The Parker family

David sat at the small metal table in his grandmother’s dusty basement, the light bulb above him flickering. Three grocery bags sat in front of him—the Parkers’ weekly order. Organic fruit. Bottled juice. Pre–made salads. Fresh bread. All spotless, all perfect, all delivered right where he intercepted them.

He opened the vial of cyanide, the bitter almond scent barely noticeable.
He muttered to himself, “Upper-class trash. They think their money protects them. They think killing me came with no consequences.”

He dipped a syringe into the vial and quietly injected the poison into several items—strawberries, juice, bread, yogurt cups.
He whispered, “They’ll never see it coming. They’ll never even taste it.”

He resealed everything neatly, wiped each container with alcohol, and packed the groceries back into the original bags. When the delivery driver returned from his break, David handed him the bags with a smile and a fake uniform vest.

“Order for the Parkers,” David said casually.

The driver nodded. “Thanks, man.”

David stepped back into the shadows as the van rolled away.

When the groceries arrived at the Parker estate, David was already watching from across the street through a long-range camera.

Inside the kitchen, Vanessa Parker pulled out the strawberries first.

“This brand is so much better,” she said, rinsing them in the sink.
Her son, Troy Parker, wandered in behind her. “You think everything’s better. You just like spending money, Mom.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes and popped two strawberries into her mouth. “Oh hush, Troy. Go help your father bring in the bags.”

Troy grabbed a container of yogurt and peeled it open. “Man, I’m starving.”

Harold Parker, their father, entered carrying the second bag. “Finally, they delivered on time. Small miracle.” He cracked open a bottle of apple juice and took a long drink.

David leaned closer to his camera screen, whispering, “Three… two…”

Harold’s face tightened. He blinked hard, as if dizzy.
Troy scratched at his throat. “Mom… the hell? My chest—”
Vanessa gripped the counter. “Harold? Something’s… something’s wrong…”

Harold dropped the juice bottle. It shattered.
Troy staggered backward, gasping. “Mom! I can’t— I can’t breathe—”
Vanessa tried to scream, but her voice cracked into a choke.

David whispered coldly, “You should’ve let justice handle itself. But no… upper class never does.”

Harold collapsed first, his body convulsing.
Vanessa clawed at her pearls, eyes bulging.
Troy stumbled into the dining room, knocking over a chair before falling face-first onto the carpet.

Their gasps echoed through the estate, fading quickly.

David watched the feed with emotionless calm.
He said softly to himself, “This is what fairness looks like. This is equal. You killed me, remember? You buried me. This is balance.”

He replayed the footage once, listening to their final desperate breaths.
“Guilt tastes different when it’s yours,” he whispered. “Now you understand.”

Later that night, the news alerts came in rapidly.

PARKER FAMILY FOUND DEAD IN THEIR HOME
Possible Food Contamination Suspected

David sat in the dark, phone glowing against his face.

“Oh, they’ll blame the food companies,” he said under his breath. “They’ll recall everything. They’ll panic. Good. Let them.”

He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes for a moment.
“This is only the beginning,” he told himself. “They’ll know who I am eventually. And when they do… it’ll be too late.”

He stood, grabbed his burner phone, erased his logs, and whispered one last time before leaving the room:

“One family down. Manhattan still owes me more.”