My fingers closed around one of the white, unmarked pills. The bottle on the kitchen counter, where my regular blood pressure medication used to sit, felt alien, light. Marcus stood near the doorway, a calm smile playing on his lips, while Enforcer Hicks watched from the foyer. Leo hovered nearby, his eyes still red-rimmed from tears.
I walked to the polished granite island, the pill cold against my palm.
“What are you doing, Dad?” Leo’s voice was tight with worry. He still believed Marcus’s story about my dementia.
I ignored him, focusing on the small tablet. It looked like any other capsule, bland and innocuous.
Hicks shifted his weight. His gaze was neutral, evaluating.
I pressed the pill against the countertop with the side of my thumb. It crumbled easily, turning into a fine, chalky powder.
I reached for the water dispenser, filling a clear shot glass. The water cascaded, a surprisingly loud sound in the tense silence.
I tapped the powder into the water. It sank to the bottom, then began to effervesce, blooming into a distinct, pale blue. The color spread, undeniable, through the liquid.
“Sedative indicator,” I said, my voice steady. “Standard test. For mild disorientation and memory loss.”
Marcus chuckled, a low, dismissive sound. “Arthur, you’re grasping at straws. That’s probably just a common dye in whatever you bought off the internet.”
Leo stared at the glass, then at my hands. His brow furrowed. He remembered my old workshop, the careful precision I used for every lock mechanism, every blueprint. This wasn’t a man confused.
“I haven’t bought any medication online in a decade, Marcus,” I countered, still looking at the blue solution. “My prescriptions are filled at Miller’s Pharmacy, same as always.”
Enforcer Hicks stepped into the kitchen. He leaned over the island, studying the glass. His eyes, usually unreadable, held a flicker of something new—doubt.
“Sir,” Hicks said, his voice clipped. “This warrants a temporary halt. Forced removal is on hold.”
Marcus’s calm façade cracked. “Hicks, this is absurd! He’s delusional. This is just a cheap trick to buy time.”
“Delusional or not, the evidence is present,” Hicks replied, his gaze unwavering. “A notarized deed and a potential tampering of medication. Both serious. Until syndicate elders verify the origins of these pills and the legitimacy of your 2018 transfer, no one is leaving. Or being removed.”
My eyes met Marcus’s. The smile was gone. Replaced by a cold, calculating fury.
He had miscalculated. He had assumed my son’s concern and a fraudulent deed would be enough. He hadn’t accounted for the chemistry of a simple pill, or the methodical mind of an old man who built traps for a living.
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