Chapter 3 - The Web of Greed
At seven o’clock the next morning, the smell of freshly brewed espresso and fried bacon drifted down the hallway of the main house.
I had spent the night sleeping on the cold concrete floor beside Natalie’s cot, holding her hand while she slept fitfully, disturbed by sharp pangs of pain from her chest. At six sharp, I had snuck up the basement stairs, washed my face in the guest bathroom, and arranged my features into an expression of bright, cheerful stupidity.
When I stepped into the spacious, sunlit kitchen, Diane was standing at the quartz island, dressed in a silk robe, sipping coffee from a gold-rimmed porcelain cup. Chloe was sitting on a barstool, scrolling through a luxury real estate app on her smartphone.
"Good morning, Marcus!" Diane chimed, her voice sweet enough to cause cavities. "Did you sleep well? I know the basement guest room is a bit cozy, but we just wanted to make sure Natalie didn't have one of her episodes during the night."
"I slept fine, Diane," I said smoothly, walking over to the coffee maker and pouring myself a mug. "Natalie seemed quiet. I think she’s stabilizing."
"Oh, good!" Chloe squealed, turning her phone screen toward me. "Marcus, look at this penthouse in Manhattan! It has a private rooftop pool! Do you think your buyout package will clear by Friday? We could put a deposit down immediately!"
I forced a broad, enthusiastic smile onto my face. "It could clear as early as tomorrow afternoon, Chloe. But like I told your mother yesterday, the corporate release forms require all family assets to be consolidated first. The lawyers need to see that our primary residence and main accounts are in total order before they authorize the lump-sum wire transfer."
Diane set her coffee cup down with a sharp clink, her sharp eyes gleaming with desperate avarice. "What exactly do the lawyers need, Marcus? Tell me, and I'll have it ready within the hour!"
I took a slow sip of my black coffee, letting them stew in their own greed for a few long seconds.
"First," I said, leaning against the counter, "they need a full audit of the primary household account where my offshore paychecks were deposited over the last six months. They need to verify that all tax liabilities were met."
Diane’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. A tiny spark of panic flickered in her eyes, then vanished behind a smooth laugh. "Oh, the household account! Of course. Well, most of that money was spent on... house repairs, you know. Roofing, plumbing, Natalie’s medical expenses..."
"I'm sure it was," I nodded cheerfully. "Just print out the official bank statements from the last six months so I can attach them to the corporate legal filing. And second, the house deed. Since my late father-in-law left the house to Natalie, but you held power of attorney, the lawyers need us to sign a deed transfer agreement putting the house into a joint trust under my name and Natalie’s."
"Wait," Diane said, her voice dropping an octave, becoming sharp and defensive. "Why does Natalie’s name need to be on the deed trust? You said yesterday that the account had to be under your name!"
"Because she’s my legal wife, Diane," I said, keeping my tone perfectly relaxed and reasonable. "The corporate tax lawyers won't approve a lump-sum buyout for a married employee without his spouse’s co-signature on the estate trust. It’s standard federal procedure to prevent asset hiding during corporate liquidations."
I looked at Diane with total, unblinking innocence.
"Unless, of course, you don't want the million dollars?" I added softly, making a slight gesture toward the front door. "If it's too much trouble to transfer the deed, I can just tell the offshore board to roll the pension back into a twenty-year annuity. We'll only get about two thousand dollars a month, but..."
"NO!" Chloe shrieked, jumping off her barstool. "No annuity! Mom, sign the paper! I want the penthouse!"
"Quiet, Chloe!" Diane snapped, though her own hands were shaking with desire. She looked at me, searching my face for any sign of a trap. But all she saw was her hardworking, simple-minded son-in-law who had just spent six months burning his brain out on a steel oil rig.
"Alright," Diane said, taking a deep, ragged breath. "I'll call our estate lawyer, Mr. Vance. I'll tell him to prepare the deed transfer documents immediately. We can sign them at his office at two o'clock today."
"Wonderful," I beamed, setting my mug down. "I knew I could count on you, Diane. Oh, by the way... I'm taking Natalie out for a few hours this morning. I thought I'd get her some fresh air, maybe buy her a nice lunch."
Diane frowned, her suspicion flaring again. "Take her out? Marcus, she’s not well. She looks terrible. People will talk."
"I'll buy her a nice hat and a heavy coat," I said smoothly, stepping closer to Diane and lowering my voice into a grateful whisper. "You’ve spent six long months taking care of her, Diane. You deserve a break. Let me handle her for a few hours while you and Chloe get ready for the lawyer’s office."
Diane looked at me, thoroughly convinced of her own absolute dominance over me. She let out a long sigh of fake exhaustion and waved her hand dismissively.
"Fine," Diane sneered. "Take her. But keep her out of sight. And make sure she doesn't ruin that expensive scarf I gave her."
"I'll make sure of it," I said, turning my back on them so they couldn't see the dark, murderous grin spreading across my face.
Ten minutes later, I walked down into the basement.
Natalie was sitting on the cot, holding her frayed scarf in her hands. I walked over, knelt in front of her, and wrapped her heavy winter coat securely around her thin frame.
"Come on, sweetheart," I said gently, taking her hand. "We're leaving."
"Where are we going, Marcus?" she asked softly, her eyes wide with fear. "Diane said I'm not allowed to leave the yard."
I helped her stand up, holding her tightly against my side as we walked up the stairs, past the silent kitchen, and out to my truck parked in the driveway. I opened the passenger door, lifted her carefully into the seat, and buckled her seatbelt with meticulous care.
I walked around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and turned the key in the ignition. The heavy V8 engine roared to life.
May you like
I looked at Natalie, reaching over to squeeze her thin, trembling hand.
"We are going to the best private cancer center in New York City," I said, my voice filled with unbreakable determination. "And then, my love, we are going to start laying the explosives under Diane’s life."
