At exactly 9:00 a.m., I walked into my family's mansion expecting an ordinary visit. Instead, I found my pregnant wife on her knees, sobbing on the marble floor while my mother screamed insults at her

By 4:00 p.m., the toxicology report from St. Catherine's Hospital arrived via secure courier.

Detective Miller cracked open the sealed envelope and read the findings out loud to the room. "The syringe contained a concentrated cocktail of Haloperidol and Lorazepam—a massive chemical restraint dose. Administered to a woman in her third trimester without fetal monitoring, it carried a high probability of inducing sudden placental abruption, severe fetal distress, or permanent neurological damage."

Miller looked up at me, his jaw clenched. "This wasn't just intended to 'calm her down,' Owen. This was designed to put her in a state of medical incapacitation so they could legally commit her to a private psychiatric facility and seize her devices."

"And if she lost the baby in the process?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"They would have blamed it on her 'pre-existing mental instability,'" Miller said grimly. "They had every base covered, Owen. Kline signed a pre-dated psychiatric evaluation form three days ago claiming Julia was showing signs of severe postpartum psychosis before she even gave birth."

I stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the city skyline.

For years, I had maintained a quiet distance from my family. I had refused to join the family firm, choosing instead to build Apex Horizon from scratch with my own capital. I had tolerated my mother’s condescending comments about Julia’s middle-class background, and I had ignored Trevor’s arrogant taunts because I thought it was simply the price of keeping the peace.

I had assumed they were merely greedy, vain, and arrogant.

I had never imagined they were capable of monstrous cruelty.

"Where is Dr. Kline right now?" I asked.

"He's currently at his private clinic on the Upper East Side," Nathan replied, pulling up a satellite map on his tablet. "His schedule shows he has two more private appointments this afternoon before attending a pre-gala dinner with your mother at the estate."

"Good," I said, turning back around. "Detective Miller, can you obtain an immediate search warrant for Kline’s private medical office based on the syringe toxicology and the forged digoxin logs?"

"I already have a magistrate judge standing by," Miller said, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "If we hit Kline's office now, we can seize his server, his paper files, and his drug inventory before he realizes the net is tightening."

"Don't arrest him yet," I instructed. "Seize the files, lock down his office, and tell him that if he calls Evelyn or Trevor before tomorrow morning, he will face primary first-degree murder charges alongside them. Offer him a deal: state's evidence against Evelyn and Trevor in exchange for dropping the capital murder charge down to second-degree accomplice."

Miller nodded slowly. "Kline is a coward. He’s a mercenary doctor who did this for money and country club access. The moment he sees a federal badge, he'll fold like a house of cards."

"Go," I told Miller. "Nathan and I have another stop to make."