I found the gift bag under my sink where I had shoved it without thinking. Inside, the thick cream tissue paper still held the faint imprint of the box’s corners. The gold sticker seal was torn but intact.
I lifted the tissue to my nose.
Under the sweet smell of cocoa was something else.
Metallic. Chemical. Wrong.
I grabbed a clean evidence bag from the small kit I kept for work. Most forensic accountants did not need evidence bags, but I had learned long ago that life was rarely polite enough to stay in its lane.
I sealed the tissue and sticker inside and labeled it with the date and time.
Then I drove to German Village.
There was a small independent lab there, the kind prosecutors used when they did not want corporate politics touching their results. I had worked a couple of cases where we had needed their assistance. They owed me a favor.
I set the bag on the counter and met the tech’s eyes.
“I need a full toxicology screen,” I said. “Rush it. I will pay whatever it costs.”
He took one look at my face and did not argue.
While I waited, I drove back to Dublin.
The Morrison house looked the same as it had the day before. White siding. Black shutters. Maple tree. Perfect lawn. It should have felt familiar.
Instead it felt like a mask.
I did not ring the bell for long. No one answered. I used my key.
Inside, the air was thick and stale, like the house itself was holding its breath.
Dad sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at a dark television. Evelyn paced near the kitchen doorway, phone clutched in her hand so tightly her knuckles were pale. Melissa stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, mascara smudged as if she had been crying and wiping her face with anger.
They all snapped their gaze to me at once.
“Brandon is awake,” I said.
Evelyn froze mid-step. Dad’s head jerked up. Melissa made a small wounded sound like the word awake had stabbed her.
I pulled out my phone and opened the audio recorder. The red dot glowed bright.
I did not hide what I was doing.
“Start talking,” I said.
Evelyn tried the soft voice first. The concerned stepmother voice she used when she wanted to look reasonable.
