Chapter 3 - The Facade of Grief
For the next forty-eight hours,
my house became the set of a high-stakes play.
Marcus coordinated with the local precinct,
bringing in a few trusted officers who knew the gravity of the situation.
Whitney moved through the halls with a somber face,
drawing the heavy velvet curtains and lighting candles as if in mourning.
I spent my time in Owen’s room,
listening to him talk.
He told me about the things David had said to him when I wasn't looking.
He told me how Maggie would pinch his arm until it bruised if he didn't sit perfectly still.
Every story was a new coal on the fire of my rage.
"He can't hurt you anymore, Owen,"
I promised him,
brushing his hair back from his forehead.
"He's never coming back to this house."
On Monday evening,
I had Marcus send the "emergency" text to David’s phone.
'David,
there’s been an accident.'
'Adrianna won't wake up.'
'The paramedics are here.'
'Come home immediately.'
We waited in the darkened study,
monitoring the security cameras that covered the long,
winding driveway.
Two hours later,
the SUV roared through the gates,
tires screeching on the gravel.
David and Maggie practically fell out of the vehicle,
their faces twisted into masks of performative horror.
"Adrianna!"
David screamed as he burst through the front door.
"Where is she?
Where is my wife?"
Whitney met them in the foyer,
her face buried in a handkerchief.
"She's in the bedroom,
sir,"
she sobbed,
playing her role to perfection.
"The doctor is with her now."
"It happened so fast... she just went to sleep and didn't wake up."
Maggie grabbed Whitney’s arm,
her eyes shining with a greedy excitement she couldn't quite hide.
"Did she take her vitamins,
Whitney?"
"She promised David she would take them every night."
"I believe she did,
ma'am,"
Whitney whispered.
David raced up the stairs,
Maggie close behind him,
their footsteps thundering on the wood.
They reached the master suite and shoved the doors open.
The room was dimly lit,
scented with lilies and lavender.
I was lying on the bed,
dressed in a white silk gown,
my eyes closed and my breathing shallow.
A man in a white lab coat stood by the bed,
looking down at a clipboard.
"Is she...?"
David started,
his voice trembling with a fake sob.
"She’s in a deep state of respiratory failure,"
the 'doctor' said,
who was actually an undercover detective.
"We're preparing to transport her to the morgue for an autopsy."
David stepped closer,
his hand reaching out to touch my face.
"No need for an autopsy,
Doctor,"
he said,
his voice suddenly dropping its hysterical edge.
"She had a weak heart... her father died the same way."
"We have her medical history right here."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folder of forged documents.
"Just sign the death certificate,"
Maggie urged from the doorway.
"We need to start the arrangements immediately."
"The company can't be left without a leader during this difficult time."
I opened my eyes then,
staring directly into David’s panicked gaze.
"You're right,
Maggie,"
I said,
sitting up slowly.
May you like
"The company does need a leader."
"And I’m afraid you’re both fired."
