Chapter 1 - The First Confession
The elevator ride down to the lobby of the Lincoln Park building felt strangely weightless. My reflection in the brushed steel doors showed a woman who looked almost remarkably composed—hair pinned back, cashmere coat buttoned neatly, eyes dry. Only my hands betrayed me, trembling slightly as I tucked them into my pockets.
Inside the building’s secure lower garage, my vintage Mercedes was parked in its usual stall. The air was cool and smelled of exhaust and damp concrete. As I unlocked the door, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
It wasn't an emergency call from an ambulance crew, nor was it a panicked voice from the front desk asking what was happening upstairs.
It was a direct phone call from Sophia.
I stared at the glowing screen, watching my sister's smiling contact photo—a picture from a brunch we had shared three months ago, when I was still foolish enough to believe she loved me. I pressed the green accept button and brought the phone to my ear without saying a word.
"Is he out cold yet?" Sophia’s voice came through the speaker, breathless and sharp, laced with an ugly eagerness that made my stomach churn. "Victoria, you need to call the lawyer the second it's over, before the market opens tomorrow. I already checked the deeds; we can file for emergency probate by noon."
I leaned my forehead against the cool frame of the car window, letting the silence stretch between us until her breathing hitched.
"Sophia," I said, my voice completely steady. "He's not sleeping."
A brief pause. "What do you mean? Did he change his mind? Did he mess up the dosage?"
"He didn't mess up anything," I replied, opening the car door and sliding into the leather driver's seat. "He followed your instructions to the letter. Every single drop."
On the other end of the line, there was a sudden, sharp intake of breath. The ambient noise of whatever coffee shop or street corner she was standing on seemed to vanish, swallowed by absolute, suffocating silence.
"What did you say?" she whispered, the confidence completely draining out of her voice.
"I'm driving down to the South Loop office," I told her, starting the engine. "And if you know what's good for you, Sophia, you'll pack a single bag and leave the state before I finish my morning coffee. Because the police are going to find a phone full of text messages between you and a dying man who tried to murder his wife."
I didn't wait for her screaming reply. I hung up, powered off the phone entirely, and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
The engine roared to life, but as I pulled out of the garage and into the gray Chicago morning light, a cold realization settled over my bones. Marcus and Sophia hadn't just dreamed up this conspiracy on a whim. The forged beneficiary documents, the corporate restructuring timelines, the casual way they spoke about my death—it required insider access, legal paperwork, and deep pockets. Marcus was an ambitious man, but he didn't have the legal expertise to draft ironclad asset transfers that bypassed my corporate holding company.
May you like
Someone else had helped them.
---
