Five years ago, my husband Mark died from what the county coroner ruled a fatal domestic accident—a slip down our basement stairs.
Arthur raised the syringe, its sharp needle glinting in the faint light. He was just a few feet away, his shadow looming over me.
My breath hitched. This was it.
My heart pounded, a frantic drum in my chest. I braced myself.
Suddenly, a harsh, insistent vibration erupted from Arthur’s jacket pocket.
*BZZZZZ!*
His satellite phone. It was buzzing uncontrollably, a rapid, frantic pulse against the fabric.
He ignored it for a moment, his eyes still fixed on me, intent on his gruesome task.
But the buzzing intensified, becoming almost a shriek, a discordant symphony of digital panic.
Arthur hesitated. He frowned, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
He lowered the syringe slightly, digging into his pocket with his free hand. He pulled out the small, black satellite phone.
The screen was a frantic blur of red alerts, scrolling lines of code, and urgent notifications.
His eyes widened, then narrowed in disbelief. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“No,” he whispered, a guttural sound. “No, this can’t be.”
He started tapping furiously at the screen, his fingers clumsy with shock. He punched a few keys, then brought the phone to his ear, ignoring the buzzing.
“What is this?” he snarled into the receiver, his voice suddenly raw with fury. “My accounts! What did you do?”
He listened, his body stiffening, his face draining of color. The phone was clearly feeding him devastating news.
“Wipe?” he choked out. “A global wipe? You can’t. That’s… that’s my payout!”
My mind raced. A global wipe. Apex Energy.
Leo.
He had done it. His desperate broadcast had reached someone. Something.
Apex Energy’s automated security network must have detected the public transmission of Mark’s files. They were severing all ties, cutting off Arthur, making him a liability.
Destroying his leverage. Destroying *his* payout.
Arthur listened for another agonizing second, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. He looked like a cornered animal.
Then, with a furious cry, he hurled the satellite phone across the room. It shattered against the concrete wall with a loud *CRACK*.
His eyes, now blazing with a terrifying intensity, snapped back to me. All pretense, all calculation, vanished.
He had lost everything. The multi-million dollar payout, the reward for five years of surveillance and murder. Gone.
Because of Leo. Because of me.
He let out a guttural roar, a sound of primal fury. He no longer cared about a staged overdose.
He just wanted me dead.
He lunged.
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