A pause. “Denise? What’s wrong? Is Emma okay?”
“Emma is fine, no thanks to your brother or your mother. But we need to talk. I have something of your father’s.”
“I don’t want anything from them,” Perry snapped. “Mom made it clear I wasn’t wanted in the will.”
“That’s the thing, Perry. You were. I have the real will. And I have proof your mother killed Martin to hide it.”
Silence stretched on the line, heavy and suffocating.
“I’m listening,” Perry whispered.
Chapter 3: The Setup
Perry flew in the next morning. He met us at a diner halfway between the airport and the suburbs. He looked haggard, younger than Christopher but with deeper lines of stress around his eyes.
He read the documents. He looked at Emma’s photos. He wept when he read his father’s letter.
“I knew she was evil,” Perry said, wiping his face with a napkin. “But I didn’t think… I didn’t think she was a murderer.”
“She is,” I said. “And she’s going to get away with it unless we stop her. Christopher is useless; she has him wrapped around her finger. It has to be us.”
“What do you need me to do?” Perry asked.
“She needs money,” I explained. “The insurance company is stalling. We use that. You’re going to tell her you found a specialist—a high-end insurance litigator who can force them to pay out. But this lawyer needs the unvarnished truth to build a strategy.”
“Who’s the lawyer?”
“Glenn,” I said. “He can play the part.”
“And she’ll confess?” Perry looked skeptical. “Mom is paranoid.”
“She’s arrogant,” I corrected. “And she’s desperate. If she thinks confessing to the lawyer is protected by attorney-client privilege, and if she thinks it’s the only way to get her half-million dollars, she’ll talk. She’ll brag.”
Perry took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll call her. I’ll tell her I want to make peace and help her get what’s hers.”
The plan was set. We had 24 hours.
Perry went to Diana’s house that afternoon under the guise of picking up some old yearbooks. While he was there, he managed to plant three tiny cameras Glenn had overnighted to us—one in the study, one in the living room, one in the kitchen.
He called me that evening. “She took the bait. She’s meeting ‘Adrien Howell’—that’s Glenn—tomorrow at 1:00 PM. She’s practically drooling at the thought of the money.”
“Good job, Perry.”
“Denise,” he hesitated. “I found something else. In her desk.”
“What?”
“Letters. From Christopher.”
My stomach tightened. “And?”
“He knew, Denise. Maybe not about the murder specifically, but he knew about the forged will. He wrote to her saying, ‘I’ll handle Denise and Emma, you just make sure the estate is settled in our favor.’ He sold out his own daughter for a payout.”
I closed my eyes. The betrayal wasn’t just negligence. It was active malice.
“Add it to the file,” I said, my voice like ice. “We burn them all.”
Chapter 4: The Confession
The “office” was a rented conference room in a shared workspace downtown, dressed up to look like a high-power law firm. Glenn looked the part in a three-piece suit, his demeanor shifting from rugged contractor to shark-like attorney.
I sat in the adjacent room, watching the monitors. Emma was safe at Mrs. Knapp’s house down the street.
At 1:00 PM sharp, Diana Lester walked in.
She was sixty-two but looked fifty, dressed in Chanel, radiating a predatory elegance. Perry trailed behind her, looking pale.
“Mrs. Lester,” Glenn said, rising smoothly. “Adrien Howell. A pleasure.”
“Mr. Howell,” Diana purred. “Perry says you’re a miracle worker.”
“I specialize in difficult cases,” Glenn said, gesturing to a chair. “Please. Let’s discuss your situation.”
They went through the motions. Diana complained about the “incompetent” insurance adjusters. Glenn nodded sympathetically.
“Here is the reality, Diana,” Glenn said, leaning forward. “The insurance company suspects foul play. They are building a case to deny the claim based on the statistical improbability of three husbands dying of heart failure. They believe you assisted in your late husband’s death.”
Diana stiffened. “That is preposterous.”
“Is it?” Glenn lowered his voice. “Look, I don’t care what you did. I’m your lawyer. I care about getting you paid. But I cannot build a defense against evidence I don’t know about. If there is anything they can find—toxicology reports, forged documents—I need to know now. If you lie to me, I can’t protect you.”
Perry spoke up, his voice trembling just right. “Mom, please. Adrien can fix this, but you have to trust him. We need that money.”
Diana looked at her son, then at Glenn. She calculated. She weighed the risk against the debt collectors calling her phone.
“Attorney-client privilege?” she asked.
“Absolute,” Glenn lied.
Diana sighed, relaxing into the chair. “Martin was going to divorce me,” she said casually. “He found out about the debts. He was going to rewrite the will, give everything to that brat Emma.”
I watched the screen, my fingernails digging into my palms.
“He was an old fool,” Diana continued. “He didn’t understand that I did what was best for the family. So… yes. I adjusted his medication. Digitalis is very hard to trace if the victim already has a heart condition. I simply accelerated nature.”
“And the will?” Glenn asked, scribbling on a legal pad.
“Forged,” she scoffed. “Obviously. Martin’s hand was too shaky to sign anything legible at the end. I did him a favor. I ensured the assets went where they belonged.”
“To you,” Glenn said.
