Chapter 4 - The Stolen Prescription
Courtney smiled wickedly, clearly enjoying the absolute power she held over me in that terrifying moment.
"Mom figured you might remember your stupid little spy camera," she sneered.
She held up the tiny black SD card between her fingers before slipping it into her pocket.
"You are going to ruin your entire life for a woman who never even loved you, Courtney," I reasoned desperately.
"Mom loves me, and she promised I could have this house once you are rotting in prison," she replied proudly.
I realized my sister was completely brainwashed by Patricia's toxic, manipulative promises.
I pretended to surrender, slowly lowering myself to my knees on the bedroom floor.
As Courtney stepped closer to gloat, I lunged forward with explosive speed and tackled her legs.
The heavy pistol fired a bullet harmlessly into the ceiling, showering us with white drywall dust.
I wrestled the gun out of her hands and pinned her securely to the carpet.
I reached into her pocket, desperately searching for the stolen memory card.
Instead of the SD card, my fingers grabbed a large, heavy plastic prescription bottle.
I pulled it out and read the bright yellow pharmacy label.
It was a highly restricted, incredibly powerful adult sedative, prescribed entirely in my name.
The fill date on the bottle was two days ago, right in the middle of my business trip.
Patricia had used my stolen medical identity to purchase the drugs she used to poison my wife.
I shoved the pill bottle into my pocket, knowing this was the physical evidence I needed to clear my name.
Courtney scrambled out from under me, crying hysterically as she realized she had lost her leverage.
I did not stay to listen to her pathetic apologies.
I ran out of the front door and stole Courtney's car keys from the hallway table.
I drove the stolen vehicle straight back to the hospital, praying I could reach Dr. Evans before the police found me.
I sneaked in through the emergency loading dock and found the doctor charting notes at the nurses' station.
I slammed the orange pill bottle down onto the desk, begging him to run a specific toxicology screen on Hannah's blood.
Dr. Evans looked at the bottle, his eyes widening in pure shock as he read the dangerous dosage.
He promised to rush the lab results and told me to hide in the janitor's closet until the coast was clear.
Ten minutes later, the closet door swung open violently.
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It was not Dr. Evans standing in the doorway.
It was the corrupt local sheriff, and he had his service weapon pointed directly at my chest.
