Chapter 3 - The Chemical Prison
The detective’s words hung in the sterile hospital air like thick smoke.
Someone had actively tried to murder me before I could inherit my father’s fortune.
I immediately pointed a shaking finger at Liam and tried to speak.
My scraped throat burned as I croaked out that Liam was the last person to drive my car.
He had taken my vehicle to the mechanic for a routine oil change just two days before the accident.
Liam gasped dramatically, pressing his hand to his chest as if my accusation had broken his heart.
He looked at the detective with sad, pitying eyes and shook his head slowly.
He reminded the officer about the medical conservatorship and my documented history of severe paranoia.
The detective frowned, glancing down at the false medical intake form attached to the front of my chart.
I could see the exact moment the officer decided not to believe a single word I was saying.
He closed his notebook, offered Liam his business card, and promised to follow up when I was feeling more rational.
I screamed for the detective to come back, but my voice was barely a raspy whisper.
Liam locked the hospital door the second the officer’s footsteps faded down the hallway.
He pulled a small, unlabeled plastic syringe from the inside pocket of his expensive suit.
He walked toward my intravenous line with a terrifyingly calm expression on his handsome face.
I thrashed violently against the hospital mattress, but my broken ribs and braced leg made it impossible to escape.
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Liam grabbed my arm with bruising force and injected the clear liquid directly into my IV port.
He whispered that I was going to take a very long, very deep nap while he finalized the transfer of my trust fund.
