A poor boy shouted, “Don’t eat that!” The millionaire wouldn’t have listened if he hadn’t seen it himself…

The police began digging into the details. The soup’s analysis confirmed the presence of digoxin, and the case was handed to the district attorney’s office. Leaked videos on social media, news articles, and discussions on platforms like X fueled public interest. The story of a tycoon nearly poisoned by his young wife read like a TV drama. But it was real.

William sat in his office on Fifth Avenue, gazing out at springtime New York. Yesterday, he’d nearly been a victim. Today, he was the center of attention. But what troubled him most was how he’d missed the warning signs.

“You should only give statements with a lawyer,” his assistant said, entering with a tablet. “The press is in a frenzy. Your stocks are holding, but the pressure will grow.”

William nodded. His name was a brand—reliable, respected. Now it appeared in headlines with a different undertone.

“Where’s the kid now?” he asked, still staring out the window.

“We found him temporary housing. A private youth center, not a shelter. It’s safe, decent conditions. We arranged security while the investigation’s ongoing.”

“Good. I want to talk to him. Tonight.”

In a police precinct, Emily sat in an interrogation room. Without makeup, in a plain gray sweater, she looked both younger and older. She didn’t seem scared—more annoyed. Her lawyer paced nervously.

“This is absurd,” he insisted. “They have no direct evidence except the word of some street kid. He’s a minor, homeless. They can’t prove you added the substance.”

“Cameras?” Emily asked, staring at a spot on the wall.

“Unfortunately, the camera above your table malfunctioned. Could be a glitch. That works in our favor. But the soup analysis is a problem.”

Emily was silent for a moment.

“I just wanted to leave cleanly,” she said suddenly. “No divorce, no property disputes, no courts. He’d have signed a power of attorney. He’s old anyway—a month or two, and no one would’ve suspected. Right?”..