Margaret sighed delicately. “Ethan, this is absurd. It’s a celebration. She must be mistaken.”
Julian smirked. “Or fishing for a bonus.”
Rosa flinched.
Ethan didn’t look away from her. “Which bottle?”
She swallowed hard. “The decanter with the gold trim. The one Julian brought himself. He said it was a gift.”
Julian’s grin faded. “That’s ridiculous.”
Ethan turned his head slightly. “Julian.”
“Dad,” Julian said quickly, “it was just a new bourbon. A surprise.”
Ethan’s eyes drifted back to the untouched glass.
Rosa stepped closer, voice shaking. “I knew something was wrong because of the smell.”
Ethan frowned. “What smell?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Bitter almond.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Ethan didn’t know much chemistry—but he knew that phrase. It belonged to cautionary tales. To deaths politely labeled accidents.
Margaret blinked—just a beat too slowly.
Ethan noticed.
“Miles,” he said calmly to the head of security. “Lock the doors.”
There was a brief hesitation before the electronic locks clicked into place.
Murmurs of panic rippled through the room.
Margaret placed a hand on his arm, smiling for the crowd. “This is unnecessary, Ethan.”
“Then checking won’t bother you,” he replied.
He turned to Miles. “Bring the bottle. And everyone who handled it.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “This is insane.”
“Then it’ll be easy to prove,” Ethan said.
Julian looked away.
Just for a second.
Ethan had built his fortune noticing seconds like that.
Avery stood now, phone forgotten. “What’s happening?”
Rosa whispered, “I tried to stop it earlier.”
Ethan caught that. “Tried?”
She hesitated. “I was told not to.”
“Told by who?”
Her eyes slid—slowly—to Margaret.
Ethan inhaled once.
“Everyone remain calm,” he said to the room. “This is only a misunderstanding until it isn’t.”
Then, quietly to Rosa, “You did the right thing.”
Tears spilled. “Mrs. Blackwood told me if I made trouble, my son would lose his dock job.”
Avery gasped. “Mom?”
Margaret snapped, “She’s lying.”
Something inside Ethan fractured—not emotionally, but structurally. Certainty broke.
“You threatened her family,” he said.
Margaret’s composure sharpened. “You’re letting a servant manipulate you.”
“Don’t,” Ethan warned.
The word carried weight.
Miles returned with the decanter.
Gold band. New cork. Unfamiliar label.
Ethan turned it slowly.
Too new.
He handed it to Dr. Aaron Whitman, a longtime associate. “Can you tell if something’s wrong?”