Mrs. Adams brought someone with her to the last meeting. A man named Elijah Morrison. She introduced him as a family friend who was helping her with business matters.
But the way he spoke the questions he asked. Mr. Adams I don’t trust him. What kind of questions? He wanted to know exactly how much you were worth.
He asked about the company shares, the properties, the investments. He even asked if there were any ways to contest the 60 day freeze. He claimed it was unfair to make a widow wait for her inheritance.
Desmond’s jaw tightened. What did you tell him? I told him the will is legally binding and cannot be changed. I also told him that I only discuss estate matters with family members, not family friends.
He didn’t like that. Thank you for protecting my estate, Mr. Harrison. Of course.
But Mr. Adams I have to ask, and please understand this is difficult for me, but is there any chance your wife was involved in your accident? The way she’s acting, the urgency for money, this man she’s brought around. It doesn’t seem like normal widow behavior. Desmond paused.
Mr. Harrison was smart. He was seeing the truth without even knowing Desmond was alive. Let me ask you something, Mr. Harrison.
If I could prove that someone tried to harm me for money, what would happen to their inheritance? There was silence on the other end for a moment. If you could prove attempted murder or conspiracy to murder, the person would be disqualified from inheriting anything. In fact, they would face criminal charges.
Mr. Adams, are you saying? I’m saying keep the freeze in place. Don’t let Monica or anyone else access my estate and document every interaction you have with her and Mr. Morrison. Write down everything they say, every question they ask.
It might be important later. I will. And Mr. Adams, I’m very glad you called.
This situation has been troubling me greatly. After hanging up, Desmond felt a small sense of satisfaction. Even people who didn’t know the truth were starting to see through Monica’s act.
The 60-day freeze was brilliant. It had been a last-minute decision, something Desmond added to his will just days before his fake death. At the time he didn’t fully understand why he felt the need for it.
It was just instinct. A feeling that he needed to protect himself. Now he understood.
That instinct had been right. If Monica had immediate access to his money, she would have transferred it all offshore within days. By the time Desmond revealed himself, the money would be gone, hidden in accounts he could never trace.
But the freeze stopped her. It forced her to wait. And waiting made her desperate.
And desperate people made mistakes. Monica was making mistakes now. Bringing Elijah to the lawyer’s office.
Asking suspicious questions. Moving too fast with selling the company and the house. She thought she was being smart but she was actually building her own prison brick by brick.
And Desmond was counting every brick. The days passed slowly for Desmond. Each morning he woke up in the small apartment that had become his prison.
Each day he watched Monica through the cameras, seeing her live the life she had always wanted. A life without him. Monica had changed.
Without Desmond around she became a different person. She laughed more. She smiled more.
She seemed lighter, freer, happier. It hurt to watch. But Desmond kept watching anyway.
He saw her redecorate the bedroom, taking down photos of their wedding and replacing them with modern art. She threw away his clothes, his books, his favorite coffee mug, erasing him from the house piece by piece. She went shopping almost every day buying new clothes, new jewelry, new furniture.
She spent money like water, using the credit cards that were still active for household expenses. And every night Elijah came over. They would have dinner together, expensive dinners with wine and candles.
They would sit on the balcony and talk about their future. They would make plants. I’m thinking we should go to Paris first, Monica said one evening.
Desmond watched through the balcony camera as she leaned against Elijah’s shoulder. I’ve always wanted to live in Paris. Paris it is, Elijah agreed kissing her forehead.
We can buy an apartment near the Eiffel Tower. Wake up every morning to that view. With Desmond’s money, we can buy ten apartments if we want, Monica laughed.
They talked about Desmond like he was a bank account. Not a person. Not someone who had loved Monica with his whole heart.
Just money. Grace visited Desmond every few days bringing him food and updates. She looked tired and sad.
Pretending to support Monica while knowing the truth was draining her. I can’t stand being around her, Grace admitted one afternoon, sitting in Desmond’s small apartment. Every time she cries those fake tears or talks about how much she misses you, I want to scream the truth.
I want to tell everyone what she really is. Soon, Desmond promised. Just a few more weeks.
The engagement party is in ten days. That’s when we end this. Are you ready? Grace asked studying her brother’s face.
He looked thinner now with dark circles under his eyes. Desmond this has taken a toll on you. Maybe we should just go to the police now.
We have enough evidence. No, Desmond said firmly. I want everyone to see.
Not just the police. I want her friends, her family, Elijah’s face when I walk into that room. I want it all to be public.
She humiliated me by pretending to love me for seven years. Now everyone will see who she really is. Grace nodded slowly.
Okay. Then let’s make sure everything is perfect. They spent the next hour going over the plan.
Grace would attend the engagement party of course. She would bring a camera crew, telling Monica it was to record the happy occasion. But really, it would capture Desmond’s return.
Dr. Paul would be there too, ready to provide the medical documentation proving that Desmond’s death had been faked with his help. His testimony would be crucial. And Desmond’s lawyer, Mr. Harrison, would arrive with police officers, ready to freeze Monica’s assets permanently and file criminal charges.
Everything was planned. Every detail accounted for. The invitations went out yesterday, Grace told Desmond.
Monica invited about 50 people. Close friends, some business associates, a few distant relatives. She’s calling it a celebration of new beginnings.
A celebration of new beginnings, Desmond repeated bitterly. More like a celebration of my death. She also hired a party planner, Grace continued.
The whole thing is going to be at the mansion, in the ballroom. She’s spending thousands of dollars on decorations, catering, music, all being charged to your accounts as memorial expenses. Desmond shook his head in disbelief.
She’s throwing a party to celebrate her engagement to another man, and she’s using my money to pay for it. That’s not all, Grace said quietly. I saw the dress she bought.
It’s white, Desmond. She’s wearing white to her engagement party. Like a bride.
Desmond felt his hands curl into fists. Monica was mocking everything they had shared. Their marriage.
Their vows. Their life together. But soon very soon the mockery would end.
The engagement party begins. The night of the party arrived. It was exactly 40 days since Desmond’s death.
A warm Saturday evening with clear skies and a full moon. Desmond sat in his apartment, dressed in a sharp black suit. The same suit he had worn to his own wedding.
He wanted Monica to remember that day. Remember the promises she had made. Remember what she had destroyed.
Grace called him at 7 o’clock. The party is starting. People are arriving.
Are you ready? I’m ready, Desmond said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. Dr. Paul is here with me. The police are waiting outside in unmarked cars.
Mr. Harrison has all the documents. Everything is set. How does Monica look? Desmond asked.
Grace was quiet for a moment. She looks beautiful. And happy.
Happier than I’ve ever seen her. She’s glowing, Desmond. She really thinks she’s won.
Good, Desmond said coldly. That will make the fall even harder. Through his phone, Desmond watched the security camera feeds.
The ballroom of his mansion had been transformed. White flowers everywhere. Candles on every table.
Soft music playing from a string quartet. Guests filled the room all dressed elegantly. They held champagne glasses and chatted pleasantly.
Most of them looked slightly uncomfortable. After all, it was a bit soon for the widow to be celebrating. But they came anyway probably out of curiosity.
And there in the center of it all, stood Monica in her white dress. It was elegant and flowing with diamonds sewn into the fabric that caught the light. She looked like a princess…
