I Could See Their Hidden Motives

I didn't push my brother, Howard Lynch, away. I simply let him hold me while my eyes stayed fixed on the red panel hovering above his head.

"Get some sleep. Everything's going to be fine tomorrow."

Howard let go of me and reached out to tousle my hair. His eyes were still red, but the gentle smile had returned to his face.

"Okay. Goodnight." I nodded, opened the door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me.

The obedient look disappeared from my face the moment I leaned back against the door.

So they were even worse than I thought.

I crossed the room to my desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside was the expedited lab report I received yesterday.

Three months ago, the Lynches brought me back from the small town where I grew up.

My biological parents, Wesley and Rachel Lynch, held my hands and cried, apologizing over and over for everything I had been through.

Cassidy Lynch, the daughter they raised in my place, stood beside them with tears in her eyes, softly calling my name.

Three days ago, I came down with a dangerously high fever.

When I woke up, Rachel walked into my room carrying a bottle of supplements.

She sat on the edge of my bed, shook two capsules into her palm, and took my hand, guilt written all over her face.

"Sweetheart, you've been through enough. I'm going to make it up to you. These are supposed to help with your recovery and get your blood counts back up."

That was the first time I saw the strange panel.

I didn't say anything or refuse the supplements.

Instead, I took the two capsules from her and pretended to swallow them with a glass of water.

The moment Rachel turned away, I slipped the capsules out of my mouth and tucked them into a tissue.

The next day, I sent them to a private lab for testing.

Now, the results were in. The capsules contained dangerously high doses of several powerful anticoagulants.

They weren't vitamins or recovery supplements at all. Taken regularly, they would interfere with my blood's ability to clot. If I underwent an invasive procedure or major surgery in that condition, even routine bleeding could become extremely difficult to control.

Rachel wasn't trying to help me recover. She was setting me up to die on the operating table and making sure it looked like a surgical complication.

I folded the lab report and slipped it into the inside pocket of my coat.

The next morning, Wesley called me into his study.

He wasn't alone. Albert Sanders, the Lynch family's longtime attorney, was there with him.