During dinner, a 10-year-old girl suddenly threw her father’s glass of wine on the ground and shouted: “Don’t drink! There are drugs in it!”. Everyone thought she watched too many movies. But the girl presented evidence: She saw her mother secretly put something in the wine bottle when the family was not looking. Hearing this, the husband immediately stood up, but the wife was already…

# Thanksgiving Night at Old Mill Road

Old Mill Road, outside Greenwich, Connecticut.

November 27, 2025. The Harrington family’s last Thanksgiving dinner.

A three-story Colonial house, red brick, white columns, high windows. Inside, the smell of a 22-pound roast turkey wafted with the scent of herbs and oak from the fireplace. A long walnut dining table set with Irish linen, Wedgwood dinnerware, Baccarat crystal glasses, Christofle silverware. Sixteen people sat around the table—relatives, close friends, business associates. All dressed up, laughing loudly, talking about stocks, their children’s Ivy League schools, the upcoming ski trip to Aspen.

The host, Richard “Rick” Harrington, 48, CEO of the hedge fund Harrington Capital Management, was at the head of the table, holding a bottle of Château Margaux 2005—a bottle he proudly boasted he bought for $4,800 at an auction in Napa last year. He filled his glass, raised it, and said, “Please drink to my family, to my health, and to the fact that we’ll be here together in a year.”

The red wine was blood-red under the chandelier.

At that moment, a shrill scream rang out.

“DON’T DRINK IT! THERE’S DRUGS IN IT!”

Everyone spun around.

It was Sophie Harrington—Rick and Lauren’s youngest daughter, 10 years old, blonde hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a red velvet dress with a white collar. She was standing on a chair, her hands shaking, pointing at her father’s wine glass.

The table was silent for three seconds, then burst into laughter.

Uncle Ted – Rick’s younger brother – laughed until he choked:

“Hello, James Bond kid! You’ve watched too many detective movies, Sophie.”

Grandma Margaret stroked her granddaughter’s hair, her voice softening:

“Sit down, honey, don’t make a scene.”

But Sophie didn’t sit. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with panic.

“I’m not lying! I saw Mom put something in the bottle this afternoon! When everyone was in the backyard taking pictures!”

The air suddenly turned cold.

Rick’s wife, Lauren Harrington, 42, former Miss Connecticut 2006, and now president of the Harrington Foundation, was sitting at the end of the table, holding a glass of champagne. The smile on her lips froze.

Rick lowered his glass, slowly looked at his daughter, then at his wife.

“Sophie,” he said, his voice low but sharp, “what are you talking about?”

Sophie jumped off the chair, ran around the table, stood next to Dad, and pointed at Mom.

“At 4:12 p.m., I went into the kitchen to get apple juice. Mom thought no one was there. She took a small brown glass bottle with a white label from her coat pocket. She uncorked the bottle of Château Margaux, poured something in, shook it, and closed it. I saw it! She even looked around to see if anyone was there!”

Everyone started looking at each other. The laughter had died down.

Lauren laughed – a dry, high-pitched laugh.

“Sophie, you’re imagining it. Mom just… just added a little more wine from another bottle to make it enough for everyone. She’s very imaginative, you know.”

But Sophie shook her head vigorously.

“It wasn’t wine! It was white powder! I saw Mom pour it from a tiny bottle, like a medicine bottle in a movie! She wiped the neck of the bottle with a tissue and threw it in the trash can in the hallway!”

Rick didn’t say anything else. He put his glass down on the table, walked quickly out of the dining room, and went straight to the kitchen. Everyone heard him open the trash can, the rustling of plastic bags.

Thirty seconds later, he returned, holding a crumpled piece of paper towel with tiny traces of white powder on it.

He looked at Lauren. His eyes were red.

“Lauren,” his voice was hoarse, “how do you explain this?”

Lauren stood up, her chair falling back. She took a step back, her hand clutching her chest.

“Rick… you misunderstood. It was just… just sugar. I was afraid the wine was a little harsh, I wanted to tone it down a bit.”

Sophie screamed: “It’s not sugar! I saw you Google it on your phone at 3:50! I peeked through the crack in the door – you searched ‘cyanide smell like almonds’ and ‘how much cyanide to kill a man instantly’!”

The table was dead silent.

Grandma Margaret let out a choked sob, clutching her chest.

Rick moved closer to his wife. His face was drained of color.

“Lauren,” he said slowly, “give me the phone.”

Lauren shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes—but not tears of repentance, tears of someone who had been cornered.

“Rick… you don’t understand. You never understand. For the past 18 years, all you’ve had is work, money, and 25-year-old interns. You think I don’t know? I know everything! I know you transferred $12 million to an offshore account in the Caymans to prepare to run away with your secretary!”

Rick stopped dead.

“What… what are you talking about?”

Lauren smiled—a crooked, almost manic smile.

“I hired a private investigator in March. I have photos, videos, text messages. You’re going to divorce me in January, right? Leave me and the kids $2 million and this house—like it’s charity. I won’t accept it!”

She turned to the dinner table—no one dared to breathe now.

“I’ve been planning it since August. Cyanide from a lab in New Jersey. No smell, no taste when mixed with the tannins of the 2005 Margaux. Just 200 milligrams. The guests will think he had a heart attack after a big meal. I’ll cry, wear my best mourning clothes, and then six months later take all the insurance money and

trust.”

She looked straight into her husband’s eyes.

“But she… she ruined everything.”

Sophie stood behind her father, sobbing.

Lauren suddenly rushed toward the back door – the door leading to the garage. While everyone was still stunned, Rick’s cousin, Olivia, was the fastest, jumping over the table and grabbing Lauren’s arm.

“CALL 911 NOW!” Olivia screamed.

Two minutes later, the Greenwich police arrived. Lauren Harrington was handcuffed in the middle of the marble hallway, still wearing her pearl-green silk dress and blood-red Louboutins. She didn’t resist, just looked at Sophie – her eyes were both hateful and… scared.

While waiting for the police car, Rick knelt down and hugged his daughter.

“You did great, honey. You saved me.”

Sophie whispered, tears soaking the collar of her father’s shirt:

“I don’t want to lose you. I was just pretending to play with my iPad… I was actually watching you last week. I thought you were weird.”

That night, the 2005 Château Margaux bottle was sealed as evidence. Tests later confirmed it: 285 milligrams of potassium cyanide—enough to kill three adults.

Lauren Harrington received a life sentence without parole in 2027.

Sophie was awarded the Connecticut Young Citizen Hero Medal.

And the house on Old Mill Road was auctioned off in the spring of 2026. No one wanted to live in a place that had nearly been the site of the most perfect Thanksgiving murder in Connecticut history.

It is said that on cold winter nights, if you pass 42 Old Mill Road, you can still hear a little girl whispering between sobs:

“Don’t drink it… there’s medicine in it…”