Chapter 2 - The Mourning Monster
By the next morning, the news of my "tragic accident" had taken the global media by storm. Headlines across every major network and social media platform blazed with the same shocking narrative: Heiress Amelia Hayes Lost at Sea in Horrific Helicopter Accident.
Photos of Richard, dressed in a sharp black suit with bloodshot eyes and a handkerchief pressed to his face, were splashed across the front pages. Outside our estate in Atherton, a sea of reporters had gathered. Richard stood before the microphones, flanked by his lawyer, Marcus Vance (no relation to my security chief), looking like a broken man.
"Amelia was my world," Richard sobbed into the cameras, his voice trembling with practiced precision. "And our unborn child... they were everything to me. I tried to grab her hand, but the wind... the altitude... she was just gone. I will spend the rest of my life honoring her memory."
Sitting in my subterranean bunker in northern California, I watched the live broadcast with a mixture of disgust and cold fury.
"He's good," Vance remarked, tossing a folder onto the table in front of me. "If I didn't know he tried to drop you into the ocean, I’d offer him a tissue."
"He’s ambitious," I corrected. "And ambition makes people stupid. How are the financial movements looking?"
Vance opened the file. "Exactly as you predicted. Less than eighteen hours after the 'accident,' Marcus Vance filed an expedited petition in probate court to execute your will and transfer temporary management of Hayes Global to Richard, citing 'corporate continuity' during this time of tragedy."
I leaned back, swirling the water in my glass. Richard was rushing. He was so desperate to pay off the massive, secret debts he had accumulated through failed offshore investments that he couldn't even wait for a body to be recovered. That rush would be his downfall.
"Block the probate request through our dummy trust in the Cayman Islands," I ordered. "Do it anonymously. Make it look like a standard legal hold triggered by an independent auditing firm. Let him feel the first taste of panic."
"And the board meeting tomorrow?" Vance asked.
"Let him go," I said, a dark glint in my eyes. "Let him walk into Hayes Global like he owns the place. Let him sit in my chair. Because the higher he climbs right now, the further he has to fall."
That afternoon, Richard held a private memorial service at the estate. He invited the elite of Silicon Valley, major shareholders, and political figures, turning my supposed death into a networking event to consolidate his power. I watched through hidden security feeds installed throughout the house.
He moved through the crowd, accepting condolences while subtly reassuring investors that Hayes Global remained in steady hands. But as the evening wore on and the guests began to thin, Richard retired to my private study—the room he had always been forbidden from entering without my permission.
He locked the door, poured himself a glass of twenty-year-old scotch, and sat down behind my desk. The tears vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, triumphant grin. He raised his glass toward the empty room.
"To rich wives," Richard whispered to the darkness, taking a sip. "May they rest in peace."
May you like
He reached out to open the top drawer of my desk, expecting to find the private ledger for the company's master accounts. But when he pulled it open, he didn't find the documents.
Instead, he found a single, white envelope with his name written on it in my handwriting.
