My Son Is Trying To Poison Me For My $18m Inheritance. He Forgot One Detail: I’m A Retired Cardiac Surgeon. The Fbi Is Waiting In The Next Room.
The Sting
Three days ago, I overheard them planning specifics. I was supposedly asleep in my bedroom, but I’d left the door cracked. Rachel had insisted on helping me to bed early, giving me my medications.,
“We need to do it soon,” Daniel said. “Before she actually changes the will. We increase the dose tonight, enough to guarantee it.”
“What if someone investigates?” Rachel asked.
“They won’t. She’s 68 with documented heart problems. People with Afib die; it happens. The death certificate will say cardiac arrest due to underlying condition, and the money will finally be ours. $18 million. We can pay off everything, start fresh, live the life we deserve.”
I recorded every word. Yesterday afternoon, I contacted the FBI. I’d gone beyond local police because the financial fraud crossed state lines; some of my investment accounts were in California and Washington. I met with Special Agent Jennifer Morrison at a coffee shop far from my neighborhood.
I showed her everything: the forged financial documents, the toxic blood tests, the recordings, the security camera footage showing Rachel refilling my medication organizer with extra pills.,
“Mrs. Hayes,” Agent Morrison said, “we have enough to arrest them right now.”
“No,” I said. “I need them to actually attempt it. I need irrefutable proof of attempted murder, not just the financial crimes. Otherwise they might plead down, claim it was all a misunderstanding about the medications.”
Agent Morrison was reluctant, but she understood. “We’ll have agents positioned around your house. The moment you’re in danger, we move in. You’ll wear a medical alert device that sends a signal directly to us.”
That was yesterday. Last night, I pretended to take my evening medications, the ones Rachel handed me with a glass of water and a concerned smile. I palmed the pills and disposed of them later. Then I went to bed early, complaining of feeling weak and dizzy.
“Maybe I should call Dr. Park,” I said, my voice deliberately faint.
“No, no,” Rachel said quickly. “You just need rest. Your appointment with her is next week anyway; no point bothering her now.”
Of course she didn’t want me seeing Dr. Park. The doctor would immediately recognize the symptoms and hospitalize me, ruining their timeline.
Caught in the Act
I lay in bed, lights off, listening. Around 11 p.m., I heard footsteps in the hallway. My bedroom door opened slowly. Through barely closed eyelids, I saw Rachel enter, Daniel behind her.
Rachel approached my bedside, holding my medication organizer and a glass of water. But she also had something else: a small bottle of pills.
“She’s asleep,” Rachel whispered. Daniel moved closer. “Are you sure about this?”
“We discussed this. We increase it enough that her heart stops tonight. The paramedics will come, they’ll try to revive her, but it’ll be too late. Cardiac arrest. Everyone will think it was the Afib. The new will, she never actually changed it. I checked with the county records; we’re fine. By tomorrow afternoon, everything will be in your name again.”
They were wrong. Steven had filed it in a different county as a backup, but I let them believe their misinformation.
Rachel opened the small bottle and tapped out three pills. Not the 0.125 mg I was supposed to take. These looked different—larger, higher dosage tablets.
“These are 0.25 mg each,” Rachel whispered. “Combined with what she’s already taken today, it’s more than enough.”
She crushed the pills and mixed them into the glass of water. Then she lifted my head, trying to get me to drink. I couldn’t keep pretending; if I swallowed that mixture, I might actually die before the FBI could intervene.
I pressed the medical alert device hidden under my pillow. Then I opened my eyes fully and looked directly at Rachel.
“That’s Digoxin you’re trying to give me,” I said clearly. “0.25 mg tablets. You’ve been poisoning me for weeks, inducing toxic levels. I’m a cardiac surgeon; did you really think I wouldn’t recognize Digoxin toxicity?”
Rachel’s face went white. She stumbled backward, dropping the glass. Daniel moved toward me.
“Mom, you’re confused. These are your prescribed medications.”
“No,” I said, sitting up fully. “My prescribed dose is 0.0625 mg. Dr. Park reduced it last month. But you’ve been giving me double and triple doses, forging refill requests, inducing toxic blood levels that would cause fatal arrhythmias. It’s all documented: blood tests, recordings, camera footage.”,
“You’re paranoid,” Daniel said, but his voice shook.
“Am I? Then explain the $120,000 you stole. Explain why you’ve been crushing higher dose tablets into my water. Explain the conversations I recorded about waiting for my heart to stop so you can inherit $18 million.”
Confrontation and Arrest
That’s when I heard the commotion downstairs. Loud voices. “FBI! Search warrant!”
Daniel and Rachel looked at each other in panic. Rachel bolted for the door, but FBI agents were already coming up the stairs. Special Agent Morrison entered my bedroom followed by four other agents.
“Daniel Hayes, Rachel Hayes, you’re under arrest for attempted murder, elder abuse, wire fraud, and conspiracy.”
The agents moved efficiently, handcuffing both of them while reading their Miranda rights.
“This is insane!” Rachel screamed. “She’s confused! She’s old and her mind is going!”
“Mrs. Hayes has extensive documentation,” Agent Morrison said calmly, “including video footage of you preparing contaminated medication just now. You have the right to remain silent; I suggest you use it.”
They removed Daniel and Rachel from my house. I watched from my bedroom window as they were placed in separate FBI vehicles. Daniel looked back at the house once, and for just a moment I thought I saw remorse in his eyes. But then the car door closed, and he was gone.
Paramedics checked me over. My heart rhythm was stable—surprisingly so, given the stress. They wanted to take me to the hospital for observation, but I declined. Ellen Park came to the house instead, running a full cardiac workup right there.
“Victoria,” she said after reviewing my EKG, “you’re remarkably stable for what you’ve been through.”
“I stopped taking their poisoned pills 3 days ago,” I said. “I’ve been taking properly dosed medication from another pharmacy. My levels are back to therapeutic range.”
Ellen shook her head in amazement. “You diagnosed yourself, gathered evidence, and set a trap. You’re either brilliant or crazy.”
“Can’t I be both?”
