“Not yet, buddy,” I said quickly. “Too hot. Let’s let it sit.”
I ushered him back to the living room with his comic book while Vanessa wasn’t looking.
When she wasn’t paying attention, Collins slipped in through the side door like a ghost. He wore gloves and moved fast, ladling a sample of the soup into a sealed evidence bag. Then he was gone again before Vanessa noticed.
I sat across from her at the table, forcing small talk. She asked about the base, about the foundation, about anything that made her sound like the caring sister.
All the while, the poison soup sat between us like a loaded gun.
After she left that night, humming her way out the door, Collins returned with the evidence.
“Lab will confirm,” he said, “but we’ve got the footage and the sample. That’s two solid pieces.”
I slumped into a chair, exhaustion hitting me like a freight train. “She didn’t even hesitate, Henry. She just did it like she’d done it a hundred times.”
He nodded grimly. “Which means she probably has. This wasn’t a one-off. She’s been at it for a while.”
I thought back to the weeks Ethan had been complaining about stomach aches. How many meals had she tampered with? How many times had I brushed off his fatigue as school stress?
The guilt pressed hard on my chest, but anger was stronger.
“She’s escalating,” I said. “And if she thinks I’m planning to change the will, she’ll double down.”
Collins leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Then we let her think she’s winning. People like Vanessa get sloppy when they believe they’re ahead. That’s when we nail her.”
I got up and started scrubbing the pot, even though it was already clean. My hands needed something to do, some way to burn off the fury.
“I want her caught red-handed,” I said. “No loopholes, no excuses.”
Collins gave a short nod. “You’ll have it. We’ll line everything up. Lab results, footage, your testimony, the doctor’s reports. When this goes to court, she won’t have a leg to stand on.”
That night, after Ethan was tucked into bed, I sat at the kitchen table staring at the silent cameras.
The house felt different now—colder, even with my son asleep upstairs. My home, once the safest place I knew, had been turned into a hunting ground by someone who shared my blood.
I thought about my deployments overseas, about villages we secured where mothers begged us to protect their children from threats lurking outside their homes.
I never thought I’d be the one needing protection for my own child.
Not from strangers.
From my own sister.
As the clock ticked past midnight, I forced myself to breathe steadily.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
And if Vanessa thought she was the hunter in this game, she was about to find out she’d picked the wrong prey.
The following day, I stood at the kitchen counter pouring coffee when Vanessa breezed in like she owned the place. She carried herself with that fake cheer she always put on when she wanted something.
“Morning, sis. I thought I’d stop by and make breakfast for my favorite nephew,” she chirped.
I took a slow sip of coffee, buying time to lock down my expression. “That’s thoughtful,” I said flatly. “He’s still upstairs getting dressed.”
She set her purse down on the table and immediately began pulling groceries out of the bag.
“Eggs, bread, juice.”
Nothing suspicious on the surface, but I knew better. I glanced at the hidden camera feed on my phone—already rolling.
As she cracked eggs into the pan, I leaned against the counter and said casually, “Tom Harris called me last night. We were talking about updating some paperwork for the foundation.”
Her whisk froze midair.
