Chương 10 - The Fractured Alibi
David stared at me, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, darting from the glass vial in my hand to Eleanor's composed, wounded expression. The black bow tie of his navy tuxedo felt suddenly too tight, his breath catching in his throat as the heavy silence of the ballroom pressed in around us.
"That's absurd," David said, his voice cracking slightly as he looked back at Eleanor for reassurance. "Grandma Eleanor? That makes no sense. You're exhausted, honey. The heat, the planning—let's just go back to the suite."
"She didn't plan this for my health, David," I said, my voice steady despite the lingering numbness in my left leg. "Ask her why she was standing by the cocktail table with this exact vial at zero-two seconds past the hour. Ask her why she needed me immobilized before the first dance."
Eleanor placed a trembling, manicured hand over her heart, playing her part with chilling theatrical precision. "David, darling, look at her. She's hallucinating from exhaustion. The poor thing has barely eaten all day. Deputy, I demand you escort her to the medical tent outside before she causes a public scene that ruins her own wedding reception."
"Ma'am, keep your hands where I can see them," Miller instructed, stepping closer and placing a hand near his holster, sensing the shift in momentum as Eleanor tried to regain control of the narrative through sheer social intimidation. "Nobody is going anywhere until we run a field test on this residue and check the catering logs."
David looked between us, the cognitive dissonance of the situation tearing at him. He had spent his entire life bowing to Eleanor's quiet, absolute authority; her approval was the foundation upon which his career, his inheritance, and his social standing were built. The idea that this pillar of family respectability could be a calculating predator was a reality his mind simply refused to process.
"Deputy, please," David said, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. "Can't we handle this privately? In a back office? Not in front of all our guests."
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"There is no privacy for attempted poisoning, Mr. Vance," Miller replied coldly, pulling a standard evidence bag from his tactical pouch. "Hold your hands out, Mrs. Vance. You're coming down to the precinct for questioning."
Eleanor’s eyes flashed with sudden, venomous realization. She knew that once she crossed the threshold of a police cruiser, her carefully curated world of family dynasty and untouchable privilege would begin to unravel irrevocably.
