Chapter 7 - Into the Lion’s Den
The following afternoon, downtown Manhattan was shrouded in a freezing, gray fog. Nora stepped out of a nondescript black taxi in front of Lotus Holistic Remedies, a high-end apothecary nestled between two luxury boutiques. Hidden beneath the collar of her designer trench coat—borrowed from Sarah’s untouched wardrobe at Julian’s insistence—was a micro-camera transmitting live footage back to Julian and Marcus in a surveillance van parked three blocks away.
Nora’s palms were sweating, but her expression was steel. She pushed open the glass door, greeted by the overpowering scent of dried lavender, crushed eucalyptus, and bitter earth.
A tall, gaunt man with silver-rimmed glasses emerged from the back room. Dr. Aris. He looked Nora up and down, his eyes lingering on her expensive coat before settling on her face. “Welcome. How may I assist your balance today?”
“I don’t need balance, Dr. Aris,” Nora said, channeling every ounce of cold, calculated arrogance she had watched Elena display over the past year. “I need a solution. My name is Nora Crawford. Until yesterday, I was employed at Vance Manor.”
Aris’s eyes narrowed instantly. The ambient music in the shop seemed to fade into the background. “I read about your… dismissal in the morning gossip blogs. Miss Elena Vance-to-be was quite vocal about your alleged kleptomania.”
“Elena is a lying b*tch who threw me under the bus to save her own skin,” Nora spat, leaning over the glass counter. “She thinks she can dump me without a payout? I know what you gave her three years ago. I know what was in those special tea blends for Sarah Vance.”
Aris went rigid. His hand dropped below the counter, likely hovering over a silent alarm or a weapon. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
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“Don’t play dumb!” Nora hissed, taking a calculated step closer. “Elena is losing control of Julian. The wedding is off. When the police start digging into Sarah’s medical records, who do you think Elena is going to blame? The wealthy socialite, or the creepy apothecary who sold her untraceable aconite?”
A bead of sweat rolled down Aris’s temple. “She promised me that formula would leave no trace in a standard autopsy,” he whispered, his voice trembling with panic—and capturing the clear confession on Nora’s hidden microphone. “She paid me fifty thousand dollars in cash! I only gave her the extract!”
