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.”