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“Henry, wait!”
Kemy’s voice cut through the dining room like thunder.
Henry froze with the glass halfway to his lips.
Jane spun around so violently her chair nearly tipped over.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then Jane’s face twisted with rage.
“How dare you interrupt us?” she snapped at the old maid. “Do you know how rude that is?”
But Kemy wasn’t looking at Jane.
She was staring at the glass.
At the tiny white powder still clinging to the bottom.
Henry frowned.
“Iyaabo… what’s wrong?”
Kemy walked forward slowly.
Her hands trembled—not from fear, but from the unbearable weight of what she was about to do.
“Don’t drink that.”
Jane immediately laughed.
A sharp, nervous laugh.
“This woman is crazy,” she said quickly. “Henry, she’s old and confused.”
But Henry noticed something.
Jane wasn’t angry.
She was panicking.
And Henry had built a billion-dollar company by recognizing panic in people who were hiding something.
He lowered the glass slowly.
“Jane,” he said carefully, “what’s in this?”
Jane crossed her arms.