“You’ve been through so much already. I thought about Dad dying slowly while his own stepson poisoned him. I thought about my baby, the stress of everything possibly contributing to the miscarriage. And I thought about all the families Veronica had destroyed before hours. “I’m ready,” I said.

“They wanted me to choose how I pay. Tomorrow, they’ll learn the real price of what they’ve done.” The morning of the meeting, I threw up twice from nerves. Margie held my hair back and reminded me that I was my father’s daughter. He built that company from nothing. She said, “You’ve got his strength, honey. Will just has his stolen money in a bad dye job.

” She wasn’t wrong about the dye job. Willid started going gray at 35 and been fighting it with box color ever since. Today, under the fluorescent lights of dad’s office, it looked particularly orange. The office still smelled like dad’s cologne, his coffee mug sat on the desk, still half full from his last day. Will had already installed himself in dad’s chair, feet up on the desk like he owned the place.

Tiffany was taking selfies in front of dad’s awards wall, duck facing at the camera. Let’s get this over with,” Will said, pushing the papers across the desk. “Sign here, here, and here. Then you get your money and you disappear.” His notary was there. A greasy looking guy named Vincent, who kept sweating despite the air conditioning.

I recognized him from the surveillance photos Riley had shown me. Threetime convicted forger out on parole. “Before I sign,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. I need to understand exactly what I’m signing. Dad always said to read everything. Will rolled his eyes. It’s simple. You give up all claims to the estate, the company, everything.

In exchange, you get $20,000 and we never have to see each other again. And what about the company employees? I asked. Dad had profit sharing agreements with them. Not my problem anymore. Will laughed. Company’s being sold tomorrow. Fitzgerald Industries offered 3 million. could have gotten 10 if we waited, but I want this done. There it was.

Admission number one. The wire was getting everything. Veronica walked in then, carrying a bottle of champagne. For after, she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked at me with fake concern. How are you healing, dear? That miscarriage must have been so traumatic. Stress can cause those things, you know.

Maybe if you hadn’t fought so hard about the will. I wanted to throw something at her, but instead I asked, “How long have you and Will been planning this?” She laughed, that tinkling sound that probably charmed my father initially. “Planning what, dear? We’re just following your father’s wishes.” “Really?” I pulled out my phone, pretending to check something, because I found some interesting emails between you two.

Something about handling the old man dating back to last year. Will’s face went purple again. You hacked my email? That’s illegal. No, you left your computer logged in when you threw me out. That’s just stupid. Tiffany looked confused. Willie Bear, what’s she talking about? Nothing, baby. Just sign the papers, Donna.

I picked up the pen, then paused. One more thing. How did dad really die? Heart failure, Veronica said quickly. You know that, right? Heart failure. Nothing to do with the triple dose of dyin you were putting in his coffee every morning. The room went silent. Even Tiffany stopped taking selfies. Will stood up slowly.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t I? Old man took his pills like clockwork, double dosing his coffee this morning. Those were your words, Will. In an email to Veronica, dated 3 days before dad died. Vincent the fake notary started edging toward the door, but I kept going. You killed him, Will. Slowly, carefully, but you killed him.

Just like Veronica killed her three previous husbands. Veronica’s mask finally slipped. You can’t prove anything. Actually, I can. The pills tested positive. The real Will is with dad’s actual lawyer. And that notary who supposedly witnessed your fake Will. He was in Miami that week. Will lunged across the desk at me, but this time I was ready.

I sidestepped and he crashed into the filing cabinet. You little Willie Bear. Tiffany shrieked. What’s happening? I thought you inherited everything. You said we were rich. We are rich, baby. She’s lying. No, Will, you’re not rich. You’re a thief and a murderer. And you’re about to be arrested. That’s when the door opened. Detective Riley walked in with six federal agents and enough firepower to stop a small army.

William Henderson, Veronica Henderson, you’re under arrest for murder, embezzlement, wire fraud, and about 15 other charges we’ll discuss downtown. Will tried to run. He shoved past Riley and made it about 3 ft before a federal agent tackled him into Dad’s prized potted fus. Dirt went everywhere. Tiffany screamed.

Vincent tried to climb out the window, but got stuck halfway. “This is entrament!” Will shouted, spitting out potting soil. She set me up. No, Riley said, cuffing him. She just let you tell the truth for once in your life. Veronica was smarter. She didn’t run. Instead, she tried to destroy evidence, grabbing her phone to delete messages.

But Margie, 73 years old and supposedly harmless, whacked the phone out of her hand with her purse. “That’s assault,” Veronica shrieked. “Honey, I’m old and confused,” Margie said sweetly. “I thought it was a weapon.” Tiffany, meanwhile, was having a complete meltdown. You told me you were rich. She wailed at Will. “You said you owned a company.

You said we were going to Paris. I already told all my followers.” Baby, I can explain. Explain. Explain. I quit my job at the salon for you. I told everyone I was dating a millionaire. Do you know how embarrassing this is? My mother was right about you. She started hitting him with her designer bag, the one he’d bought, with stolen money.

The federal agents just let her go for a minute before pulling her back. As they dragged Will out, he made one last desperate attempt. She attacked me first at the doctor’s office. I was defending myself. Riley pulled out her phone and showed him the security footage from the gynecologist’s office. You mean this video? The one where you hit a woman recovering from surgery? The one where six witnesses saw you assaulter? That attack? Will’s face went from purple to white.

Vincent, still stuck in the window, started crying. The employees had gathered outside Dad’s office, drawn by the commotion. When they saw Will in handcuffs, some started crying, but they were tears of relief. Margaret from accounting actually applauded. “Is it true?” asked Tom, Dad’s foreman for 20 years. “Did he really kill Mr. Underwood?” I nodded.

And Tom had to be physically restrained from going after Will. “That man gave me a chance when no one else would. He paid for my daughter’s cancer treatment. That’s when I learned just how many lives my father had touched. Story after story came out. College tuitions paid, medical bills covered, second chances given, and Will had been planning to destroy it all for a quick 3 million.

The trial was a circus. Will tried three different lawyers, each one quitting when they realized how much evidence we had against him. The financial crimes alone would have put him away for 20 years. But the murder charge, that was different. The prosecutor laid it out beautifully. Will had been stealing from the company for 5 years.

But when dad started getting suspicious, he needed a permanent solution. Enter Veronica, who’d been down this road before. The defendant stepmother, the prosecutor announced, has a very interesting history with husbands and heart conditions. He pulled up a chart. Husband number one, Robert Miles, died of a heart attack after two years of marriage, left her $500,000.

Husband number two, Anthony Garrett, kidney failure after 3 years, left her $1.2 million. Husband number three, Peter Kolinsky. Stroke after 18 months, left her $2 million. And then we have victim number four, Douglas Underwood. Net worth approximately $10 million. Cause of death, digitalis poisoning administered over six months.

The courtroom gasped. Tiffany, who’d been subpoenaed to testify, took the stand in an outfit more appropriate for a nightclub than a courtroom. Her testimony was unintentionally devastating. Will told me his stepfather was dying anyway, she said, examining her nails. He said they were just helping him along so he wouldn’t suffer.