The Demise

by Diane Moody

  “STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!”

  With his hands raised in surrender, Matt continued. “Brad, we know all about the accident years ago when your Uncle Peter ran over that boy, killing him.”

  Julie could feel Brad stiffen behind her. She closed her eyes, praying harder. Oh Lord, help me stay calm. Show me what to do.

  “I talked to Su-Jin today.” Matt paused when Brad blinked at the name recognition. “Do you know who she is?”

  Brad said nothing.

  “She was your mom and uncle’s nanny. She told me everything. She told me your grandparents were out of the country at the time, and your Uncle Peter thought it would be fun to get your mom drunk. So they raided the wet bar and got wasted. Su-Jin had gone to visit a friend for the afternoon, so she didn’t know they’d been drinking. She didn’t know they’d taken their mother’s Mercedes and gone for a ride in the country.

  “Peter was speeding on a back road near Leiper’s Fork when he crested a hill and hit Billy Wendell, killing him instantly. He knew they couldn’t leave his body in the road, so he made your mom help him drag Billy’s body down the embankment to the river where they dumped his body. It had rained hard the day before, and the water was above the banks and rushing downstream.”

  Brad said nothing. With Julie locked against him, he slowly, slowly, almost imperceptibly began moving toward the back door.

  Matt continued. “When Peter and your mom got back home that night, he pulled the car into the garage. Your mother threw up in the driveway. Su-Jin had just come home and found them there. She said your mother was hysterical and told her what had happened. Peter was furious and threatened both of them to never tell a soul. And Su-Jin never told anyone—until today.”

  Julie felt light-headed. Brad had stopped moving. She wondered if Matt was getting through to him.

  “Su-Jin told me Shannon always kept a diary. All these years, Su-Jin wondered if anyone found it and read the contents. When did you find your mother’s diary, Brad? Was it after she was gone?”

  Brad jerked to his right, pointing the knife toward Matt. “STOP! I know you’re up to something! NOBODY MOVES OR I CUT HER THROAT!”

  “OKAY, OKAY! Stand down!” Berkowitz raised his hands again to show he held no weapon.

  Brad pulled the blade back against Julie’s throat. She groaned when it broke the skin again.

  “No, no, no! Brad—please!” Matt cried. “Take it easy. You don’t want to do this.”

  A sob loosened somewhere inside when Julie heard Matt’s urgent plea. He was trying so hard, but would it be enough?

  “Brad, look,” Matt reasoned, “I know it must have been heartbreaking to read what your mother wrote about that day and how it ruined her life.”

  Julie could feel the dampness of Brad’s sweat against her back. He was trembling; his breath rapid and erratic.

  “Of course you’d be angry at your uncle! Who wouldn’t?”

  “He killed her!” Brad’s voice broke. “Don’t you understand? Uncle Peter killed my mother.” His grip tightened against her windpipe, and Julie knew she’d lose consciousness any moment.

  “You’re right, Brad. In a way, he did,” Matt said, his voice calm. “He killed her will to live and thrive until she couldn’t live with herself anymore. I can’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been when you found her. No kid should ever have to experience that.”

  Julie could hear Brad sniffling behind her. But his grip didn’t budge, the tip of the knife still pressing against her throat.

  “Which is why you wanted to get even with him,” Matt continued. “That’s why you sent the notes and the news clippings. You wanted to taunt him. To scare him. To get rid of him.”

  “Yes, I wanted to taunt him! Yes, I wanted to kill him! But I didn’t!” He huffed in frustration, tightening his arm around her. “I wanted to kill him, but I DIDN’T!”

  Chapter 32

  Still holding her breath, Julie blinked against her tears, trying to stay coherent. She squinted, trying to locate Matt and the others. She knew they must have a plan—some way to catch Brad off guard so they could free her. Tears still blurred her eyes when they suddenly landed on Gevin. He was crouched low in the hall just outside the main door into the boardroom at an angle where she could see him.

  That’s when she saw it. There at his knee, his trusty backpack. Gevin never went anywhere without his camera equipment, and even now, he eased his Minolta out of the bag. He reached in again and pulled out the flash attachment.

  That’s it! That’s it! The scene from Rear Window!

  If only she could get Gevin’s attention. Would he remember the scene? When Raymond Burr’s character broke into Jimmy Stewart’s apartment, knowing Stewart knew that he’d killed his wife. Julie willed Gevin to look at her. Then, just as he attached the flash to his camera, he finally looked up! She widened her eyes and mouthed, Rear Window!

  His brow knotted. What?

  Rear Window!

  He shook his head, still confused.

  Julie closed her eyes and prayed. God, help him read my lips.

  When she looked back at him, Gevin pointed to his camera then looked through its lens—a telephoto lens! Surely now he would understand! As carefully and deliberately as she could, she mouthed it again.

  Rear Window!

  He shook his head. She wasn’t getting through.

  Matt continued trying to reason with her captor. “Brad, no one could blame you for pushing your uncle off that tower.”

  “I didn’t PUSH HIM! I TOLD YOU THAT!”

  “Okay! All right! Then tell me what happened. Just calm down and tell me exactly what happened.”

  Brad’s grasp around her neck loosened ever so slightly, enough that Julie could take a deep breath. The mere sensation of oxygen filling her lungs felt exhilarating. Tears poured down her cheeks as she prayed. Oh Lord, please . . .

  “I sent that stuff just to scare him,” Brad said, his breath coming in short, angry pants. “I wanted to watch him squirm. And I wanted him to know his dirty little secret was no longer safe. I finally decided to confront him in person and told him to meet me at the water tower.”

  “Why did you do that? Weren’t you afraid he might do something to you?”

  Julie felt his grip on her tighten again.

  “No, I wasn’t afraid! I knew some day he’d figure it out anyway. And besides, I wanted to tell him face to face how much I hated him! He killed my mother! Don’t you get it?!”

  He was panting hard; his grip rock solid around Julie’s neck again, cutting off the last remnants of oxygen. She locked eyes with Gevin and tried again, mouthing the name of the movie they’d watched together a hundred times. Rear Window! Rear Window! She dropped her hand and flexed her fingers—open and shut, open and shut—hoping he’d get the message. Flash! Use your flash! Oh God, please save me!

  “Okay, so you had your little showdown with Uncle Peter,” Berkowitz blared. “That means you were the last one to see him. Why don’t you just admit you pushed him off that tower so we can all—”

  “I told you, I DIDN’T KILL HIM! Stop SAYING that!”

  Brad clutched her so tightly, Julie gasped. Stars danced in her eyes as her lungs emptied again. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull it away from her neck as the tip of the knife dug into her flesh.

  “Brad, stop!” Matt cried, lunging forward. “You’re choking her!”

  “STAY BACK, Bryson! I’ll cut her. I swear I’ll cut her throat clean through!”

  “Okay, fine. Whatever you say,” Berkowitz taunted. Even with her vision blurring she could tell he was trying to distract Brad. Was this part of the plan? Were he and Matt playing Good Cop/Bad Cop?

  “Hey, your uncle had it coming! I get that,” Berkowitz continued. “The way I see it, you did the world a favor, kid. So why not just—”

  “How many times do I have to say it? I DIDN’T KILL HIM!”

  “STOP!” Matt yelled. “We can sort all this out later! Brad, p
lease—I beg you! Just let her—”

  “I DIDN’T KILL HIM!” Brad shouted. “Yes, I hated him! Yes, I blackmailed him! He was the scum of the earth and he deserved to die! But he was still alive when I left him that night. I gave him twenty-four hours to surrender to the police, then I left! I swear! I DID NOT KILL HIM!”

  “Gevin!” Julie croaked as loud as she could. “Rear Window! Flash! Rear Window—”

  “SHUT UP!” Brad lifted her off her feet, his arm a noose around her neck as she gasped. Everything around her started spinning as she tried for one last breath.

  And then it happened—a series of blinding flashes, one after another after another!

  As the room exploded into shouts and movement and utter bedlam, she felt herself falling asleep and wondering . . . did Gevin get her message and blind Brad with his rapid-fire flashes? Or were those bright lights welcoming her to the heavenly realms?

  Chapter 33

  The quiet, nervous chatter in the boardroom at the law offices of Ormsby, Keller & Fitch didn’t surprise Matt in the least. Looking around the room at the cast of characters assembled, he couldn’t help wondering what Peter would have thought about the gathering. Then again, they were all here because Peter had requested their presence through his second will.

  “What’s so funny?”

  He looked over at Julie, seated beside him on the row of chairs lining the wall. He knew she was still exhausted, even after a weekend of rest, but he was overwhelmed with thankfulness that she’d survived the trauma on Friday night. Around her neck, she wore a colorful scarf draped to hide the gauzy bandages.

  She smiled wearily. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

  “Ask me again.”

  She laced her fingers with his. “You had a strange smile on your face. What’s so funny?”

  “I was just thinking about Peter and how he’s still calling the shots, all the way from the grave.”

  “Wow. That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so. After everything that happened, I almost wish I’d met the guy. He was beloved by some and hated by others. It’s hard to reconcile such opposing reactions to a guy like that. I remember that first day when I questioned so many of your coworkers. Every one of them said they admired Peter and genuinely liked the guy. Even Patricia described him as larger than life. She said when he walked in a room full of people, his mere presence would often take their breath away.”

  “She’s right. He really was larger than life. But even when you got to know him up close and personal, he was genuinely down to earth. Just a regular guy. You couldn’t help but love him.”

  Matt looked around the room. “Think they all would’ve loved him as much if they’d known his deep dark secret? Or if they’d known he’d fathered a child with one of his young bimbos?”

  “I guess we’ll never know.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll all have a seat, please?”

  Hank Ormsby took his place at the head of the table as everyone found a place to sit. They were all there: Patricia Lanham, Donella Willet, Jim Underwood, Donovan Street, and a handful of others, probably Hank’s associates. Matt was surprised when Christopher Smithe showed up at the last minute and took a seat near the door. Julie’s expression echoed his own.

  What’s he doing here?

  Hank took his seat. “I thank you all for coming today. You are here today either because Peter instructed you to be here per the specifications in his second will, or because I asked you to join us, which is the case for Miss Parker and Agent Bryson. Without their help, we might still be searching for answers regarding—”

  A commotion at the door curbed Hank’s opening comments. Led by Chief Jeff Carter, Brad Sampson entered the room. Dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit, with his hands in shackles, he kept his head down as he shuffled into the room. A guy in a suit carrying a briefcase followed just behind him.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Hank said. “Chief Carter, if you would seat Mr. Sampson and Mr. Felts there at the other end of the table, we can get started. By way of introduction, the gentleman accompanying Mr. Sampson is his attorney, Leland Felts.”

  The attorney nodded to the group as he took his seat.

  Matt squeezed Julie’s hand when it began to tremble. He knew she’d dreaded this moment and would avoid eye contact with Brad if at all possible. She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand in return, her attention focused like a laser on Hank Ormsby.

  “As most of you know by now, the provisions in Peter Lanham’s first will have been rendered null and void per his wishes as delineated in the second will, which we knew nothing about until two days ago. In cases such as these, it is incumbent upon us to verify the legality of the second document. Since this will was written by hand, we hired two separate handwriting agencies to analyze the document, and in both cases, the experts found the handwriting to be that of Peter Lanham.”

  Matt looked up just as Underwood touched Donella on the arm. She leaned over as he whispered in the direction of her ear, then simply nodded before turning her attention back to Ormsby. Hard to believe this was the same woman who was sloshed on margaritas and spilling all her secrets just a few nights ago. Back to business as usual, it would appear. He wondered if she’d found another job yet.

  Matt looked around the room wondering what the rest of these people might be thinking. What surprises might lie ahead for them in the next few minutes? Patricia’s face was set in stone. No surprise there. Donovan Street sat beside her; his demeanor serious, his elbows resting on the table, his hands tented like a church steeple. Matt leaned back to get a look at Smithe and found him preoccupied with a loose thread on the cuff of his suit jacket.

  Julie gave him a look. What are you doing?

  He smiled, loving the fact they could already talk without saying a word. He gave her a quick wink, then turned to look down the other end of the table.

  What about Brad? His eyes were glued on the table right in front of him. His trial wouldn’t come up for months. Matt had to admit he felt sorry for the guy and his pitiful, sad life. But he only had to remember the cuts on Julie’s neck to be glad her former coworker was in shackles.

  “But before I read the will, I’ve been instructed to first read a letter of explanation Peter left to share with those of you in this room. It begins:

  If you are reading this will, then I am most certainly dead. I’ve known it was only a matter of time now, but no matter how it happened, there are things that need to be said.

  First, I should tell you that I have been blackmailed for quite some time now, and I have reason to believe my nephew, Brad Sampson, is behind this cowardly ploy.

  All eyes shifted to Brad. Matt could see a nerve twitching in his jaw, but his eyes remained focused on the table.

  Hank continued.

  No payment was required, however; only a confession. At first, I blew it off. Even when I realized it was Brad sending me the notes, I wasn’t too concerned. What could my sister’s troubled son possibly do to me? If worse came to worse, I knew I could handle the situation by giving him a lump sum of money and sending him some place far away.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately, perhaps—I’m not the heartless bastard some of you may think of me, and I realized it was time to come clean about something that happened long ago. It was an accident, but I was young and full of myself, and also quite drunk behind the wheel of a car. As a result, a young fourteen-year-old boy was killed. I have written a separate letter to Hank Ormsby detailing the specifics about what happened that night in 1969, as well as the subsequent cover-up all these years since. All that you need to know now is that my sister Shannon was coerced into the cover up; her only crime was allowing me to bully her into silence. I only wish I’d apologized before she died.

  Matt and everyone else in the room glanced over at Brad. His eyes still hadn’t moved, but a single tear spilled down his cheek. When Julie looked back at Matt, her eyes glistened with sadness.


  As the months passed, and the letters kept coming, something inside me died, too. This morning, I took a long hard look in the mirror and hated what I saw. I realized everything I’d ever done was just a worthless sham. I was still that cocky teenager who once took a drive down a country road and robbed a young boy of his life. How arrogant of me to assume my life was more valuable than his? So valuable, I never once manned up to what I’d done, much less go to the authorities and give the kid’s family some closure.

  The man looking back at me in that mirror today was not only a despicable liar and fraud, he was a coward. I couldn’t bear to face him or anyone else anymore. I knew I had to confess, but in confessing, I knew my life was over. I cannot and will not sit in a prison cell for the rest of my life, and I won’t put my friends or my company through the rigors of such a scandal.

  For this reason, I have written a new will. In it, I am dispensing my assets as I believe they should be divided. In doing so, I hope the reputation of Lanham’s Fine Foods will remain intact.

  An odd hush fell over the room when Ormsby finished reading. Matt had no doubt now about Peter’s intentions. He said he’d never sit in a prison cell. Was that enough proof that he planned to take his own life? Probably. From everything Matt had learned about Peter, it actually made perfect sense now.

  After all, a man like Peter would go out on his own terms.

  But Brad’s actions—the blackmail, his confession that he’d been at the water tower that night, and his desperate act taking Julie hostage—all remained crucial pieces of the puzzle. The trial would certainly be an interesting one.

  A moment later, Hank broke the silence. “Now, I shall read the Last Will and Testament of Peter Lanham.”

  I, Peter Gregory Lanham, of the Town of Braxton, County of Cheatham, and State of Tennessee, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all Wills and Codicils previously made by me.