A woman walks into a pharmacy one afternoon, looking calm but determined. She approaches the counter and says to the pharmacist in a low, serious voice, “I need a poison. Something strong, fast-acting… and untraceable.
It has to look like my husband died of natural causes.” The pharmacist blinks in shock, then quickly leans forward, whispering back, “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.
In fact, I have a legal obligation to report this conversation to the authorities.” Without saying another word, the woman reaches into her purse, pulls out a folded photograph, and slides it across the counter. The pharmacist picks it up, unfolds it, and his eyes go wide—it’s a clear shot of her husband in bed… with the pharmacist’s own wife.
There’s a long, pause. Then the pharmacist clears his throat and says, “Ah. I see you have a prescription. That changes everything.”