Detective Mara Klein was small, sharp-eyed, and utterly unimpressed by power. She questioned my father first, then Garrett, then me. Her voice softened only when she asked about Ethan.
“What was his condition before last night?”
I answered through numb lips. “He had pneumonia complications. They thought he was stabilizing. Then everything changed.”
The detective looked at the file in her hand.
“What?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Mrs. Vale, there is something unusual in the toxicology order.”
My father stepped closer. “Meaning?”
Detective Klein met my eyes.
“The hospital ran a secondary screen after his sudden decline. Ethan had a trace compound in his bloodstream that should not have been there.”
The room blurred.
“What compound?”
She did not blink.
“A cardiac suppressant.”
Garrett made a strangled sound.
My father grabbed the back of a chair.
I felt myself leave my body.
“No,” I whispered. “No, he was sick. He was sick.”
“He was,” the detective said gently. “But someone may have worsened his condition.”
For one terrible moment, I saw Ethan lying beneath hospital lights, fighting not only illness—but a hand I had never seen.
My father’s voice came out like broken glass.
“Who had access to him?”
The detective looked down.
“Hospital staff. Family. Approved visitors.”
Garrett looked at me.
