Page 39 of Dark Prince

I follow her, my heart pounding. As she hands me a file, our eyes meet—an unspoken understanding passing between us. We're both in uncharted waters here, but it's clear she's choosing to trust Mr. Dreschel's judgment, even in the aftermath of his sudden death.

The receptionist ushers me into a small, somewhat sterile conference room. “I’ll be right back,” she says before offering me a seat and then exiting, clicking the door shut behind her. The air feels charged like it's brimming with secrets just waiting to spill over. She returns shortly, carrying a manila folder.

“Here's everything Mr. Dreschel was reviewing. Please, try not to take too long,” she says, her voice low, almost a whisper as if tremendous consequences await if I do.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, I dive into the folder like it's the last lifeboat off a sinking ship. The will is there, just as promised, but it's a sea of legal jargon and highlighted sections that make my head spin.

Also nestled among the documents is Mr. Dreschel's notebook, a chaotic collection of handwritten comments and observations that seem to jump off the page with urgency.

I take a deep breath and start sifting through the documents, my brain working overtime to keep up with the legal speak.

Hereunto, the party of the first part shall bequeath unto the party of the second part, I mutter under my breath, sounding like I've swallowed a law textbook.

But slowly, piece by piece, the riddles begin to make sense. And then the reality of what I'm reading hits me. According to the will, Sharon stands to inherit everything, every last dime of my father's money that's been sitting in a trust, should anything happen to me.

My hands shake as I flip through Mr. Dreschel's notes, his handwriting a mess of loops and scribbles that somehow make more sense than the legal documents.

Potential conflict of interest. Questionable motives. Review trust conditions and clauses regarding beneficiary designation.

Each note is a breadcrumb leading me down the path to the witch’s cottage, a path I'm not sure I want to follow.

The implications are staggering. It's not just about the money—though, the stakes are high there—it's the betrayal, the undercurrents of greed and manipulation that seem to underpin this entire situation.

How could Sharon be the beneficiary? And, more importantly, why? Was this a setup from the start? Is it a game with me as the unwitting pawn?

The most likely scenario is that Sharon strong-armed Dad into it. Or had her lawyer change things around when Dad was incapacitated before his death. She’d had power of attorney, after all.

I close the folder, my mind racing with questions. I’m caught right in the middle of this mess, trying to piece together a mystery that seems to deepen with every discovery.

The receptionist's earlier words echo in my mind, urging me to hurry. I need more time and more information, but I don't have the luxury of digging deeper right now.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I feel the full weight of the situation. It's like I've been walking through a dense fog that’s suddenly lifted to reveal a landscape far more treacherous than I'd ever imagined. The pieces slot together with chilling clarity—Sharon, with her almost cartoonish villainy, is not just a thorn in my side—she's a direct threat to my life.

I power up my phone, bracing myself for the avalanche of missed calls and messages. I call Elena back and she picks up before the first ring even finishes, her voice full of irritation and concern. “Maura, where the hell are you? I've been worried sick!”

I cut straight to the chase, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for small talk. “Elena, listen, I found out something huge. It's about my father’s will, and it could tie into the failed assassination attempts.”

Elena's initial annoyance quickly turns to worry. “Oh my God, Maura. That sounds terrifying.”

“It is. It looks like my stepmother is behind the attempts on my life. And she stands to gain everything if she succeeds.” Saying it out loud makes it all the more real and all the more shocking.

Elena is silent for a moment. “Maura, this is serious. You're in more danger than we thought. You need to get back to the mansion—now.”

“I know; I'm calling an Uber as we speak. I'll be there as fast as I can,” I assure her, my fingers already navigating through the app to summon a ride.

“No way. Send me your pin, and the bodyguards will come and get you. I’ll call a car to pick me up here. Don't go anywhere else; stay right where you are, okay?” Elena's voice is dripping with urgency and concern, a stark reminder of the risks.

“I will do that. And Elena? Thanks for being there,” I add, feeling a surge of gratitude for her unwavering support in this whirlwind of madness.

“Of course. You’re family, remember? Stubborn, disobedient family, but family nonetheless.” I can hear her smile through the phone.

In a frantic race against time, I snap photos of the will and Mr. Dreschel's notes, my phone's camera clicking quietly in the tense silence of the room. Each image captures more of the puzzle, clues to the treachery that's been woven around me. The receptionist's return snaps me back to the present, her gentle reminder that my time is up echoing ominously in the room.

“Thank you so much for letting me review this,” I manage to say, handing back the folder and offering my condolences on Mr. Dreschel's untimely passing. I step into the elevator and descend back into the world with a heavy heart.

As the floors tick by, a chilling thought worms its way into my mind. What if Sharon and Rory had something to do with Mr. Dreschel's death? The idea that they could go to such lengths, eliminating anyone who gets too close to the truth, sends a shiver down my spine.

My heart races, not just with fear, but with the desperate need to be back at the mansion, safe in Luk's arms, to share with him the news of our baby.

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