Chapter 6
The next three days are a blur.
Lila won’t come out of her room.
She won’t eat.
Won’t talk.
Won’t even look at Elena.
Every time Elena tries to approach, Lila screams at her to leave.
*“You lied to me!”* she shouts through the door. “You knew! You knew this whole time and you never told me!”
But Elena didn’t know.
She swears she didn’t.
But how can she prove it?
The DNA test in the envelope is dated sixteen years ago.
Hospital records.
Everything matches.
Lila is Vivian’s daughter.
Born six weeks premature.
While Elena was “pregnant” with her.
Elena tries to remember.
She was so sick those last few months.
Confined to bed.
Drugged half the time.
Margaret told her it was preeclampsia.
That she was lucky to survive.
That Lila was lucky to survive.
Another lie.
Elena was never pregnant.
Not with Lila.
She must have had some kind of breakdown.
Grief from the “accident.”
And Margaret—
Margaret built an entire fake pregnancy around it.
Found a doctor willing to lie.
Faked the ultrasound photos.
Faked everything.
And when Vivian gave birth—
They handed the baby to Elena.
Told her she was hers.
And Elena believed it.
Because she wanted to.
Because she needed something to hold onto after losing Julian and Vivian.
God.
She’s been a puppet her whole life.
Everyone pulling strings.
Margaret. Vivian. Julian.
Everyone but her.
On the fourth day, the police show up at the door.
Two plainclothes detectives.
They want to talk to Elena.
“About Margaret Whitmore,” one says.
Elena’s blood turns to ice.
“What about her?”
The detective looks at his notebook.
“She was found dead in her hotel room this morning,” he says. “Heart attack. The hotel staff found her when she didn’t answer her wake-up call.”
Elena stumbles back.
Richard catches her.
No.
Not Margaret.
Not now.
Not like this.
“Are you sure?” Richard asks.
The detective nods.
“EMS pronounced her at 8:42 a.m. We’re just next of kin notification. We understand you two are very close to the family.”
Elena can’t hear him anymore.
Her mind is screaming one word over and over.
*Julian.*
Julian did this.
He promised.
He said he’d give Margaret a “little push.”
And he did.
While she was hiding in the “safe” hotel.
While Elena thought she was protecting her.
He got to her anyway.
“Elena?” Richard says.
She looks at him.
He knows.
She sees it in his eyes.
He knows exactly who did this.
“Can we do this later?” Richard asks the detectives. “My wife is—”
“Of course,” the detective says. He hands Richard a card. “Call us when you’re ready. We just need a statement. Nothing formal. Unless the medical examiner finds something… unexpected.”
He leaves.
The door closes.
Elena collapses into a chair.
“He killed her,” she whispers. “Julian killed my mother.”
Richard kneels in front of her.
“We don’t know that,” he says. “She was sixty-eight. She had a history of heart problems. It could have been natural.”
“Bullshit,” Elena says. She stands. Anger replacing grief. “You heard Vivian. You heard what Julian said. He needed her dead to get the money. And now she’s dead. Convenient is not the word I’d use.”
She grabs her keys.
“Where are you going?” Richard says.
“To the hotel,” Elena says. “I want to see the room. I want to see her.”
“Elena, no—”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Richard!” she shouts. “My mother is dead! Murdered! And I’m going to find out exactly how he did it!”
She drives to the Grand.
Parks illegally.
Runs inside.
The manager recognizes her.
Tries to stop her.
Elena brushes past.
She knows the room number.
2401.
The penthouse.
The police tape is already up.
But the officers at the door—
They know the Whitmore name.
They let her pass.
The room is exactly as they left it.
Margaret’s suitcase by the closet.
Her lipstick on the bathroom counter.
Her reading glasses on the nightstand.
And the bed—
The sheets are turned down.
There’s a body-shaped indentation on the left side.
The medical examiner took the body an hour ago.
Elena walks to the nightstand.
Margaret’s pill organizer.
She picks it up.
Opens it.
Tuesday’s pills are gone.
All except one.
The little blue heart pill.
Nitroglycerin.
Margaret takes one every morning.
Without fail.
It’s still here.
Which means—
She never woke up.
She died in her sleep.
Elena looks closer.
There’s a glass on the nightstand.
Water.
Half-empty.
She picks it up.
Holds it to the light.
There’s a faint residue at the bottom.
White.
Powdery.
Not from tap water.
Elena’s hands shake as she wraps the glass in a tissue from the box.
She shoves it into her purse.
Evidence.
If Julian poisoned her—
This will prove it.
She’s turning to leave when she sees it.
Under the bed.
A corner of paper.
She kneels.
Pulls it out.
A will.
Dated three days ago.
Three days before Margaret died.
Elena reads it.
Her blood runs cold.
The old will: 40% to Elena, 40% to Vivian, 20% to the foundation.
This new will:
*I, Margaret Elizabeth Whitmore, being of sound mind and body, do hereby revoke all previous wills and testaments.*
*I leave my entire estate, liquid and otherwise, valued at approximately one hundred and twenty million dollars, to be divided as follows:*
*Fifty percent to my daughter Vivian Marie Whitmore, or her descendants should she predecease me.*
*Fifty percent to my grandson Noah Alexander Carter, son of Vivian Whitmore and Julian Carter.*
*Nothing to Elena Marie Whitmore. Nothing to Lila Grace Whitmore. Nothing to the Whitmore Family Foundation.*
*The reasons for this are known to my family and need not be enumerated here.*
*Signed this tenth day of August, Margaret E. Whitmore.*
Witness signatures.
Lawyer’s stamp.
Everything legal.
Everything binding.
Elena drops the will.
One hundred and twenty million dollars.
All to Vivian and Noah.
Elena gets nothing.
Lila gets nothing.
The foundation—Margaret’s life’s work—gets nothing.
And Vivian is dying.
Which means—
When Vivian dies—
Everything goes to Noah.
And Noah is eleven.
Which means—
Julian.
Julian gets everything.
One hundred and twenty million dollars.
He wins.
He killed Margaret.
He forged or coerced a new will.
And now he’s the richest man in the state.
And Elena has nothing.
Nothing at all.
She stumbles out of the hotel room.
Past the officers.
Past the manager.
Out to her car.
She sits behind the wheel.
And she screams.
Long and loud.
Until her throat is raw.
When she’s done, she pulls out her phone.
Dials Vivian’s number.
It rings once.
Twice.
Vivian answers.
“Elena?”
“You did it,” Elena says. Her voice is dead. “You and Julian. You killed her.”
Silence.
Then—
“Elena, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb!” Elena shouts. “Mom is dead. And there’s a new will. Everything to you and Noah. Everything. You killed her for the money. Just like Julian planned.”
Vivian’s gasp is real.
Elena can hear it.
“She’s… dead?” Vivian whispers.
“Heart attack my ass,” Elena says. “You killed her. Both of you. And now you’re rich. Congratulations. You finally got everything you ever wanted.”
“Elena, wait—” Vivian says. “I swear to you, I didn’t know anything about a will. I haven’t spoken to Mom in three days. Julian—Julian said he was going to talk to her. That’s all. He said he’d convince her to help us. I didn’t know—”
“Save it,” Elena says. “I’m going to prove you did it. Both of you. And when I do, you’ll rot in prison. And Noah will go to foster care. And Julian will get the needle. Enjoy your money while it lasts.”
She hangs up.
Throws the phone across the car.
It hits the windshield.
Shatters.
Elena doesn’t care.
She has the glass.
The residue.
She’ll have it tested.
She’ll find the lawyer who wrote the new will.
She’ll break him.
She’ll destroy Julian Carter if it’s the last thing she does.
She starts the car.
Pulls out of the lot.
She doesn’t see the black SUV parked across the street.
She doesn’t see the man behind the wheel.
Watching her.
Talking into a radio.
Julian knows she has the glass.
May you like
Julian knows she’s coming for him.
And Julian has a plan for that too.
