Chapter 1 - The Man in the Blizzard
The heavy glass door stood between us and the man who was supposed to be dead.
Arthur Vance gripped the wooden handle of the snow shovel with thick, leather-clad hands.
His face was pale, his eyes locked entirely onto Nicole through the swirling, violent blizzard.
Peter stumbled backward, his breath catching painfully in his throat.
“That’s Arthur,” Peter gasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock and terror.
“He died in a boating accident six months ago.”
Nicole did not look shocked, nor did she look afraid.
She looked like a trapped animal calculating its very last route of escape.
Mr. Hayes, the caretaker, instinctively stepped in front of me and my young grandchildren.
“Get away from the door, all of you,” Mr. Hayes commanded, his voice booming over the wind.
Before we could move, Arthur swung the heavy metal edge of the shovel directly at the glass.
The sound of the impact was deafening, echoing through the quiet, wooden walls of the cabin.
The reinforced glass cracked, sending a spiderweb of deep fractures across the pane.
Jack and his younger sister screamed, rushing to hide behind my legs.
I pulled them close, my heart pounding violently against my ribs.
Arthur pulled the shovel back and swung it a second time with brutal force.
The glass shattered completely, raining down on the hardwood floor like sharp, jagged diamonds.
The freezing wind howled into the living room, instantly dropping the temperature.
Arthur stepped over the threshold, brushing snow from the shoulders of his expensive black coat.
“You were supposed to have this finished by tonight, Nicole,” Arthur said, his voice cold and flat.
He didn't even look at Peter or the children.
His eyes were fixed solely on the small metal box still clutched tightly in my hands.
Nicole backed away, her hands raised in a desperate gesture of defense.
“She wouldn't sign the papers, Arthur, and then the caretaker showed up out of nowhere.”
Peter finally snapped out of his paralyzing shock and stepped between his wife and the intruder.
“What the hell is going on here?” Peter demanded, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Why is my wife talking to a dead man?”
Arthur smirked, a cruel and condescending expression that made my blood boil.
“Your wife is a very pragmatic woman, Peter, unlike you.”
“She realized that waiting for your mother to pass away naturally was taking far too long.”
May you like
I gripped the metal box tighter, feeling the cold edges of my late husband’s notary seal pressing into my palm.
My own daughter-in-law had plotted to steal our family legacy, and she was willing to kill me to do it.
