Chapter 68
From the Desk of Maeve Carmichael Ward
I am of sound mind, but my body is failing. I’m simply hurrying it along. Before I go, I must unburden myself. I don’t deserve it, but I hope my family will someday be able to forgive me. It was for them that I made the choices I’ve come to regret.
Many years ago, to protect my family’s wealth and well-being, I decided to get rid of the woman who was interfering with Conrad’s marriage to Elizabeth.
After my first husband squandered all our money, the Ward fortune was the only thing that would save us.
If I had only known that years later, I’d marry Baxter, none of this would have been necessary.
Conrad was misguided, thinking money wasn’t as important as love. He didn’t understand how hard life could be without it, having always had what he needed at his fingertips.
Firing Anna and banning her from the house didn’t keep her from seeing my son.
Then I heard the news from Dr. Hill, a loyal family friend, who treated Anna for nausea and determined she was pregnant.
I knew my son would never leave her under those circumstances.
Which is why I sent Anna a note, inviting her to the guesthouse.
I could mimic my son’s handwriting, and I was aware of their lovers’ hideaway. Not much happened at Miramar without my knowledge. I set out chocolates and wine to make it look like a romantic evening.
The chocolates were poisoned using a high dose of Lypotrel. The correct amount was easy to determine. Its lethality was just starting to make headlines. And I wasn’t concerned about cleaning up the crime scene. Money can make a lot of problems disappear, including an inconvenient body.
Just as I finished injecting the chocolates with the drug, I heard someone at the door. I assumed Anna had arrived early, so I rushed out the back. In my haste, I carelessly left behind the vial of Lypotrel and the prescription bottle it came in.
I don’t know how the fire started, but it proved useful, providing the perfect cover for my crime.
The gas lines in the guesthouse were old and not up to code.
But the gas company report suggested someone might have tampered with the lines—a big red flag for the police that would have merited more investigation.
And there was the small matter of the medication containers I had inadvertently left at the scene.
I bribed Allen Spellman, the evidence custodian for the Beauport police department. He removed one of the bottles, which was badly damaged—the other was not recovered. Then he altered the gas company report. The cause of the fire became undetermined. The case went cold.
Our lives continued forward. In his grief, Conrad resigned himself to his loveless marriage. I thought his sadness would fade and he would come to appreciate the wealth and privilege it provided.
But that’s not what happened, and I owe a profound apology to Elizabeth Ward as well as to Conrad. She saved my family’s legacy and my home, but she did so at a grave cost.
Elizabeth worked in the legal department at Ward Pharma.
It was right around the time the controversy over Lypotrel began.
She started looking into it and learned about the drug’s dangers and the company’s cover-up.
She also learned the signs of overdose. That’s when she had a shocking realization: Her mother had died from the drug her father produced, and he had known all along.
Elizabeth confronted Baxter and planned to blow the whistle on him and the company if he didn’t come clean. Baxter never intended to use his daughter as a scapegoat. But when she made threats, he had to take drastic steps to protect himself and his company.
He wouldn’t go so far as to kill his daughter, but he would do whatever else it took to silence her. Dr. Hill’s license and reputation were also in danger, as he had consulted for Ward Pharma and it was he who altered the manipulated studies at Baxter’s request.
This made him eager to help with the cover-up. Together, they drugged Elizabeth. Chemical restraints were just as effective at silencing her as physical means would have been.
Conrad was fed a steady stream of lies from me, Baxter, and Dr. Hill.
He believed what Baxter told him—that Elizabeth had falsified the company documents for profit.
That she was the architect of the cover-up, and that the stress of the discovery had exacerbated an underlying mental health condition.
She had a sudden psychotic episode, a schizophrenic break, the doctor had called it.
For the next fifteen years, Dr. Hill kept Elizabeth in a state of permanent drug-induced delirium, and she took the blame for the company’s lethal deceit. By this point Baxter and I were in a relationship—I condoned everything we did to my poor daughter-in-law.
Conrad dedicated himself to caring for Elizabeth, thinking it was the best he could do. He believed our lies. My sweet boy thought he was doing the right thing, not realizing what had been orchestrated behind his back by the people he trusted.
I lived with this guilt for many years. I would have taken my secrets to the grave to protect the Carmichael legacy, had it not been for recent events.
You reach an age when you start to see things differently.
Back then, I focused on family wealth and status.
I still care about those things, but I have come to value my descendants more.
A legacy continues through more than just property and bank accounts; it lives on through DNA.
With Elizabeth’s poor health and Conrad’s grief, I had no grandchildren. Our family name and history would end. I felt partly to blame. And I didn’t foresee how this lack of grandchildren would affect me as I neared eighty with a heart condition, facing my own mortality.
I planned this party, a grand fundraiser that would remind the town of the Carmichael status before my heart gave out for good.
But then I learned one final thing … and decided this party would serve as my last farewell. Finis.
I do not deserve forgiveness for what I have done. But I do ask a favor.
Whoever finds my note, please return the enclosed necklace to my granddaughter, along with my deepest apologies.
Yours in death,
Maeve Carmichael