Richard stood up slowly from the marble floor, his expression hardening from relief into a cold, calculated fury that matched the most ruthless boardroom takeovers of his career. He clutched the poisoned test strip in his fist as he looked over his shoulder toward the grand doorway in the background, where the shadows of the hallway concealed the uninvited face. A tense heartbeat pulse thudded in the background, heightening the suspense as the guests gasped in renewed panic. There, standing near the entrance with a pale, sweating face and frantically backing away toward the exit, was Marcus Vance, Richard's chief financial officer and trusted family advisor.
Richard: Where do you think you are going, Marcus?
Marcus: I... I just remembered an urgent call I have to make, Richard. I should leave you to your family crisis.
Richard: You aren't going anywhere except straight to a federal prison cell!
Clara: Guard the doors! Don't let him escape out of this mansion!
Marcus turned to bolt through the front entrance, but mansion security guards stepped out from the side corridors instantly, blocking his path and pinning his arms behind his back. The expensive crystal chandeliers shook slightly as Marcus thrashed against the guards, his corporate composure shattering completely under the weight of his exposed crime. Richard walked toward him with measured, terrifying steps, holding up the bright red test strip as undeniable proof of the attempted murder. The American flag on the back wall seemed to watch over the sudden execution of justice, symbolizing a house restored from the brink of absolute tragedy.
Richard: You wanted my estate, you wanted my corporate shares, so you tried to eliminate my children?
Marcus: You can't prove anything! That piece of paper means nothing in court!
Richard: Between the smart-home security cameras that recorded you tampering with the frosting and this chemical sample, you will spend the rest of your natural life behind bars.