Chapter 3: Drugs and Deceit

It hit me—I was just a piece on Thompson’s chessboard. If a cop said it, Carter might doubt it. But if the forensic pathologist said it, it was gospel.

“Good. Call the beneficiaries—both sons. Tell them you’re at the courthouse, need them to come in for the investigation.”

Carter was more than happy to oblige, flipping open his phone and dialing with the speed of someone who’s been waiting for this moment all week.

I leaned in to Thompson, lowering my voice. “Will they really show up for this?”

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Two million bucks on the line. What do you think?”

I let out a low whistle. No wonder Thompson was digging so hard.

Instead of the station, Thompson used my office as neutral ground. The waiting area was stacked with last month’s Newsweek, a broken vending machine humming in the corner. It wasn’t long before the Whitaker brothers showed up.

Cole, the younger, barged in, all bluster and energy. “Drugs? My dad never touched that stuff! What the hell is wrong with you people?” He was pacing, fists clenched, eyes darting around the room.

Thompson slid the blood report across the table. Grant, the older brother, picked it up and read in silence, his jaw tightening. Cole, seeing his brother’s blank face, slumped into a chair and snatched the paper, scanning it with trembling hands.

“The only way to clear your names is to allow an autopsy,” Thompson pressed, his tone even but insistent.

It was clear: if they wanted the insurance, they’d have to let us open their father up. Usually, the burden of proof is on the accuser, but Thompson was flipping the script. Grant tapped his pen against the table, Cole drummed his fingers, both men radiating tension.

Cole exploded, voice cracking. “No way! I don’t agree! My dad already went through enough. Now you want to cut him open? That’s sick!”

Grant added, “You think my dad was a junkie? You’re supposed to prove it, not make us do your job.”

Thompson nodded to Carter, who gave his best corporate smile, reciting, “The blood report creates reasonable doubt. If we can’t resolve it, we’ll have to deny the claim. You’re free to challenge it in court, but that could take years.”

Grant smirked, arms crossed. “Court, huh? That’ll drag on forever.”

Carter kept his pleasant, practiced tone. “With a claim this size, we have to be diligent. Yes, it could be years before you see a dime.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the ticking of the wall clock.

Carter pressed, “An autopsy is the quickest way to resolve this. The insurance payout will come through much faster than the estate. You know how probate can drag on.”

Cole turned to his brother, voice low. “Don’t let them bully us. Is the insurance worth it?” He was fidgeting, bouncing his leg, while Grant stared at the floor.

Grant ignored him, looking up at Thompson. “My dad didn’t have an illegitimate kid, right?”

Thompson replied smoothly, “Yesterday’s paternity test says Daniel Reyes isn’t your brother.”

Grant didn’t miss a beat. “I know what you’re thinking. I want him to rest in peace, but if it’ll clear things up, do the autopsy.”