Chapter 4 - THE DERMATOLOGIST’S OFFICE
The waiting room of Sterling Aesthetics on Michigan Avenue smelled of expensive lavender oil, polished marble, and artificial youth. Soft ambient music drifted from hidden speakers while high-society women in designer coats sat reading luxury magazines.
I walked through the frosted glass doors at 2:00 PM, wearing a high-collared trench coat, large sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed wool hat that shadowed the left side of my face.
The receptionist, a young woman with perfectly laminated eyebrows, looked up with a practiced, polished smile. "Welcome to Sterling Aesthetics. Do you have an appointment?"
"I don't need an appointment," I said, my voice crisp, calm, and completely devoid of fever. I stepped up to the desk and pulled off my sunglasses. "Tell Dr. Sterling that Grace Bennett from Bennett & Sons Pharmacy is here to deliver a specialized compound."
The receptionist blinked, her smile faltering slightly at the intensity in my eyes. "Oh... um, Dr. Sterling is currently between consultations, but—"
"Tell her now," I said smoothly. "Or I can walk down the hall and find her myself."
Thirty seconds later, the door to Consultation Room A opened, and Dr. Victoria Sterling stepped out.
She was breathtaking in a cold, engineered way. Late thirties, platinum blonde hair pulled into a sleek chignon, tailored white lab coat over a silk blouse, and sharp blue eyes that were currently filled with subtle annoyance.
"Grace?" Victoria said, stepping toward me with an arch of her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What a surprise. Is there an issue with the compounded hyaluronic acid order your pharmacy sent over yesterday?"
"No, Victoria," I said, giving her a pleasant, terrifyingly calm smile. "The order is fine. I'm here to discuss a different compound. A transdermal one. Can we speak in your private office?"
Victoria’s blue eyes flickered. A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch occurred at the corner of her right eyelid.
"I have a client in ten minutes, Grace—"
"Ten minutes is all I need," I interrupted, stepping past her directly into her private office and closing the door behind us.
The office was luxurious—glass-topped desk, leather chairs, framed medical diplomas from Northwestern and Stanford hanging on the wall. On the sideboard sat a silver tray with a bottle of sparkling water and two crystal glasses.
Victoria walked in behind me, locking the door with a sharp click. Her posture had stiffened. The polite physician persona was gone, replaced by a defensive posture.
"What is this about, Grace?" she asked, crossing her arms.
I didn't answer right away. I walked over to her desk, took out my tablet, and placed it flat on the glass surface. I pulled up three images.
The first was the reverse cell phone lookup showing her private number and the 1,400 call logs between her and my husband.
The second was the Instagram photograph of her sitting in her gray Audi sedan wearing dark sunglasses and a silk scarf.
The third was a high-resolution, certified lab report from Dr. Cheryl Vance at Northwestern toxicology, displaying the mass spectrometry chemical structure of Aconitine dissolved in dimethyl sulfoxide.
Victoria leaned over the desk to look at the screen.
As her eyes scanned the chemical report, every drop of color drained from her face. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The poise, the arrogance, the high-society elegance shattered in three seconds flat.
"What... what is this?" she whispered, her voice shaking violently.
"That," I said, pointing a steady finger at the screen, "is the transdermal poison my husband drops onto my pillowcase yesterday at 3:15 PM, right before he stepped out into the alley and climbed into the passenger seat of your gray Audi."
Victoria took two steps back, hitting the edge of her leather chair. "You... you were supposed to be sleeping..."
"I was behind the couch, Victoria," I said, stepping closer to her, my voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "I watched him unscrew the glass vial. I watched him drop three drops onto my pillow. And then I watched him walk out to you, kiss you, and drive away."
"I didn't know!" she suddenly shrieked, clutching her throat, tears instantly spilling over her mascara. "I swear to God, Grace, I didn't know what was in that vial! Nathan told me it was... he told me it was a mild sedative! He said you were unstable, that you wouldn't agree to a divorce, and he just wanted to put you to sleep so he could pack his things without an argument!"
I stared at her with absolute disgust.
"You're a board-certified physician, Victoria," I said coldly. "Do not insult my intelligence. You prepared the DMSO carrier solution for him. You knew exactly what concentration of plant alkaloid was required to bypass the epidermal layer. You didn't just want him to leave me. You wanted his $3 million insurance payout to fund the expansion of this clinic."
Victoria fell into her desk chair, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with hysterical sobs. "He lied to me... he promised me we’d leave for Europe next month... he said you were sick anyway..."
"Shut up," I said sharply.
She stopped sobbing, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
"Here is what is going to happen," I said, leaning across the desk until I was inches from her face. "In nineteen hours, Nathan is going to walk into our condo expecting to find my corpse. If you warn him, if you text him, if you drop a single subtle hint that I am alive and aware of what you two did, I will drop this entire forensic package into the hands of the Chicago Police Department, the DEA, and the Illinois Medical Board before the sun sets today."
"No... please... my license..." she begged, holding her hands up in a pleading gesture. "It would ruin me..."
"Your license is already gone, Victoria," I informed her brutally. "The only choice you have left is whether you spend the next twenty years of your life in a state penitentiary for attempted capital murder, or whether you cooperate with me right now to ensure Nathan takes the full fall."
"What... what do you want me to do?" she choked out, wiping her ruined face with a silk handkerchief.
I pulled a small, concealed digital recording device from my purse and set it on the desk between us.
"You are going to sit in that chair," I commanded, "and you are going to give me a detailed, step-by-step recorded confession of how Nathan approached you, how the poison was prepared, and how you drove the getaway car yesterday afternoon. And then, tomorrow morning... you are going to help me set the trap."
Victoria looked at the recorder, then at the chemical report on the tablet. She knew she was trapped in a cage of her own making.
She reached out with a trembling hand, pressed her thumb against the recording button, and took a deep, shuddering breath.
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"My name is Dr. Victoria Sterling," she began, her voice quivering, "and on November 14th, Nathan Bennett asked me to help him formulate a lethal transdermal solution..."
I sat back, watching her spill every dirty secret, every text message, and every detail of their murderous plot. The first piece of my revenge was firmly in place.
