"Ivy, let's go," Jamison said, extending a hand to her.
Ivy took her husband’s hand and rose to follow him, leaving the cup of hot tea untouched.
"Have you noticed anything suspicious?" she whispered.
"Not yet."
"You don't think he found out about our preparations and decided not to come, do you?" she wondered aloud.
"It's hard to say."
"I can't even spot the plainclothes officers," she muttered.
Jamison chuckled softly. "If you could spot them that easily, they wouldn't be very good at their jobs, would they? Don't worry, everything is in place."
Last night, Jamison had been the anxious one. Now, the roles were reversed, with Ivy feeling restless and him offering reassurance.
Baillie's voice echoed through the chapel. "Friends, family, thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to attend my father's funeral. My father's life was…"
"My stomach… it hurts so much!"
Before Baillie could finish his opening sentence, a commotion erupted from the crowd. Someone was clutching their abdomen, groaning in pain.
"Ah, my head is pounding… I can’t breathe, my chest feels so tight…"
Nearby guests gasped, rushing to support those who were collapsing. "What's wrong? Why the sudden stomach pains?"
"Ah, my stomach hurts too! Is it food poisoning?"
"My head is killing me…"
"Me too… oh, it’s starting for me now."
"What on earth is happening? What's going on?"
In an instant, a third of the people in the hall were either clutching their stomachs or heads, doubled over in agony. The more severe cases collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath and clutching their chests.
The scene stunned Jamison and Ivy. But after the initial shock, Jamison’s professional instincts took over. He calmed himself and immediately rushed to check on a guest who had collapsed.
A woman near Ivy also began showing symptoms, her face turning pale as she clutched her stomach. Ivy quickly steadied her. "What did you eat?"
"I… I didn't eat anything. I just had a few sips of tea."
"Tea?" The word jolted Ivy. She suddenly remembered the cup of hot tea by her side—the one she had almost picked up.
In the crowd, Jamison had already examined several of the most severe cases. "It's poisoning!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the panic. "Call an ambulance, get them to the hospital, now!"
Standing on the stage, Baillie was frozen in shock. He dropped the microphone and was about to step down when he suddenly stopped, his own hands flying to his abdomen. A second later, he crumpled to the ground in pain.
"Baillie! Baillie!" Rosetta shrieked, rushing to her son’s side. "Baillie, what’s wrong? Hold on! I’ll call for an ambulance!"
"Induce vomiting!" Jamison yelled, instructing everyone on how to perform first aid. "Use your fingers to press down hard on the base of the tongue to stimulate the gag reflex! Then drink warm water and do it again! Don't drink any more of the tea here! Does anyone have unopened bottled water? Get it now!"
"Anyone who is conscious and has family with them, if you can drive, get to the nearest hospital immediately!"
With so many people poisoned, even an ambulance wouldn't be able to transport everyone at once. Several plainclothes officers in the crowd began assisting with the rescue efforts. The bodyguards Jamison had stationed, both visible and hidden, all emerged to help ferry the victims to the hospital. Unsure of the type of poison and the potential danger, their priority shifted from apprehending a criminal to saving lives. The original mission was all but forgotten.
Ivy rushed to Jamison’s side, her voice laced with worry. "Will anyone die? He just wanted revenge on the Windsors, why would he be so ruthless?" He hadn’t even spared the innocent guests.
Jamison also suspected that this bizarre mass poisoning was Hawley’s doing. If so, he had to be somewhere in the room.
"Ivy, stay right behind me!" Jamison warned sternly as he worked to revive an unconscious guest.
They had underestimated Hawley’s capacity for violence. Even the police hadn’t anticipated that he would resort to such a vicious method to disrupt the scene.
In the middle of helping a victim, a plainclothes officer turned to Jamison. "Dr. Ludwig, based on your experience, what do you think caused this?"
Jamison was a surgeon, not a toxicologist, but drawing on his extensive medical knowledge, he made a preliminary assessment. "It's likely heavy metal poisoning. When they get to the hospital, have them screen for that first."
"Got it!"
On the stage, Rosetta and her daughter-in-law were trying to help Baillie. As they guided him down from the stage and around a corner, a female staff member suddenly rushed toward them. "Windsor! I'm here to claim your life for Marjory!"
Before the words had even faded, the woman brandished a dagger and lunged straight for Baillie. The ferocious cry caught Jamison and Ivy’s attention. They both looked up, their eyes wide with shock.
It was a woman?
But as they replayed the voice in their minds, they realized it was distinctly male. In a flash, they understood: Hawley had disguised himself as a woman.
He was thin and under five-foot-seven, a build that could easily pass for female. With a wig and some light makeup, it was indeed difficult to tell his gender at first glance.
Hawley’s appearance sent a wave of tension through the remaining officers and bodyguards in the chapel. They immediately pushed through the chaotic crowd, converging on the stage from all directions.