PART 3
The executive boardroom of Sterling Shipyard sat on the top floor, overlooking the harbor.
That morning, fifteen board members sat around the mahogany table. The senior partners had known my father since before I was born.
Arthur, my father’s oldest business partner, was furious. “Valerie’s been missing less than forty-eight hours!” he barked. “There isn’t even an official death certificate! And you’re already trying to take over her voting shares?!”
Julian sat at the head of the table in an immaculate gray suit, playing the grieving, devastated widower.
“I’m not trying to take anything, Arthur,” Julian said, with practiced sorrow. “I’m trying to keep this company afloat while the dive team searches the river for my wife.”
Julian’s attorney laid several legal folders on the table — forged power-of-attorney documents and land transfer deeds bearing my copied signature.
“The board needs to authorize these land sales immediately,” Julian urged smoothly. “Valerie trusted my judgment.”
Arthur slammed his fist on the table. “Then wait until her body’s recovered!”
Julian lowered his eyes. “We all know that after this long in the river—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He picked up a pen, uncapped it, ready to sign the master transfer.
I’d been waiting just outside the heavy double doors, flanked by two state police investigators and a prosecutor from the DA’s office.
I pushed the doors open. The heavy wood slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the silent room.
Julian looked up. Every drop of color drained from his face. The pen slipped from his hand and clattered against the glass table.
“Good morning,” I said cleanly. “I hope I’m not late to my own estate liquidation.”
No one breathed.
Arthur sprang to his feet. “Valerie?!”
Julian stumbled backward out of his chair. “No… this isn’t… you’re…”
I walked slowly down the center of the room toward him. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The board erupted into chaotic whispering. Julian scrambled to recover, stepping forward with his arms out. “Valerie! Thank God! You’re alive!”
I raised a hand. “Don’t take another step.”
His face hardened. “Valerie, you’re confused. You survived a horrific accident—”
“Accident?” I pulled a small wireless speaker from my purse, set it on the table, and hit play.
Julian’s own voice blasted through the boardroom speakers:
“I wired her seatbelt to the frame myself… I’ve been slipping micro-doses of a cardiac toxin into her warm milk every night for three years…”
The room went dead silent. Arthur stared at Julian with pure, unfiltered disgust.
Julian lunged for the speaker, but the two state investigators moved instantly, grabbing his arms and slamming him face-down onto the mahogany table.
“Julian Vance, keep your hands where we can see them,” the lead investigator said, clicking handcuffs onto his wrists.
“This is illegal!” Julian screamed, thrashing against the restraints. “That audio’s fabricated!”
The prosecutor stepped forward, holding up a sealed evidence bag containing the section of my seatbelt recovered from the submerged SUV — still wrapped in the heavy bound wire.
“We also executed a search warrant on your residence an hour ago,” the prosecutor added coldly. “Forensic teams recovered chemical compounds matching the toxin from your private safe, along with the wire-cutting tools in your garage.”
Julian went completely limp in the officers’ grip, real terror finally showing in his eyes.
As they dragged him out of the boardroom, he turned toward me, pleading, “Valerie! Please! Listen to me! We can work this out!”
I stepped closer and looked him dead in the eye. “You watched me sink beneath the water while you put your arm around my sister. The only thing we’re working out is your life sentence.”
