Arthur immediately printed out the photos and documents to use as evidence, and then he went straight to the police, explaining his entire, incredible situation in detail. The detectives were initially shocked by the bizarre twist in a long-closed case, but they agreed to help, especially since Lauren’s involvement now gave them a solid lead in another, very sensitive investigation.
The very next day, Arthur—now clean-shaven, freshly trimmed, and dressed in a sharp, expensive new suit—pulled up to Susan’s Bryn Mawr mansion in a gleaming luxury car. The guards at the gate nearly fainted on the spot when they saw the “deceased” man alive and well. He had to calmly convince them that he was indeed flesh and blood and that he needed to speak with Susan and Oliver on a matter of extreme urgency.
The thin woman, dressed in an emerald green pantsuit and seated regally at her desk, thought she must have misheard when the guard announced who had arrived. She assumed it was some kind of con artist, exploiting her family’s scandalous past. Her husband’s death had caused a significant media frenzy in Philadelphia, forcing Susan and her sons to fend off reporters for months.
Arthur, however, didn’t wait for a formal invitation. He brushed past the sputtering guards and stormed upstairs. With one strong, determined push, he flung open the door to her study and stood facing his scheming stepmother. Susan paled dramatically, one hand flying to clutch her chest at the sight of her long-dead stepson standing before her. “This can’t be real, Arthur,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “You died in that crash on the bridge. We saw the wreckage of your car ourselves.”
Ignoring her stunned reaction, Arthur said coolly, “Good morning to you too, Mother. So, tell me, have you and Oliver managed to spend all of Dad’s money yet? Or is there still a little something left in those offshore accounts you’ve been so busy funneling cash to in the Caymans all year?” The moment he mentioned the money, Susan’s shock seemed to evaporate, replaced by her usual icy composure. Arthur had to give her credit—she held up remarkably well, for a woman with such a rotten, greedy core.
“It’s so nice to know you still care so deeply about your father’s business affairs,” Susan said slowly, rising from her desk with deliberate grace. “If only my real son had your drive, instead of being the fool that he is.” Arthur didn’t bother with a verbal reply. He simply pulled the damning documents from his leather bag and tossed them onto the smooth surface of her desk. “The game is over, Mom. This is all the proof I need to show that you killed Dad, including the real death certificate that proves he didn’t die of a simple heart attack. You gave him a massive overdose of his own prescribed medication, knowing it would stop his heart, and then you bribed the coroner to file a clean report, isn’t that right? But Oliver, the sentimental idiot, couldn’t bring himself to part with the original document. He’s always been too emotional and erratic for this kind of work—even managed to get himself tangled up with a girl who tried to poison him.”
Susan’s frozen, controlled face twitched violently when she heard the part about her son. “What? What poisoning?” she asked, her confusion seeming genuine for the first time. Just then, Oliver himself walked into the room. His eyes bulged in sheer terror at the sight of his “dead” half-brother standing there, large as life. Finally, he managed to look at his mother, stammering, “Mom, am I seeing things, or is that… is that really Arthur?”
“No, son, you’re not imagining it,” Susan replied, her voice dry and brittle. “Your dear brother is here because he wants to have us both locked away over some flimsy pieces of paper whose authenticity is highly questionable. Now, what is this nonsense about a poisoning?” Oliver just stood there, frozen, completely unable to process his brother’s sudden return after a full year of believing him to be dead. Arthur cut through the thick tension. He calmly adjusted his suit jacket and glanced at his watch just as the distinct wail of police sirens became audible outside the house.
“Oh, listen to that. Sounds like the police are right on time,” he said with a thin, cold smile. “I’ll bet they’re just eager to have a long chat with you about Dad, your two charming attempts to kill me, and all those countless financial schemes you’ve been running.” Oliver let out a wordless yell of rage and lunged at Arthur, but Arthur was ready for him and blocked the attack easily. Meanwhile, Susan, moving with a sudden, frantic energy, pulled a small pistol from a drawer in her desk and aimed it directly at her stepson.
“I should have done this two years ago in Dubai,” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “One little slip on that mall rooftop, and you’d be worm food for real, you ungrateful brat.” She pulled the trigger, and a single, deafening shot rang out in the confined space. Arthur ducked aside just in time, but Oliver, who had been standing directly behind him, wasn’t so lucky. “Mom!” he gasped, his voice weak and shocked, as he slumped to the floor, clutching his shoulder.
“No!” Susan screamed, her composure shattering completely. “Oliver! My boy, no!” She rushed toward him but froze in her tracks as a team of armed police officers stormed into the room. “Well, Ms. Elizabeth, it looks like we have plenty to discuss,” the lead detective said, his eyes moving coldly from her to her wounded son on the floor. He spoke calmly into his radio: “We need an ambulance at Cherry Lane, immediately, house number 22. We have a male, gunshot wound to the shoulder. Suspect is conscious but losing blood.”..
