Biker's Forbidden Desire
Inside were the raw, unredacted records of the Moretti succession.
Medical history charts. The true, unedited chemical analysis from the private clinic. And the laboratory photographs.
There was Carlo Moretti. Dead in his bed at the estate, his skin a pallid, translucent gray, his fingernails displaying the telltale dark lines of heavy metal toxicity. The independent forensic autopsy report was stapled to the rear cardboard backer. The conclusion was written in cold, clinical print: Systemic cardiac failure induced by chronic, long-term arsenic exposure.
The evidence was absolute. There was no room left for strategic doubt. My mother had executed my father. And Vincent had held the door open