With Dolores’s consent, Lucía contacted her cousin Rafael, an electrician. He helped install a discreet camera in the kitchen, concealed behind a spice rack. They waited.
Two days later, the camera recorded Felicity repeating the same ritual. The vial. The drops. The calm precision. Trevor watched the footage in silence, his face draining of color. He sent the vial for analysis through a private laboratory.
The results arrived forty eight hours later. Low dose arsenic. Trevor confronted Felicity in his study. Presented with the evidence, her composure finally fractured.
“She was taking everything from me,” Felicity snapped. “You never saw me. You only saw her.”
Trevor stared at her, devastated. “You tried to kill my mother.”
Felicity said nothing more.
The police arrived shortly after. Dolores stood in the doorway, leaning on her cane, her eyes clear and unafraid.
“I lived with little,” she said softly. “But I lived honestly. You have everything and still chose cruelty.”