haven

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At 7:04 on an ordinary Tuesday morning, I was seconds away from swallowing two pills I'd taken every day for three years when a six-year-old girl stopped me. "Boss, that medicine looks different today." Two armed guards and my security chief stood nearby, but none of them had noticed what the housekeeper's daughter had seen. When I examined the pills, my blood ran cold. Someone had tampered with my heart medication inside a mansion guarded around the clock—and whoever had done it was still somewhere in my house, waiting for me to die.