Maybe the stress of running hotels in Chicago, Miami, and Los Angeles was making me paranoid.
But on Thursday afternoon, everything changed.
I was in my office reviewing profit reports from my Beverly Hills hotel when my phone buzzed with an alert from the living room camera.
I opened the app and saw Sophia sitting on our couch with Marcus.
They were sitting much closer than a sister-in-law and brother-in-law should be.
I turned up the volume on my phone and listened to their conversation.
“How much longer do we have to keep doing this?” Sophia was saying, running her fingers through her blonde hair. “I’m tired of pretending to care about Victoria when I see her.”
Marcus took her hand and squeezed it.
“Just a few more weeks, baby. The doctor said the arsenic needs to build up slowly in her system, or it will look suspicious.”
Arsenic?
