Chapter 1 - The Confession and the Orderly
“You’re finally going to die, Jonathan. I’m so sick of pretending to love you.”
Jonathan Mercer opened his eyes just enough to make out his wife’s face leaning over his hospital bed. Outside, heavy rain lashed the high-rise windows of St. Jude Medical Center in downtown Chicago. Inside the room, the heart monitor tapped out a faint, erratic rhythm.
Earlier that morning, the cardiologist had spoken to the nurse just outside the door, believing Jonathan was asleep. “Five days, maybe less,” the doctor had whispered. “The damage to his heart tissue is simply too extensive.”
Jonathan was fifty-six years old. He owned a commercial furniture manufacturing plant, a sprawling estate, two luxury downtown condos, and liquid accounts totaling over $82 million. He also had a wife sixteen years his junior—elegant, attentive, and seemingly devoted.
Or so he had believed for four years.
Victoria checked to ensure the door was firmly shut, then turned back to him with a slow, cold smile. It wasn't the sweet, worried expression she wore in front of the medical staff. It was icy, triumphant, and completely devoid of warmth.
“Your factory, your properties, your stock portfolio… all of it will be mine,” she murmured, her voice dripping with venom. “Raymond and I have already picked out a home in Malibu. You worked your entire life like a dog, and we’re going to enjoy every last cent of it.”
Jonathan attempted to speak, but only a dry, rasping gasp escaped his throat.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Victoria said softly, leaning closer. “The digoxin did its job. In tiny doses, it helps a weak heart. In the wrong doses, it slowly destroys it. Do you remember those daily heart supplements I brought you every single night? You trusted me far too much.”
The heart monitor’s steady tone accelerated slightly. Victoria rested a manicured hand on his chest.
“Calm down, sweetheart. The funeral service will be brief and private. It would be absurd to waste good money on a dead man when I have a new Porsche to buy.”
When she finally walked out, Jonathan stared at the ceiling as tears welled in his eyes. Every “I love you” over the past four years had been a cold, calculated performance.
Minutes later, Lucas Bennett entered the room. Lucas was a twenty-five-year-old orderly who often went out of his way to help Jonathan. Dark circles dragged beneath the young man’s eyes. He worked double shifts because his fourteen-year-old sister, Chloe, suffered from a severe congenital heart defect. She desperately needed specialized reconstructive surgery—an operation costing $2.4 million.
“Evening, Mr. Mercer,” Lucas said quietly. “Can I get you some water?”
“Come closer, Lucas,” Jonathan rasped. “I want to make you a proposal.”
May you like
Lucas frowned slightly. “Mr. Mercer, if this is about extra care—I don't do anything illegal, sir.”
“That is precisely why I chose you,” Jonathan said, his voice strengthening through sheer force of will. “Call my attorney. The number is in my phone. Tomorrow morning, I am changing my will.”
