Chapter 2 - THE FIRST WIFE
Eleanor had been declared dead seven years earlier.
A boating accident.
No body recovered.
Ivan told everyone he had been alone on the boat and carried the guilt for years.
In reality, Eleanor survived.
Cynthia placed her inside a private psychiatric facility under another name after she discovered Morgan Development’s financial crimes.
“She tried to expose us,” Cynthia said, as if that justified everything.
Eleanor looked at her.
“You tried to erase me.”
Detective Ortiz separated everyone.
The guests were instructed to remain for statements. Several suddenly remembered appointments, children, and urgent calls. Ortiz reminded them they had witnessed an assault.
No one left.
Dr. Evelyn Reed treated my hand inside the kitchen while officers searched the house.
The burn would scar, but I would keep movement in my fingers.
Anna sat beside me.
“I called you for months.”
“I never received anything.”
“I know.”
Ivan had cloned my phone, blocked her number, and sent messages pretending to be me.
I need space.
Stop interfering.
Ivan is helping me.
Anna believed the messages at first. Then our mother received one after she died.
That was when Anna knew someone else controlled the phone.
She contacted Ortiz.
Eleanor found Anna through a survivor network and told her about the basement archive.
The archive was hidden beneath Ivan’s wine cellar.
Police found financial ledgers, camera footage, medical records, and folders labeled with women’s names.
ELEANOR.
MELISSA.
JULIA.
CLAIRE.
My folder contained photographs of every injury Ivan had caused.
Some were taken while I slept.
Others showed me unconscious beside prescription bottles I had never used.
He had been building a false history of addiction and self-harm.
Rebecca Sloan arrived before sunset.
She was an attorney specializing in corporate and guardianship fraud. Eleanor had worked with her for eighteen months.
Rebecca reviewed the recordings from the barbecue.
“You planned this well.”
“I planned to expose the share transfer.”
“You exposed more.”
She showed me a document recovered from the archive.
A petition declaring me mentally incompetent.
A hearing was scheduled for Monday.
Ivan would become my financial guardian.
Cynthia would control my medical care.
My shares in Morgan Development would transfer into a family trust.
The barbecue was on Saturday.
The burn was meant to support their claim that I behaved recklessly around fire.
The confrontation afterward would be edited into proof of instability.
They expected me to overturn the table.
Ivan had pushed me toward the exact reaction he needed.
My stomach tightened.
“I thought flipping it was my decision.”
“It was,” Eleanor said. “They simply believed they could use it.”
That was the difference.
Their cameras captured only what they controlled.
Mine preserved everything before and after.
Ortiz found another file.
A life-insurance policy worth eight million dollars.
Beneficiary: Ivan Morgan.
Effective date: Monday.
The same day as the guardianship hearing.
Rebecca looked at me.
“The incapacity petition was not the final plan.”
The backyard assault was not simply humiliation.
It was preparation.
If the court declared me unstable, any later death could be framed as accidental or self-inflicted.
Then an officer entered carrying a silver serving spoon from the buffet.
A white residue coated its handle.
Laboratory testing would take time, but Dr. Reed recognized the smell.
A sedative.
Someone had coated the utensils.
Cynthia had insisted I taste every dish before serving.
I remembered feeling dizzy just before Ivan approached the grill.
They intended me to appear impaired.
The assault had started before his hand touched mine.
Ortiz asked who prepared the buffet.
Cynthia smiled faintly.
“Claire did.”
Then Rachel, our housekeeper, stepped forward.
“No.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“I saw Mrs. Morgan enter the kitchen with a pharmacy bottle.”
Cynthia’s expression sharpened.
Rachel continued.
“She put something on the spoons.”
Ivan looked at his mother.
“You said no one saw.”
The room went silent.
Their alliance was already cracking.
Then police opened the final folder from the archive.
May you like
It carried Anna’s name.
My sister had been their next target.
