They were recordings—meticulously dated and organized—detailing a plan so sinister that it felt like a scene from a crime thriller. Gary had been slowly poisoning my mother with a substance that was undetectable in routine medical tests. He had detailed notes on dosage, effects, and a timeline that aimed for her demise to appear as a natural, albeit tragic, health decline. The insurance policy was already in place, worth more than I ever imagined, and I realized just how deep his greed ran.
The names in the file belonged to a string of women, all deceased, with eerily similar medical histories and insurance payouts. It was a chilling revelation: my mother was not the first. Gary had done this before, each time perfecting his method. The horror of it nearly paralyzed me, but the urgent need to protect my mother pushed me forward.
I knew I couldn’t confront him directly; he was too dangerous and still had legal control over our lives. Instead, I copied everything—every file, every note, every piece of damning evidence—and stealthily began my plan to dismantle his world.
