Okonnell, Tiffany, Chloe, and Evelyn herself. The atmosphere in the room was tense, solemn, and shadowed by the anticipation of death. The notary looked at Evelyn with respect, witnessing how she was using her last hours to stage an act of revenge.
The psychiatrist conducted a quick but thorough examination, asking questions. “What day is it? Where are you?
What is the name of the president of the United States?”
Evelyn answered clearly. The doctor made notes on the form, then after checking Evelyn’s pupils and evaluating her responses, wrote: “Patient is oriented in time, space, and person. Consciousness is clear.
Legally capable to execute a will.” Signature. Stamp. The final legal hurdle was cleared.
The notary opened his laptop and began typing the text of the will. He read it aloud. “I, Evelyn Vance, of sound mind and memory, bequeath my entire estate as it belongs to me on the day of my death to Chloe Jefferson.”
He looked up.
“Miss Vance, are you aware that you are disinheriting your husband?”
“Yes, I am aware. That is my express wish.”
“And you are acting of your own free will? Without coercion?”
“Yes, I confirm,” Evelyn said, her eyes fixed on the notary, dispelling any doubt about her resolve.
The notary nodded and printed the form with a portable mini printer. Okonnell filmed the entire process with his cell phone camera. Evelyn signed with a trembling hand.
The notary affixed his seal and attested to it. The witnesses were Tiffany and a nurse from a nearby department whom Okonnell had brought in at the last minute to prevent any challenge. When everything was over, the notary placed the document in an envelope.
“I will deposit it in the notary’s office. Tomorrow morning, I will make certified copies. Everything is legal.
There is no longer any legal point of attack.”
Evelyn nodded. Her strength was rapidly failing now. “Miss Vance,” Okonnell said, leaning forward, “I will take care of the toxicology.
I will request all analyses and engage the district attorney’s office. Paul will be held accountable.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. The word was just a breath of air, but it carried the weight of a mission accomplished.
Everyone left. Only Chloe remained. She stood by the bed, not knowing what to say.
Her mouth was dry. “Go home,” Evelyn said tiredly. “We’ll see each other tomorrow.
Maybe. And remember what you promised.”
Chloe nodded and went out. Evelyn remained alone.
She stared into the darkness outside the window and thought, “Three days, maybe less.” But she had done it. She had robbed Paul of the thing he killed her for. That was the only thing that mattered now.
She felt no pain, only a deep, cold calm. The revenge had given her more peace of mind than all her wealth. She died during the night, quietly, without torment.
The nurse found her in the morning. When Paul learned of it, he burst into a loud, demonstrative display of tears in the hallway. The clinic staff, whom he had treated with arrogance for 3 years, comforted him.
He thanked them, pressing his handkerchief to his face, and triumphant sparks danced in his eyes. He thought he had won. The morning began with a phone call.
Paul Garrett sat in Evelyn’s office, which he now considered his own, flipping through documents—property deeds, bank statements, lease agreements. All this wealth now belonged to him. Three years of waiting, 3 years of playing the loving husband.
The result was now before him. He had already opened Evelyn’s safe last night after his supposed triumph. He had found the analysis reports, but dismissed them as nonsense.
He had thoroughly checked Evelyn’s premarital asset status. Flawless. No community property.
He was the sole heir. He leaned back in the leather armchair and stretched. The smell of Evelyn’s perfume, still lingering in the air, no longer bothered him.
It was the scent of his victory. Outside was a clear October day. The leaves on the trees shone yellow and orange.
Beautiful. Paul smiled. Life was settling into place.
His phone vibrated. Victoria Shaw—his mistress, the pharmacist he had bribed, who had procured the rare drug for him. She was cold, pragmatic, and the only person who shared his contempt for Evelyn.
He answered, “Yes, my dear. How is it going?”
His mistress’s voice sounded cautious. “Great.
She died last night. Quietly, without witnesses. The doctor said, ‘Liver failure.’ No questions.
Everything is safe.”
“Absolutely. I calculated everything. The dose was minimal, spread over months.
The drug breaks down quickly. There are hardly any traces left. Even if someone checks, they won’t find anything.
I’m a genius, Victoria. Who looks for murder when someone dies of organ failure at 49?”
Victoria was silent. She wasn’t as certain of victory as he was.
“And the will?” she asked. “What will? She didn’t draw one up.
I checked. The entire estate is from before the marriage. No children, so I inherit as the husband.
The law is on my side.”
He radiated self-satisfaction. “I hope you’re right, Paul. Don’t wait too long.
Take care of the formalities and then let’s disappear.”
“Vivy, don’t be nervous. In 6 months I’ll have everything sorted, sell the hospitals and properties, and we’ll move away, anywhere you want. Overseas.
The money is enough for several lifetimes. We’ll open a clinic in the Caribbean. Just for ourselves.”
Victoria sighed.
“Good. Just be careful. Take it slow.
Play the mourner. People need to believe you are devastated.”
“I am a professional,” Paul sneered. “Don’t lecture me.
I played the role of my life for 3 years.”
He hung up and went to the cabinet where Evelyn kept her collected cognac. He poured himself a glass and sipped it. Excellent.
Everything in this house was excellent, and now it belonged to him. He felt like a king who had reclaimed his throne. There was a hard knock at the door.
The housekeeper, an older woman with red eyes, entered. She had served Evelyn for 20 years and always looked at Paul with suspicion. “Mr.
Garrett, the attorney is here for you. Jason Okonnell. He’s not alone.”
Paul frowned.
Okonnell. That man had always been too smart and too observant. Evelyn had entrusted him with all legal matters.
What did he want? Was he coming to settle his fees? “Let him in.”
Okonnell appeared in the office, elegantly dressed in a suit and with a serious face.
His gaze was hard and judgmental. He didn’t offer his hand in greeting, just nodded. “Mr.
Garrett, my condolences.”
“Thank you.” Paul put on a grieving grimace. “This is a tragedy. I am devastated.” He gestured to the cognac.
“Would you like a drink to calm your nerves?”
“No, thank you. I need to discuss some legal matters with you. It cannot wait.”
“I’m listening.
Please, have a seat.”
Okonnell sat down without being asked and pulled out a file. The file looked thin, but its contents already seemed ominous to Paul. “Evelyn Vance left a will.”
Paul tensed.
“Really?” He had checked the safe. Had Evelyn outwitted him? A cold wave crawled up his spine.
“When did she manage that? That’s impossible. She was unconscious.”
“The entire estate that belonged to her at the time of her death has been bequeathed to another person,” Okonnell said.
A pause. Paul needed a moment to grasp the meaning. The air in the room seemed to freeze.
The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He had killed for nothing. “You mean I am not the heir according to the will?” His voice was suddenly thin.
“Miss Vance disposed of her property differently. It was her legal right.”
Paul jumped up. His façade of grief crumbled in an instant.
“That’s impossible. She was in a coma. When did she manage that?” he almost screamed.
Anger distorted his handsome face. “The will was drawn up one day before her death, in the presence of a public notary, a psychiatric doctor who confirmed her legal capacity, and two witnesses. Everything is absolutely lawful.
We took every legal precaution you can imagine.”
“To whom?” Paul asked. He felt his back turn cold. “To whom did she leave it?
My cousin? A foundation?”
“The heir will be announced tomorrow at 10:00 at the notary’s office,” Okonnell said evenly. “Your attendance is mandatory.”
“I will contest it!” Paul slammed his fist onto the polished mahogany desk.
The cognac glass rattled. “She was not of sound mind. She was sick.
This is a farce.”
“We have a doctor’s certificate confirming her full legal capacity at the moment of signing. There is a video recording and the statements of the notary. She was mentally lucid, Mr.
Garrett.” Okonnell stood up. “I advise you to prepare yourself morally and hire your own attorney. The will is a fortress.”
He left without saying goodbye.
Paul remained alone, breathing heavily. A will. How dare she?
How had she managed
