Standing there, I made myself a silent promise. No matter how twisted this game became, I would not lose—not to her, not ever.
The following morning, I sat at my desk at Fort Bragg, going through supply chain reports, when my phone buzzed with a message from Collins: Need to meet. Got something.
I excused myself under the pretense of checking inventory on the motorpool and drove out to the diner just off base where he liked to hold low-key meetings.
He was already there, nursing burnt coffee like he enjoyed punishing himself. He slid a flash drive across the table.
“We pulled the footage from the camera in your kitchen,” he said. “It’s clean. Shows her sprinkling the powder when she thought you weren’t looking. And she didn’t just do it once—multiple times.”
I plugged the drive into my laptop right there in the booth, ignoring the waitress giving me side-eye for setting up shop during the lunch rush.
The footage rolled, and my stomach clenched.
Vanessa’s movements were deliberate. She opened a little vial, tilted it just enough, tapped the rim, and stirred the food with a calm face. Not a hint of hesitation.
Collins leaned in. “We also had the lab run tests on those eggs you saved. High levels of arsenic—lethal if taken consistently. She’s escalating.”
I shut the laptop with a snap. “So it’s not just suspicion anymore. It’s hard evidence.”
He nodded. “We’re past speculation. But here’s the thing—she’s careful about timing. She only doses when she thinks you’re distracted. That means she’s aware you’re watching her. She’ll get sloppier, though. Pressure’s working.”
My jaw tightened. “Then we crank it up.”
That afternoon, I stopped by my attorney’s office. He was an older man, steady and meticulous, the kind of person who didn’t waste words. I asked him to come to my house later in the week to discuss revisions to my will.
He raised an eyebrow, but agreed.
I didn’t need the revisions. I needed the performance.
Back home, I made sure Vanessa overheard me talking on the phone about major changes to the Valor Home Foundation. She pretended to scroll her phone, but her posture gave her away.
Her shoulders stiffened, and her glass of wine sat untouched for the first time since she poured it.
The trap was tightening.
Two days later, my attorney arrived right on schedule. I invited him to the living room with the windows wide open. Vanessa sat in the kitchen pretending to flip through a magazine, but obviously listening in.
“I want to allocate a larger portion of my estate directly to the foundation,” I said in a voice loud enough to carry. “My son will still have security, but the bulk of my assets should go toward Valor Home projects.”
My attorney nodded, playing his part perfectly. “That’s certainly your right. I’ll draft new language for the will. Once signed, it’ll take effect immediately.”
And from the corner of my eye, I saw Vanessa freeze. Her hand hovered above the page of her magazine, but didn’t turn it.
That one detail told me everything.
She had heard every word.
After the meeting, she tried to mask her reaction with fake enthusiasm. “That’s wonderful, Julia. You’ve always been so generous. Ethan must be proud of you.”
