In the Reading Room, things were not going as Madame Perrault planned. She recounted her suffering, telling the two FBI agents how much she hated her unfaithful husband, especially after he beat her. She cursed him, praying to the Gods to punish him, and when no deity answered, she decided to kill him herself.
“Why choose this party? You had plenty of time to poison him at home; why here?” Agent Mulder didn’t buy the story and kept pressing for the execution details.
“There were many people coming and going at the party; it wouldn’t be as noticeable as at my home.”
“And why are you rushing to confess now, if you planned so thoughtfully not to be noticed?”
“I don’t want an innocent young man to take the blame for me. You know that well, Officer,” Madame Perrault stared straight into Agent Mulder’s eyes. Having faced numerous tough negotiations for her incapable husband, she was practiced at finding the weakness of an opponent.
“Mr. Edson is still a suspect, Madame. He could be your accomplice.”
“Nonsense. As I told you, I did it all by myself.”
“Madame, with all respect, you couldn’t have poisoned your husband at the party,” Agent Mulder said, a slight, almost triumphant smile touching the corners of his mouth. “You are a distinguished guest; everyone was trying to get a moment to speak with you. You didn’t have the time to spray poison on the apples. You must have had help—an accomplice.”
He was right. Throughout the party, she had been glued to CEOs, board members, lords, and a duchess—all for business and the ridiculous tariff war. This was not the environment she had intended for the evening; this party was supposed to be for designers, artists, and writers. It was her husband who had deliberately brought his negotiating group and tycoons here after learning she would attend. He wanted to parade their ‘happy marriage’ publicly and remind her that she couldn’t escape his grasp.
She had wanted revenge. She had already told the agents she kissed her husband to transfer powder to his lips and sprayed juice onto apples at the party, perhaps dropping the bottle in a washroom in her panic. However, no matter how much she wanted to be the killer, she truly didn’t have the window of opportunity.
It was Snow. Snow had confessed everything to her after the meeting with the dignitaries. Snow had once told her she would help free her from her monster husband, but Madame Perrault never thought she would actually go through with it. That’s why, when she saw her husband dead, she had lost consciousness—not out of grief for him, but worry for Snow. The first thing she thought of was how to help Snow escape. That was why she had asked Snow to bring a bottle of Burgundy, hoping they could formulate a plan together. When Ali and the group came, she feared they had uncovered Snow’s crime. She sent a message to Snow telling her to wait an hour before returning to the room. Her plan was to use her diplomatic immunity to confess, lure the FBI away, and buy Snow time to escape and hide. She left a note explaining the situation. It was her fault, ultimately; if she had possessed the courage to divorce or stand up to her husband, Snow wouldn’t have been involved.
“Oh, you don’t know how quickly and unnoticeable a woman can use a spray bottle for a touch-up, do you? I don’t see a ring on your finger,” she said sarcastically, aiming for a distraction.
Agent Mulder adjusted his posture awkwardly, momentarily unsettled by the personal jab.
“I think it’s too late to get any productive results tonight. The analysis of the security footage should come out tomorrow. Then we shall see whether Madame had the opportunity or not,” Agent Scully said to Agent Mulder, closing her laptop with a sigh of exhaustion.
“Oh, right,” Agent Mulder conceded, giving up the interrogation. “Madame, do you want to come with us to the Office, or stay here? We will send agents to guard you if you wish to remain.”
“To your Office, please. I’ve always wanted to visit an FBI Office,” Madame Perrault said, now sounding almost joyful.
The lobby still felt warm and bright when they came out from the Reading Room, contrasting with the cold, dark world outside. Agent Mulder gave the order for all FBI agents in the Dressrious Salon to withdraw.
Just before they exited the lobby, a bright, trembling voice stopped them.
“Officer, I’m Snow White, and I confess I poisoned the Ambassador.” Snow stood at the center of the lobby, holding a shiny red apple in her right hand.
“Snow…” Madame Perrault cried out in shock.
“Miss,” Agent Scully began, her exhaustion briefly giving way to irritation at the sudden complication. Agent Mulder completed the thought for her: “Miss, could you please repeat what you just said?”
“I have the bottle you are looking for,” Snow took a small, clear spray bottle with an owl symbol at the top from her uniform jacket pocket. “I poisoned the Ambassador because he is a despicable jerk—unfaithful, a wife-beater, and he sexually harassed me. I wanted him dead. So I touched Alkaline powder to my lips and kissed him after he took a shower in the private room, and then I sprayed Wolfsbane juice on the apples when I saw a chance to draw attention during the party. I’m happy he died a horrible death in front of all those bigwigs, so they know he was just a pathetic little pig.” Her voice was trembling with rage, thin and broken as she finished, gritting her teeth in silent fury.
“Miss, could you come with us?” Agent Mulder walked cautiously toward Snow.
“I would rather be dead than face a flawed trial.” Snow raised her right hand, bringing the apple to her mouth, and took a large, deliberate bite.
“No!” In Madame Perrault’s raw, sorrowful cry, Snow’s lips immediately turned black. Both the apple and the spray bottle dropped from her hands onto the maroon carpet of the lobby, and she fell instantly to the floor.