“Mr. Beaumont,” she exclaimed, rushing to his side. She knelt and pressed two fingers to his throat. “Your pulse is weak. You need help.”
Tiffany clicked her tongue. “Do not touch him. You will dirty his suit.”
Janette ignored the insult. She searched for his phone. Tiffany snatched it and flung it into the fireplace. It shattered in a burst of sparks.
“You did this to him,” Janette said, voice trembling with rage.
Tiffany laughed, not even pretending innocence. She reached into her bra and pulled out a small cobalt bottle. Quick as a strike, she tucked it into Janette’s apron pocket. Then she dragged her nails across her own arm, leaving red streaks. With an anguished cry, she staggered backward and screamed.
“He attacked me,” Tiffany wailed. “Janette poisoned him because he was going to fire her. Call security. Now.”
Two guards rushed in, followed by Detective Samuel Weldon, a longtime acquaintance of the Beaumonts. He trusted Tiffany’s poise. He trusted her words. They found the bottle in Janette’s pocket. They found the broken phone. They found a wealthy woman claiming terror.
Silas watched helplessly as Janette was handcuffed. She looked at him with defiant eyes.