesting.”
Marcus looked irritated.
“Yes.”
He produced papers.
“However, circumstances require consideration.”
Of course.
“What circumstances?” Beatrice asked.
Marcus looked toward Dr. Vale.
The doctor cleared his throat.
“I have treated Beatrice for several years.”
Caleb’s hands tightened.
Vale continued.
“She suffers recurring weakness, digestive disturbances, periods of confusion—”
“Confusion?”
Beatrice interrupted.
Vale looked at her sympathetically.
“Your illness may affect memory.”
Beatrice almost admired the audacity.
Marcus produced another document.
“Dr. Vale recommends extending trusteeship two years.”
Nathaniel stood.
“No.”
Marcus looked at him.
“You no longer represent the estate.”
“I wrote the trust.”
“And you failed to protect it.”
Nathaniel’s face reddened.
Beatrice touched his sleeve.
She looked toward Vale.
“You believe I’m incompetent.”
“I believe you should recover fully.”
“Interesting.”
Beatrice opened her bag.
Placed Dr. Hale’s examination report on the table.
Then Denver chemist results.
Vale’s face drained.
Marcus remained still.
Beatrice spoke calmly.
“Dr. Miriam Hale found no cognitive impairment.”
Silence.
“She found arsenic exposure.”
One investor shifted.
Marcus laughed.
“Absurd.”
Beatrice placed the tonic vial down.
Dr. Vale stood.
“What is that?”
“You recognize it?”
“No.”
Too fast.
Caleb watched him.
Beatrice continued.
“This is the tonic you prescribed.”
“I prescribe many tonics.”
“This one contains arsenic.”
Vale looked toward Marcus.
There.
The mistake.
Everyone saw.
Caleb almost smiled.
Beatrice placed the note next.
“Increase to ten drops.”
Vale’s hands began shaking.
Marcus spoke.
“This is theatrical nonsense.”
Nathaniel produced Eleanor’s letter.
“Then perhaps you can explain this.”
Marcus’s face changed.
Only for a moment.
“How did you—”
He stopped.
Too late.
Nathaniel heard.
“So you knew it existed.”
Marcus stared.
Marshal Rourke entered from the side room.
“Keep talking.”
Marcus turned.
His composure finally broke.
“What is this?”
“An investigation.”
Vale backed toward the door.
A deputy blocked it.
Beatrice remained seated.
Her heartbeat hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.
Marcus looked at her.
“You did this.”
“No.”
Her voice was calm.
“You did.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Everything I did was to preserve that mine.”
“From me?”
“From incompetence.”
The old word.
The core belief.
Beatrice leaned forward.
“My mother was incompetent too?”
Marcus stopped.
“Was she?”
Silence.
“Did you poison her?”
Caleb wanted to cross the table.
Beatrice did not look at him.
Marcus’s face hardened.