Chapter 2 - The Toxicology Report
Within forty minutes, the sterile efficiency of a modern hospital had been artificially recreated in the grand guest suite of the Lomas de Chapultepec mansion. Dr. Cárdenas, a senior toxicologist and personal physician to Mexico City's elite, stood over Emiliano with a team of two masked assistants. IV lines were hooked up, stabilizing the boy’s electrolytes while a specialized gastric panel was drawn and analyzed on-site using portable laboratory equipment Alejandro’s wealth could summon at a moment's notice.
Alejandro sat in a leather armchair in the corner of the room, staring intently at the small dark bottle resting on a silver tray on the coffee table.
Regina was confined to the adjacent library, flanked by two of Ramiro’s most trusted security guards. Every few minutes, muffled sounds of protest and demands to see her personal lawyer echoed through the mahogany doors, but Alejandro had given explicit instructions: Nobody speaks to her, nobody lets her touch a phone.
Dr. Cárdenas emerged from the medical alcove, pulling off his latex gloves with a grim, tight-lipped expression. He walked over to Alejandro, wiping his hands with a damp cloth.
“Well, Doctor?” Alejandro demanded, standing up immediately. “What did you find? Is it food poisoning? A virus?”
“It’s neither, Alejandro,” Dr. Cárdenas said softly, casting a glance toward the bed where Emiliano was finally resting under heavy sedation. “The boy was telling the truth. Something was biting him—metaphorically speaking, of course. His bloodwork shows high concentrations of a synthetic organophosphate compound. It’s an agricultural pesticide, heavily restricted, highly toxic, and virtually untraceable in standard hospital screenings because it metabolizes within specific tissue walls before reaching the bloodstream in measurable quantities.”
Alejandro’s fists clenched at his sides so hard his fingernails broke the skin of his palms. “What does it do?”
“In low, continuous doses,” the doctor explained, his voice grim, “it causes intense gastrointestinal spasms, severe localized burning sensations in the stomach lining, and localized muscular twitching that feels precisely like something crawling or biting under the skin. It drives adults to the brink of psychosis within a week. In a ten-year-old child... it is pure torture.”
Lucía, who was standing quietly near the door holding a fresh basin of water, let out a soft gasp, covering her mouth with her hand.
“And the bottle?” Alejandro asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Ramiro had one of my assistants run a preliminary reagent test on the residue inside that dropper,” Dr. Cárdenas said, pointing to the silver tray. “It’s a 100% match. Whoever was administering those drops was systematically poisoning him, day by day, increasing the dosage just enough to make him look unstable, erratic, and violently unhinged.”
The pieces clicked together with horrifying clarity in Alejandro’s mind.
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The emergency room visits where doctors found nothing because the poison bypassed standard panels. The sudden behavioral outbursts Emiliano had exhibited over the past three months—outbursts that conveniently began right after Regina moved into the mansion. And finally, the psychiatric admission order sitting on the dresser, ready to lock the boy away forever before the poison could permanently silence him.
“She wanted him gone,” Alejandro whispered, the realization tasting like ash in his mouth. “If Emiliano was in a psychiatric asylum, no one would ever question why his health failed. She would inherit the primary trust, and the house would be entirely hers.”
