When my husband heard the doctor say I had only 3 days left, he held my hand, smiled, and said, “Finally, only 3 days. Your house and your money are mine now.” After he left, I called the cleaning lady. “Help me, and you’ll never have to work again.”

Evil Evelyn Vance opened her eyes and knew instantly that something had changed. The change wasn’t in her hospital room, a suite outfitted with the kind of luxury she herself had approved for the VIP wing of her clinic empire. It was in the air she breathed, heavy yet fleeting, like the haze over a hidden marsh. It was in the muffled, cautious movements of the staff, who now acted faster, quieter, and with a strange, suppressed sympathy. But most of all, it was in the way chief of staff, Dr. Marcus Hayes, spoke to Paul Garrett just outside her door.

Evelyn’s own medical knowledge, acquired through running her hospital empire, told her there was no hope left. That was the change. The facade of medical possibility had finally fallen. She closed her eyelids to a narrow slit, an old business negotiation trick she’d used for decades when she wanted to hear what was being said while others believed her distracted or oblivious. The sedatives they claimed to administer numbed her body, but not her mind, which now functioned with the diamondlike clarity of something about to shatter.

“Paul Garrett,” Dr. Hayes said, his voice sounding tired and guarded. He was an excellent doctor, but he usually saw Evelyn not as a patient but as his owner. Now he sounded human, almost broken. “I have to be honest. Evelyn’s condition is critical. The liver failure is progressing despite everything we’ve tried. Her organs are failing one by one. We’re doing everything possible. Maximum 3 days, maybe less. I am so sorry.”

Silence. A silence that roared in Evelyn’s ears. It was the silence of a death sentence signed by the biology of her own body but delivered by another hand. Evelyn felt her heart still beating. 3 days, it meant the doctors were finally admitting what she’d been feeling since last week. Her body was failing.

49 years old. A massive empire of private hospitals, commercial properties in downtown Atlanta, bank accounts, assets, a life built through iron disciplines, sleepless nights, and the hard lessons of a failed first life. And now 3 days.

She thought of the past 20 years. The first marriage ended. There were no children, just the business. She built, she expanded, she acquired. Everything she owned, she had earned herself long before she married Paul. Her fortune was her shield, her armor. But at 46, she had suddenly realized the house was empty, and the evening seemed endless.

Paul Garrett had stepped into that void. A good-looking man, 10 years her junior, attentive, charming. He worked as an administrator at one of her hospitals. When he first asked her out to dinner, Evelyn felt like a young girl. He had reignited the light in her. She had needed that warmth so desperately that she hadn’t wanted to see the cold shadows in his eyes.

The door opened. Evelyn didn’t stir. Paul walked in. She caught the scent of his expensive cologne, the one she’d given him for his birthday, a scent that now smelled sickeningly sweet. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. His fingers were warm and well manicured.

Evelyn’s breathing grew shallow. She felt every muscle in her body tense internally while outwardly she simulated the perfect relaxation of a sedated patient. He believed she was unconscious due to the strong medication. The nurses had told him so this morning.

What happened next, Evelyn would remember until her last breath.

Paul squeezed her palm, stroked her wrist with his thumb, and whispered almost tenderly yet with an icy hardness underneath, “Finally, I’ve waited for this for so long. 3 years of waiting, 3 years of patience, waking up every morning to look at that cold, busy face, holding this hand, touching this body whose only worth was the money it controlled.”

Evelyn tensed inside, but her body did not betray her. She lay there a stony image of calm while a storm of horror and rage raged within her.

“Your house, your millions,” Paul continued, and there was an emphasis in his voice she had never heard before. It wasn’t love, not care, not even neutral respect. It was pure unfiltered scorn and triumph. “It all belongs to me now. Three whole years. For 3 years, I’ve played a role. Listening to your moral lectures about business and responsibility, smiling at your friends, lying in bed with you. Three years of contempt hidden behind expensive cologne and purchased attention. Do you know how much I hated you, Evelyn? Your arrogance, your know-it-all attitude. You thought you bought me, didn’t you? A young, handsome man for your empty life. But I had a much better plan.”

Paul laughed softly, an ugly grating sound. He leaned closer, and Evelyn smelled the slight hint of alcohol he often drank in the mornings, a sign of his internal emptiness.

“And now it’s finally over. The tea was a masterpiece. A minimal dose every day. So subtle, so slow. They blamed it on stress, on overwork, on your age. A perfectly executed plan, Evelyn. No one will ever find out. You will die and I will inherit everything you worked so hard for.”

He stood up, released her fingers, almost impatient now that the mask had fallen, adjusted the blanket with feigned concern, and walked out. Evelyn heard him talk to someone, probably the nurse in the hallway, telling her to take good care of his wife, that he would be back soon. His voice sounded compassionate and distraught, the perfect performance until the last second.

When the door closed, Evelyn opened her eyes. The ceiling blurred, not from weakness, but from rage so hot it coursed through her body. Because everything that had happened in the past few months suddenly clicked into a clear picture.

The gradual deterioration of her health. First slight nausea, then weakness, dizziness. The doctors blamed it on stress and overwork. She had thought so herself.

How stupid she was to trust him. The man who had presented himself as a rescue from loneliness. But 3 weeks ago, when the next episode happened right in her office, they brought her to the clinic. Her blood counts showed strange abnormalities.

Evelyn, who mistrusted even her own doctors, secretly sent a blood sample to an outside lab in a different city, Charlotte. The result came 5 days ago when she was already lying here. The toxicological analysis detected traces of a substance that shouldn’t have been there, a rare drug used in palliative medicine to ease the suffering of the terminally ill.

In small doses, it causes drowsiness. In large doses, it leads to liver failure and subsequent organ shutdown. Evelyn hadn’t wanted to believe it then. She dismissed it as a lab error and requested a repeat. The second analysis confirmed it.

And now, after Paul’s words, there was no doubt. She was systematically poisoned for months.

The realization was a shock that turned her rage into cold, calculated determination. She would not die before she had taken everything from him, everything he had murdered her for.

Evelyn tried to sit up, but her body would not obey. Her hands trembled. She lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to formulate a plan. Three days. If the doctors were right, she had three days left to put everything in order.

She knew Paul. Knew he was handsome, charming, and internally empty. But she thought a comfortable life would be enough for him. How foolish she was. He wanted more. He wanted everything. And he had underestimated how sharp her mind was even as her body failed.

She needed an outsider. Someone invisible, someone who had no ties to her old life.

Evelyn slowly turned her head toward the door. Someone was handling a bucket in the hallway. She heard water splashing, the scrape of a mop.

She called out softly, “Girl.”

Her voice was rough and much weaker than she intended. The noise stopped. After a few seconds, the door opened a crack and a cleaning woman peered in, a young petite black woman with dark hair clipped at the back of her head. Her face was plain, friendly, without makeup.

Evelyn had seen her before. She wiped the floors in the hallway, changed the linens, emptied the commode. Hard, thankless work.

Evelyn saw the fatigue deep in her eyes, but also a suppressed strength. This girl had been pushed into a corner by life.

“Are you feeling unwell?” The young woman stepped closer, concerned. She smelled faintly of disinfectant and damp cloth. “I’ll call the nurse immediately.”

“No need.” Evelyn forced herself to speak clearly. “What is your name?”

“Chloe. Chloe Jefferson.” Chloe closed the door.

“I need your help.”

The girl was confused. Her eyes widened slightly, but the sternness in Evelyn’s gaze made her obey. She closed the door. She came closer and looked into Evelyn’s face.

“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“I’m fully conscious.” Evelyn looked into her eyes. “And I need you to do something for me. Do not tell anyone I am lucid. Not my husband, not the doctors. But call my attorney, Jason O’Connell. His number is in my cell phone in the nightstand. Tell him Evelyn Vance asks him to come immediately. Personal matter.”

Chloe shook her head, her hands beginning to fidget. The fear of losing her job was greater than her curiosity.

“I can’t do that. That’s not my job. If they find out…”

“If you do everything I say…” Evelyn paused to gather strength. The effort of speaking was enormous. “You will receive enough money to never work as a cleaner again, never mop strange floors or empty commodes again. I mean it. I know you have debt, Chloe. I know you cared for your mother until her last breath and are bearing the costs of that care. This amount will pay off all that and more.”

The girl looked at her in disbelief, but something sparked in her eyes. Hope. Desperation. Evelyn saw that this girl was clinging to any straw. Chloe thought of the monthly payment for her deceased mother’s nursing home that she still had to pay off, of the empty pantry in her small apartment.

“You… You’re serious about this?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Absolutely. But we have little time. Call O’Connell now.”

Chloe hurried to the nightstand and took out the phone. It was the latest model, heavy and cool in her hands. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through the contacts. She found the name and pressed call. Evelyn heard long rings. Finally, someone picked up.

“Mr. O’Connell. Excuse me, I’m calling from the hospital, from Evelyn Vance. She asks you to come urgently.”

The lawyer asked something. Chloe swallowed.

“Yes, she… she is conscious. She says it’s a very urgent personal matter.”

She sounded like she was reciting a secret oath. She handed the phone to Evelyn.

Evelyn took it, barely holding on.

“Jason, it’s me,” she said. Her voice was steady now. Her rage gave her the strength. “I need to draw up a new will today. Come immediately and bring a public notary with you and not a word to anyone. I am being murdered, Jason. This is my last chance to secure my revenge.”

O’Connell was silent for a second on the other end. Then he answered briefly, his voice metallic.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about an hour. I’ll bring Tiffany and everything necessary.”

Evelyn gave the phone back to Chloe.

“Thank you. Now, just wait here and be quiet. When he arrives, stay as a witness. Do you… But why me? Why do you trust me?”

Chloe was overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy and weight of the situation.

Evelyn smiled weakly, an expression of cold pleasure on her pale face.

“Because you are an outsider. You are not part of my circle. My husband cannot buy you or intimidate you. You are uninteresting to him. You have no loyalties he can break. And I need you exactly as you are. Pure, desperate, ready.”

Chloe sank into the chair by the wall, horrified by what was happening. The realization that she held a wealthy woman’s life in her hands was overwhelming.

Evelyn closed her eyes and gathered her strength. One hour. She had to hold on. Inside, she repeated Paul’s hateful words. Those words were her fuel.

The time passed agonizingly slowly. Dusk was settling outside. The October day was ending early. The hospital light shone cold and relentless. Chloe sat silently, occasionally glancing at Evelyn. She no longer saw Evelyn as her boss, but as a dying enigma who was opening the door to a new life for her.

Exactly on the hour, the door opened and Jason O’Connell stepped in. A 54-year-old fit man in a suit whose eyes betrayed the sharpness of an experienced lawyer. He had been Evelyn’s rock and his expression was now serious, almost grim. He was followed by his assistant, Tiffany Marrow, 25 years old, with a tablet in her hand and an alert expression.

O’Connell’s first action was to scan Chloe by the wall with a quick assessing glance.

“Evelyn Vance.”

O’Connell approached the bed and looked at her face.

“What’s going on?”

“Close the door,” Evelyn commanded. “Sit down and listen carefully. I have no time for pleasantries or surprises.”

O’Connell nodded to Tiffany who closed the door. Chloe remained standing by the wall, her breathing shallow as if afraid to move. O’Connell noticed the tears in her eyes and her pale skin, silently noting these details.

O’Connell sat down and pulled out a voice recorder.

“May I record this for legal clarity?”

“Yes, you may. I want every word documented.”

Evelyn told him briefly and clearly, but her voice was filled with cold anger, about the test results, the toxic substance in her blood, and Paul’s words half an hour ago. She spoke of Paul’s triumphant look, of the moment she realized she wasn’t sick but being murdered.

O’Connell listened without interrupting, but his face grew harder and harder. The news of the poisoning didn’t completely surprise him, but Paul’s open display of triumph did.

“Do you have the analysis reports in your safe at home?”

“Yes. The code is my mother’s birthday. Get them and make copies. That is the evidence against him. That is the basis for a criminal case,” O’Connell said slowly, his voice deep. “But first, we must secure your will or the entire estate will fall to your husband by law. Legal logic must precede human revenge.”

“That is exactly why I called you. I want to leave everything to this young woman.”

Evelyn indicated Chloe with a weak movement of her head.

“Chloe Jefferson. And she will pay you generously for your services. We will include that in the will as well.”

O’Connell turned and scrutinized the cleaning woman. Chloe was deathly pale but nodded in agreement. The thought of becoming a multi-millionaire was too abstract, but the idea of denying Paul the inheritance began to produce a cold satisfaction in her.

“But why her?” O’Connell’s question was professional but also personal.

“Because she is here. Because I trust her. And because I have no time for doubts. My entire estate is premarital property. I have no children. It is mine and I can dispose of it as I wish. Draw up the will so that Paul cannot contest it. Secure it against every legal attack.”

O’Connell nodded, his thoughts racing.

“We need a notary and a doctor to confirm your capacity to execute the will at the moment of signing. Without that, the will is vulnerable.”

“Organize it today, immediately. I need an independent witness who gives Garrett no grounds for attack.”

“All right. Tiffany, call the on-call public notary and find an independent neurologist or psychiatrist from another hospital. They must come immediately. Ensure this doctor has no contact with Hayes.”

Tiffany went out and took out her phone.

O’Connell turned to Chloe. His gaze was insistent.

“Ma’am, do you understand what is happening?”

Chloe nodded uncertainly.

“Not entirely. It’s terrifying.”

“You will inherit the entire estate of Evelyn Vance. The house, the hospitals, properties, accounts. You will be a very rich woman, but you will also become a target for her husband. He will try to contest the will. Perhaps he will try to intimidate you or bribe you or worse. We are talking about a murderer here. Are you ready for that?”

Chloe was silent. She took a deep breath, feeling the pounding in her temples. The possibility of never being hungry again was a powerful incentive.

“Do I have to be?”

“Yes, because we will do everything right legally, but psychologically it will be a war. He will not leave you alone. You must be steadfast.”

“Chloe,” Evelyn interjected, her voice now very weak. “Chloe, I am not asking you to be a saint. Once you have the money, do what you want with it. But I ask you one thing. See this poisoning through to the end so he goes to prison, so he doesn’t kill anyone else, and reward generously everyone who helps you. Do you promise me?”

The girl looked at Evelyn, tears in her eyes. It was the last request of a dying woman.

“I promise I will seek justice for you.”

Half an hour later, the room gathered the public notary, an older gentleman with a briefcase and seal, a psychiatrist from the neighboring hospital, a woman in her 50s, O’Connell, Tiffany, Chloe, and Evelyn herself. The atmosphere in the room was tense, solemn, and shadowed by the anticipation of death.

The notary looked at Evelyn with respect, witnessing how she was using her last hours to stage an act of revenge. The psychiatrist conducted a quick but thorough examination, asking questions.

“What day is it? Where are you? What is the name of the president of the United States?”

Evelyn answered clearly. The doctor noted on the form after checking Evelyn’s pupils and evaluating her response.

“Patient is oriented in time, space, and to person. Consciousness is clear. Legally capable to execute a will.”

Signature. Stamp. The final legal hurdle was cleared.

The notary opened his laptop and began typing the text of the will. He read it aloud.

“I, Evelyn Vance, of sound mind and memory, bequeath my entire estate as it belongs to me on the day of my death to Chloe Jefferson.”

He looked up.

“Miss Vance, are you aware that you are disinheriting your husband?”

“Yes, I am aware. That is my express wish.”

“Are you acting of your own free will without coercion?”

“Yes, I confirm.”

Evelyn’s eyes fixed on the notary, dispelling any doubt about her resolve.

The notary nodded and printed the form with a portable mini printer. O’Connell filmed the entire process with his cell phone camera. Evelyn signed with a trembling hand. The notary affixed his seal and attested to it. The witnesses were Tiffany and a nurse from a nearby department whom O’Connell had brought in at the last minute to prevent any challenge.

When everything was over, the notary placed the document in an envelope.

“I will deposit it in the notary’s office. Tomorrow morning, I will make certified copies. Everything is legal. There is no longer any legal point of attack.”

Evelyn nodded. Her strength was rapidly failing now.

O’Connell leaned forward.

“Miss Vance, I will take care of the toxicology. I will request all analyses and engage the district attorney’s office. Paul will be held accountable.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. The word was a breath of air, but it carried the weight of a mission accomplished.

Everyone left. Only Chloe remained. She stood by the bed, not knowing what to say. Her mouth was dry.

“Go home,” Evelyn said tiredly. “We’ll see each other tomorrow, maybe. And remember what you promised.”

Chloe nodded and went out.

Evelyn remained alone. She stared into the darkness outside the window and thought, “3 days, maybe less.” But she had done it. She had robbed Paul of the thing he killed her for. That was the only thing that mattered now.

She felt no pain, only a deep, cold calm. The revenge had given her more peace of mind than all her wealth.

She died during the night, quietly, without torment. The nurses found her in the morning.

When Paul learned of it, he burst into a loud, demonstrative display of tears in the hallway. The clinic staff, whom he had treated with arrogance for 3 years, comforted him. He thanked them, pressing his handkerchief, and triumphant sparks danced in his eyes. He thought he had won.

The morning began with a phone call.

Paul Garrett sat in Evelyn’s office, which he now considered his own, flipping through documents, property deeds, bank statements, lease agreements. All this wealth now belonged to him. 3 years of waiting, 3 years of playing the loving husband. The result was now before him.

He had already opened Evelyn’s safe last night after the supposed triumph. Found the analysis reports, but dismissed them as nonsense. He had thoroughly checked Evelyn’s premarital asset status. Flawless, no community property. He was the sole heir.

He leaned back in the leather armchair and stretched. The smell of Evelyn’s perfume, still lingering in the air, no longer bothered him. It was the scent of his victory. Outside was a clear October day. The leaves on the trees shone yellow and orange. Beautiful.

Paul smiled. Life was settling into place. His phone vibrated.

Victoria Shaw, his mistress, the pharmacist he had bribed, who had procured the rare drug for him. She was cold, pragmatic, and the only person who shared his contempt for Evelyn.

He answered, “Yes, my dear. How is it going?”

His mistress’s voice sounded cautious.

“Great. She died last night. Quietly, without witnesses, the doctor said. Liver failure. No questions. Everything is safe.”

“Absolutely. I calculated everything. The dose was minimal, spread over months. The drug breaks down quickly. There are hardly any traces left. Even if someone checks, they won’t find anything. I’m a genius, Victoria. Who looks for murder when someone dies of organ failure at 49?”

Victoria was silent. She wasn’t as certain of victory as he was.

“And the will?”

“What will? She didn’t draw one up. I checked. The entire estate is from before the marriage. No children, so I inherit as the husband. The law is on my side.”

He radiated self-satisfaction.

“I hope you’re right, Paul. Don’t wait too long. Take care of the formalities and then let’s disappear.”

“Vivy, don’t be nervous. In 6 months, I’ll have everything sorted. Sell the hospitals and properties and we’ll move away anywhere you want, overseas. The money is enough for several lifetimes. We’ll open a clinic in the Caribbean, but just for ourselves.”

Victoria sighed.

“Good. Just be careful. Take it slow. Play the mourner. People need to believe you are devastated.”

“I am a professional.”

Paul sneered.

“Don’t lecture me. I played the role of my life for 3 years.”

He hung up and went to the cabinet where Evelyn kept her collected cognac. He poured himself a glass, sipped it. Excellent. Everything in this house was excellent, and now it belonged to him. He felt like a king who had reclaimed his throne.

There was a hard knock at the door.

The housekeeper, an older woman with red eyes, entered. She had served Evelyn for 20 years and always looked at Paul with suspicion.

“Mr. Garrett, the attorney is here for you. Jason O’Connell. He’s not alone.”

Paul frowned. O’Connell. That man had always been too smart and too observant. Evelyn had entrusted him with all legal matters. What did he want? Was he coming to settle his fees?

“Let him in.”

O’Connell appeared in the office, elegantly dressed in a suit and with a serious face. His gaze was hard and judgmental. He didn’t offer his hand in greeting, just nodded.

“Mr. Garrett, my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

Paul put on a grieving grimace.

“This is a tragedy. I am devastated.”

He gestured to the cognac.

“Would you like a drink to calm your nerves?”

“No, thank you. I need to discuss some legal matters with you. It cannot wait.”

“I’m listening. Please have a seat.”

O’Connell sat down without being asked and pulled out a file. The file looked thin, but its contents already seemed ominous to Paul.

“Evelyn Vance left a will.”

Paul tensed up.

“Really?”

He had checked the safe. Had Evelyn outwitted him? A cold wave crawled up his spine.

“When… When did she manage that? That’s impossible. She was unconscious.”

“The entire estate that belonged to her at the time of her death has been bequeathed to another person.”

A pause. Paul needed a moment to grasp the meaning. The air in the room seemed to freeze. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer. He had killed for nothing.

“You mean I am not the heir according to the will?” His voice was suddenly thin.

“Miss Vance disposed of her property differently. It was her legal right.”

Paul jumped up. His facade of grief crumbled in an instant.

“That’s impossible. She was in a coma. When did she manage that?” He almost screamed.

Anger distorted his handsome face.

O’Connell looked at him coldly. His calm was in stark contrast to Paul’s panic.

“The will was drawn up one day before her death in the presence of a public notary, a psychiatric doctor who confirmed her legal capacity and two witnesses. Everything is absolutely lawful. We took every legal precaution you can imagine.”

“To whom?” Paul asked. He felt his back turn cold. “To whom did she leave it? My cousin? A foundation that will be announced tomorrow at 10:00 at the notary’s office. Your attendance is mandatory.”

O’Connell’s eyes briefly sparkled.

“I will contest it.”

Paul slammed his fist onto the polished mahogany desk. The cognac glass rattled.

“She was not of sound mind. She was sick. This is a farce.”

“We have a doctor certificate confirming her full legal capacity at the moment of signing. There is a video recording and the statements of the notary. She was mentally lucid. Mr. Garrett.”

O’Connell stood up.

“I advise you to prepare yourself morally and hire your own attorney. The will is a fortress.”

He left without saying goodbye.

Paul remained alone, breathing heavily. A will? How dare she? How had she managed it? He grabbed the phone and dialed Victoria’s number.

“We have a problem. A huge problem. Evelyn tricked us.”

The next morning, Paul appeared at the notary’s office. He had barely slept. Victoria Shaw accompanied him. He introduced her as a family friend supporting him in this difficult hour. She wore a dark suit and nervously looked around.

The notary, the same older gentleman, received them in his office.

O’Connell and his assistant Tiffany Marrow were already seated there.

“Where is the heir?” Paul asked sharply, his voice slightly trembling. He expected to see a distant relative or a business partner.

“The heir has sent a representative,” the notary replied. “Her interests are represented by attorney O’Connell based on a notarized power of attorney.”

“Who is she? Where is she?”

The notary opened the file and pulled out the document. He looked at Paul with a mixture of pity and contempt.

“According to the will of Evelyn Vance, the sole heir to her entire estate is Chloe Jefferson residing…”

“Who is that?” Paul couldn’t believe his ears. “I have never heard of her.”

Disbelief gave way to stark horror.

“The cleaning lady from the hospital where your wife passed away,” the notary confirmed dryly.

Victoria gripped Paul’s arm and squeezed it to warn him not to completely lose his composure. He swallowed his rage and forced himself to speak calmly.

“That’s absurd. Evelyn didn’t know this girl. How could she leave everything to her?”

O’Connell answered casually, as if commenting on the weather.

“The testatrix is entitled to bequeath her property to any person she wishes. The law does not require a justification of motives. But I can assure you, Miss Vance had very clear motives.”

“But she was sick, not of sound mind.”

Paul clung to the only straw left.

“On the contrary.”

O’Connell placed the psychiatric evaluation on the table.

“Here is the report from the psychiatrist who conducted the assessment immediately before the will was signed. Conclusion: Legally capable, consciousness clear, free will. A video recording of the process also exists. The notary personally recorded her will. Everything is impeccably drawn up.”

Paul felt the ground sinking beneath his feet. His face was ashen.

“And what about me?”

The notary patiently explained the obvious.

“Your wife’s assets were acquired before the marriage. Therefore, they are not community property. As the surviving spouse, you are only entitled to your share of the property acquired together. That is what you bought or earned during the three years of marriage. The house, the hospitals, the commercial properties, the accounts, all of that belonged to Miss Vance before the marriage. By the will, these assets transferred to Miss Jefferson.”

“You mean I get nothing?” Paul’s voice was a whimper.

“You have your salary from the 3 years, your personal savings, the car registered in your name. That is your share of the jointly acquired property. Miss Vance ensured you are absolutely destitute.”

Paul was silent. His head was buzzing. 3 years. For 3 years, he had poisoned her, pretended, been patient. For what? So some damn cleaning woman could get the millions. The revenge was perfect.

“Where is she?” he asked quietly. Dangerously quiet.

“Miss Jefferson has accepted the inheritance through her representative,” the notary replied. “Her whereabouts do not need to be disclosed to you.”

“I want to talk to her. I will make her an offer she cannot refuse.”

“That is impossible,” O’Connell interjected. “My client does not wish any contact with you. You are considered the murderer of your wife and a threat to Miss Jefferson.”

“I will contest the will. I will sue.”

“That is your right. But I warn you, we have every reason to believe the contest will be unsuccessful. The will is legally flawless. The testatrix’s intent is clearly expressed. The medical documents confirm legal capacity. There is no basis to invalidate the will. You are only wasting your own money on lawyers.”

Paul stood up, swaying. Victoria supported him. They left the notary’s office in silence.

On the street, Paul stopped and turned to Victoria. His eyes burned with untamed hatred.

“Everything has collapsed,” he whispered.

“Not everything.”

Victoria looked at him sharply. She wasn’t ready to give up her own part in the betrayal.

“We find this girl, force her to reject it. Intimidate, bribe, whatever. The main thing is to act quickly.”

“O’Connell has hidden her somewhere. We will find her. I have contacts, people who know how to search. Give me a couple of days. We will take back what is ours.”

Paul nodded. Hatred simmered in his chest. Evelyn had outsmarted him. Even in death, her revenge had succeeded. But he wouldn’t give up, not after everything he had invested. His only drive now was the destruction of Chloe.

Meanwhile, a meeting was taking place in O’Connell’s office.

Jason O’Connell sat across from Tiffany Marrow and the private investigator, Detective Roy Singleton. A former police officer, a sturdy man of 42 with streaks of gray in his hair, Singleton had a reputation for being relentless and discreet.

“The situation is as follows,” O’Connell began. “Chloe Jefferson is safe. She has moved to a neighboring region, Charlotte, rented a room, and taken a temporary job. But Garrett will look for her. He won’t stop. He is dangerous and desperate. What can he do?”

“Intimidate, bribe, force her to renounce the inheritance. In the extreme case, if she refuses, physically eliminate her. We are talking about someone who systematically poisoned his wife. He is capable of anything. We must not only protect Chloe, but also neutralize him legally.”

Singleton nodded. He had studied Evelyn Vance’s case files and was impressed by her foresight and intelligence.

“I will check all the hospital surveillance cameras. I will trace who had contact with Miss Vance in the last months. I will check pharmacies for what Garrett purchased, what medications. If he poisoned her, traces remain. There are always traces.”

“Good. Another point. We need the criminal prosecution. Without it, Garrett remains free and will continue to hunt Chloe. I have already prepared the complaint for the district attorney. I am enclosing the toxicological reports that Evelyn Vance commissioned. They clearly show the substance in the blood that she was not medically prescribed.”

Tiffany inquired, “And what if the report doesn’t confirm the poisoning?”

“It will confirm it. Evelyn was meticulous. She sent samples to two independent labs. The results are identical. Furthermore, she documented the deterioration of her condition by date, keeping a diary of symptoms. All of these are circumstantial but weighty evidence. She documented her own murder case.”

“Who are we giving the case to?”

“District Attorney David Chen. He is a professional. He doesn’t take bribes. If anyone will bring it to trial, it’s him. He loves cases based on calculation.”

Singleton stood up.

“I’ll start working. I’ll deliver the first results tomorrow. I’ll focus on pharmacies and the camera footage first.”

He left.

O’Connell turned to Tiffany.

“Contact Chloe. Tell her everything is going according to plan. She should stay calm, not show herself. If anything happens, she should call me immediately. I want her to feel safe but not become negligent.”

“Understood.”

“And one more thing, request all documents from Miss Vance. Contracts, deeds, statements. I want to be sure that every asset is legally protected. Garrett will try to find loopholes. We close them in advance. Evelyn’s will must be untouchable.”

Tiffany nodded and went out.

O’Connell remained alone. He opened the safe, took out a copy of the will, and read it again. Everything was right. Every word, every comma. Evelyn Vance was a smart woman. Even in death, she had thought of every detail.

He remembered their last conversation in the hospital room, how calmly she looked at him without fear.

“Jason, I know I’m dying, but I want him to get nothing. Not a single cent. He must understand that he killed me for nothing. His triumph must become his greatest defeat.”

“Miss Vance, are you sure you want to give everything to Miss Jefferson? You barely know her.”

“I know her. That’s enough. She is honest. She works for a pittance, rents a room, pays off the loan for her deceased mother’s treatment. You can’t buy people like that. You can entrust revenge to people like that.”

“Revenge?”

“Yes, I want Paul to go to prison, to be convicted of my murder. And Chloe is a witness. She saw him enter the room. She heard what I said afterward. She will help the investigation. She promised me she will be my hand to execute justice.”

O’Connell had nodded then. And now he was fulfilling the promise he had made to a dying client.

He locked the will back in the safe and picked up the phone. He dialed District Attorney Chen’s number.

“Mr. Chen, O’Connell. I have material for you. Possible premeditated murder by systematic poisoning. I am sending you the documents. The case is complicated but promising. The evidence is unusually strong.”

Chen was silent on the other end.

“Send it. I’ll look it over. Thank you. I’ll await the documents.”

O’Connell hung up. Now all that remained was waiting, waiting for the wheels of justice to begin grinding slowly but inevitably.

Meanwhile, Chloe Jefferson sat in her small rental room in Charlotte on an old sofa looking out the window. A fine autumn rain was drizzling outside. The drops ran down the glass and merged into winding rivulets.

She still couldn’t believe it. Everything seemed like a dream. Two days ago, she was mopping floors in a hospital hallway, earning a small wage, counting pennies until the next payday. And today her lawyer O’Connell had informed her that she was the heir to a massive fortune.

Chloe was not happy. She was afraid. The enormous sum felt not like a gift, but like an undeserved burden, a magnet for evil. She knew Evelyn’s husband wouldn’t leave her alone. He would come. He would search. And what then?

Her phone vibrated.

“Tiffany Marrow. Miss Jefferson, how are you doing?”

“Pretty good. I’m at home. It’s quiet here.”

“Excellent. Don’t go out unnecessarily. Garrett has already begun searching. We are monitoring his activities. He doesn’t know where you are yet, but be careful. Stay in the shadows.”

“All right, I understand.”

“One more thing. Soon the district attorney will want to call you for a statement about what you saw in the hospital, what Miss Vance said. Be ready. Your testimony is crucial.”

“I’m ready. I promised her. I’m not afraid of testifying, just of him.”

“Very good. Hang in there.”

Chloe hung up. She remembered Evelyn Vance’s face, pale but with a clear, firm gaze. She remembered her last words.

“See this poisoning through to the end. So he goes to prison.”

She would see it through. Whatever happened. Because Evelyn had given her a chance, the chance for a different life. And Chloe wouldn’t disappoint her. The revenge wasn’t hers, but the justice she owed Evelyn was her new purpose in life.

Dusk was breaking outside. Somewhere in another city, Paul Garrett was gathering information, making plans, preparing to strike. And here, in the quiet room, the girl who was nobody yesterday was preparing for her defense. The game had begun, and the stakes were too high to lose.

District Attorney David Chen sat in his office at the homicide division headquarters studying the documents submitted by attorney O’Connell. The folder was thick. Medical reports, toxicological analyses from two independent labs, excerpts from the medical history, the personal diary of the deceased Evelyn Vance in which she recorded the symptoms by date.

Chen was an experienced investigator with a reputation for being meticulous and incorruptible. He didn’t like sensational cases, but when he took one on, he saw it through. Now he was reading the toxicology report for the third time. Everything added up. Traces of a drug used in palliative medicine to alleviate the suffering of the terminally ill were found in Miss Vance’s blood. In high doses, it is fatal. The substance was rare, strictly prescription only. Miss Vance did not have an oncological illness. Where did it come from?

Chen picked up the phone and called O’Connell.

“Mr. O’Connell, I received the documents. One question, were there any reasons for Miss Vance to take this medication?”

“None. Her treating physician confirmed he had not prescribed anything of the sort. Furthermore, Evelyn Vance herself became suspicious and secretly submitted samples to an external lab. The results will shock you, but they are credible.”

“I see. Who had access to her food and medication?”

“Primarily the husband, Paul Garrett. They lived together. He prepared her tea, brought her pills. The housekeeper came three times a week, but has been under observation for 20 years. Absolutely trustworthy. The other contacts were episodic. The husband’s motive is the inheritance. Miss Vance owned a chain of hospitals, commercial properties, and large accounts, all acquired before the marriage. She had no children. Had she died without a will, Garrett would have inherited everything as the sole legal heir.”

“But she left a will.”

“Yes. One day before her death, in favor of an external person, the cleaning lady, Chloe Jefferson. Garrett was left destitute. That was Evelyn’s final move.”

“Interesting. So he had motive, means, and opportunity. The classic triad.”

“Exactly. Furthermore, there is a witness. Chloe Jefferson heard Ms. Vance tell me about her suspicion. She is ready to testify. She is now in a safe location. Garrett is actively looking for her, trying to intimidate her, to force her to renounce the inheritance. I fear for her life.”

Chen frowned.

“Good. I am opening an investigation into suspicion of homicide under the first degree murder statute. I will order the exhumation and a new forensic medical examination. If the poisoning is confirmed, Garrett will face a high sentence.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chen. I knew you were the right person for this case.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just doing my job.”

Chen hung up and began drafting the order to open the investigation. Tedious work lay ahead, but he liked such cases. When everything fits together into a clear picture, when the perpetrator believes they have escaped retribution and then realizes the net is closing in.

Two days later, the district attorney received court approval for the exhumation of Evelyn Vance’s body. The procedure took place privately. Samples were sent for examination to a leading forensic center in Quantico, Virginia.

While the experts worked, Chen began collecting circumstantial evidence. He instructed his assistants to analyze the surveillance camera footage from pharmacies in the area where Ms. Vance lived. The task was simple, to find out if Garrett had purchased the drug in question.

The result came after one week. In a recording from one of the private pharmacies, Paul Garrett was clearly visible. He approached the counter, spoke with the pharmacist, gave money, and received a package. The date was 2 months before Ms. Vance’s death.

Chen called the pharmacist in for questioning, a nervous, frightened woman in her 50s.

“Do you remember this man?”

The district attorney showed a photo of Garrett.

“Yes, yes, I remember. He came several times. He bought the palliative therapy medication. He said his mother had cancer. The doctors had allowed him to administer it at home so she wouldn’t suffer.”

The pharmacist lowered her gaze. The lie was clearly painful for her.

“Did you have a prescription?”

The pharmacist turned pale.

“No. He said he lost the prescription. He offered to pay more. I agreed. I needed the money. It was a mistake. I know.”

“How often did he buy it?”

“Four or five times. I don’t know exactly.”

Chen nodded.

“Do you realize that you violated the law? The sale of prescription drugs without a prescription. And if this drug was used to kill someone, you are an accessory.”

The woman wept.

“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

“Write a statement. Admit it voluntarily. That will mitigate your guilt. But you will have to testify in court.”

She nodded, wiping away her tears. Chen dictated the protocol to her. She signed. Another thread leading to Garrett was documented.

Simultaneously, private investigator Roy Singleton conducted his own investigation. He requested all surveillance camera footage from the hospital where Miss Vance was admitted. He examined who went into her room, when, and for how long.

Paul Garrett was regularly seen bringing fruit and flowers, sitting by the bed. On the cameras, he looked like a model husband. But one day, Singleton noticed a detail. Garrett entered the room with a thermos. He stayed for 10 minutes. He left without the thermos. An hour later, the nurse came to collect the dishes. The thermos was empty.

Singleton requested the medical records. On that day, Miss Vance’s condition had deteriorated rapidly. Nausea, weakness, confusion. The doctors blamed it on the progression of the illness.

The detective found the nurse and conducted an unofficial interview with her.

“Do you remember the day Garrett brought his wife tea in a thermos?”

“Yes, I remember. Miss Vance drank a little and then said the tea tasted bitter. I thought the infusion was too strong.”

“And what did Garrett say?”

“Nothing. He smiled and said she had always been picky. He seemed unperturbed.”

Singleton noted the statement. Another building block for the indictment. It showed the perpetrator’s method and cold-bloodedness.

In parallel, he tracked Garrett’s actions after the will was announced. Paul had hired people, two strong men from a private security company. They scoured the city, questioning Chloe’s former colleagues, neighbors, acquaintances. They were desperately searching for her whereabouts.

Singleton reported to O’Connell.

“Garrett has become active. His men have already found out that Chloe rented a room on the outskirts of the city. They questioned the landlady. She said the girl moved out a week ago and didn’t leave a new address. They will find her sooner or later. We must act before they do.”

“Yes, they have the resources. We must preempt them. I suggest arranging a meeting between Chloe and Garrett’s people under our control. We record the attempt at coercion and intimidation. That will be the basis for another criminal case. Coercion to execute a transaction. Threats. We use his greed as a trap.”

O’Connell thought about it. Risky, but a viable option.

“I’ll talk to Chloe. She must understand the risk.”

He contacted Chloe Jefferson and explained the plan. The girl did not agree immediately. She was afraid. She trembled on the phone.

“I can’t do this, Mr. O’Connell. He’s a killer. He wants to kill me.”

But O’Connell convinced her.

“Chloe, they will find you anyway. It is better that it happens on our terms. And he will be convinced that you agree to hand over the estate to him. We will be nearby. The police will be nearby. Nothing will happen to you. And Garrett will be driven even further into a corner. Think of Miss Vance’s wish.”

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it for Evelyn.”

Singleton arranged an information leak. Through an acquaintance at the security company, he passed on a hint to Garrett’s men that Chloe was working in a small private lab in the neighboring city of Charlotte. The information reached Paul 2 days later. He was overjoyed to finally have a clear lead.

He immediately drove there with Victoria Shaw and two bodyguards. The plan was simple. Find the girl, intimidate her, force her to sign the renunciation of inheritance. If she refused, exert stronger pressure. Paul was determined to force his financial rebirth, even if it meant Chloe’s death.

They tracked Chloe in the evening as she left the lab and surrounded her on an empty street. The air was cold and damp. It got dark early. Paul stepped forward and smiled, but it was a smile like a blade.

“Chloe Jefferson, get in. We need to talk. This time there are no lawyers.”

“No.”

She backed away.

The SUV stopped. The doors flew open. Two powerful men in dark clothes jumped out. One grabbed Chloe by the arm. The other covered her mouth. She tried to break free, but her strength was insufficient. She was shoved into the car and squeezed between the bodyguards. The SUV drove off.

Paul turned to her.

“Too bad you’re so uncooperative, Chloe. We could have agreed peacefully, but now it has to be different. This is your last mistake.”

She remained silent, almost suffocating with fear. The scent of Paul Garrett’s expensive cologne was now mixed with the stench of fear.

The car drove out of the city, turned onto a dirt road, and stopped at an abandoned hangar. The place was the definition of desolation.

Paul got out and nodded to the bodyguards.

“Get her out. Quick and quiet.”

Chloe was dragged out of the car and brought to the hangar. Inside, it was cold and dark. It smelled of dampness and rust. The silence of the night was broken only by the wind whistling through the broken window panes.

Paul turned on his phone’s flashlight and illuminated her face.

“Listen carefully. You have two options. The first, you sign the renunciation of inheritance right here, right now. I’ll take you back, give you $300,000, and we part as friends. The second option…”

He paused dramatically.

“You will never be found.”

Chloe trembled. She tried to control her panic.

“I am being looked for. If I disappear, you will be immediately suspected. Mr. O’Connell knows.”

“Let them suspect. Where there is no body, there is no crime.”

“And the body?”

Paul grinned.

“The nearby swamp land is deep. Even a tank would sink there. No witness, no problems.”

She was silent. Paul pulled the papers from his pocket.

“Here is the renunciation. Will you sign?”

“No.”

Paul nodded to one of the bodyguards. He hit Chloe hard in the face. She fell down, hitting her knee on the concrete floor. Paul crouched beside her. His eyes were cold and empty.

“Do you think I’m joking? I killed Evelyn slowly, methodically. I mixed poison into her tea for 3 months. I watched her waste away, and I didn’t care. Do you think I will treat you differently?”

Chloe lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. Blood ran from her split lip. But at that moment, fear gave way to anger and a clear sense of obligation to Evelyn.

“You are a murderer, and they will put you in prison. Sooner or later, Evelyn made sure of that.”

Paul stood up and kicked her hard in the stomach. She doubled over in pain. He crouched down again.

“I ask you one last time. Will you sign?”

The Maria of the German original, The Desperate One, indebted to the dead woman’s revenge, was silent.

Paul straightened up and nodded to the bodyguards.

“Get the car ready. We’ll take her to the swamp. We’ll take care of it there. It’s her own fault.”

At that moment, sirens blared outside. Loud, piercing. They broke the silence of the hangar.

Paul froze. The bodyguards rushed to the door, but police officers with drawn weapons were already storming into the hangar.

“Stop. Police. Hands up.”

Paul tried to flee but was immediately overpowered and handcuffed. The bodyguards were also arrested.

Singleton came in next, went to Chloe, and helped her stand up. His face was concerned.

“Are you okay? Are you alive?”

“Yes,” she croaked. The pain was real, but the relief was overwhelming.

“Well done. Hold on. An ambulance is on the way. You made him reveal himself.”

Paul was led out of the hangar and put into the police car. He looked at Chloe with pure hatred. She stood there leaning on Singleton and felt, for the first time in a long time, everything will be all right. Justice had triumphed.

Singleton explained to her later in the hospital after the doctors had tended to her wounds.

“We were monitoring Garrett’s phone. When he left the city, we knew he was planning something. We contacted the local police and coordinated the measures. We got there in time.”

“Thank you.”

Chloe held an ice pack to her split lip.

“If you hadn’t been there…”

“Don’t think about it. The most important thing is that you are alive. And Garrett is going behind bars for a long time now. Attempted murder, kidnapping, threats, plus the main case, the murder of Ms. Vance. He faces 20 years.”

Chloe nodded. The pain gradually subsided. She closed her eyes and remembered Evelyn Vance’s face, the promise she had made her. She had kept it.

The next day, District Attorney Chen questioned Paul Garrett. He sat in the detention cell, unshaven with an extinguished look. He no longer looked like the charming young man of the past, but like a broken, greedy fool.

“Paul Garrett, you are charged with the premeditated murder of your wife, Evelyn Vance, by systematic poisoning, as well as the kidnapping and attempted murder of Chloe Jefferson. Do you admit your guilt?”

“No.”

Paul stared sullenly at the table.

“We have the expert report confirming the poisoning. We have witnesses who saw you buy the medication at the pharmacy without a prescription. We have surveillance footage from the hospital showing you bringing your wife tea in a thermos after which she worsened. We have a recording of your conversation with Miss Jefferson in which you state directly, ‘I killed Evelyn slowly, methodically. I mixed poison into her tea for 3 months.’ Do you want me to play the recording?”

Paul was silent. Chen turned on the voice recorder. Paul’s voice sounded clear, arrogant, and triumphant, although the words now betrayed him.

“I killed Evelyn slowly, methodically. I mixed poison into her tea for 3 months. I watched her waste away, and I didn’t care.”

Chen turned off the recording.

“That is your voice. Paul Garrett, you have convicted yourself.”

Paul did not answer.

Chen continued.

“We also have the statement from Miss Jefferson, whom you kidnapped, beat, and threatened with death if she did not renounce the inheritance. Injuries were found on her body. Your bodyguards have already testified and confirmed that they acted on your command.”

“Paul Garrett, you have maneuvered yourself into a corner. The only thing that can help you is a full confession.”

Paul lifted his head.

“I want a lawyer.”

“You’re right. The interrogation is concluded.”

Chen left the cell and called O’Connell.

“Mr. O’Connell, Garrett has been arrested. The court ordered pre-trial detention. Flight is ruled out, as is pressure on witnesses. We can proceed to the next step.”

“Excellent. I am preparing the documents for the civil case. Garrett continues to contest the will, but his position is even weaker now. The court will see a man charged with the murder of his wife is trying to obtain her property. That looks cynical.”

“Agreed. What are his chances of winning the civil case?”

“Zero. The will is flawlessly drawn up. Medical report on legal capacity. Video recording. Statements of the notary. Everything is there. The court will clearly dismiss his claim. Evelyn’s revenge is legally airtight.”

“Then only the criminal case remains. I will continue the evidence gathering. I will soon submit the case to the district attorney’s office for indictment.”

“Keep me informed.”

Chen ended the call. The work was proceeding according to plan.

Meanwhile, Chloe Jefferson sat in an apartment O’Connell had rented for her, a safe location guarded around the clock. She looked out the window at the November sky and thought about how her life had changed.

A month ago, she was nobody. She mopped floors, earned a meager wage, lived in a rental room. And now she was the heir to a massive fortune, a key witness in a criminal case, a woman who was supposed to be murdered.

She was not happy about the money. Not yet. Because she knew this price was the price of Evelyn Vance’s life, and that price obligated her. The millions felt cold and heavy, like an oversized inheritance she could not yet carry.

Her phone rang.

“O’Connell. Miss Jefferson, how are you?”

“Good. The bruises are healing. I don’t feel pain anymore. Just the memory.”

“Good. I have news. Garrett is in custody. The investigation is collecting the final evidence. The case will soon go to trial. In parallel, the civil case regarding the will is ongoing. There will be a decision in 1 month.”

“And what should I do?”

“Wait. Testify when asked and prepare yourself to be the rightful owner of Miss Vance’s entire estate after the verdict. You must learn to carry this responsibility.”

Chloe was silent.

“Mr. O’Connell, what if I don’t want it? What if I don’t want all this? The money, the houses, the hospitals. I am afraid. I don’t know how to handle it. It exceeds my imagination.”

O’Connell sighed. He understood her internal struggle.

“Chloe, Evelyn didn’t choose you by chance. She saw something in you that others didn’t. Honesty, perhaps. Or simply goodness. She wanted you to have a chance. Don’t reject it. Take the money. Build your life. But remember, you promised her to see this through to the end. And you will keep your promise. This fortune is your tool for a better life, not your shackles.”

“I remember. I will do it.”

“That’s good. Hang in there. It will be over soon.”

Chloe hung up and looked at the photo of Evelyn Vance that O’Connell had given her, a middle-aged woman with a smart face and a firm gaze. She had lived a hard life, built a business, lost love, and was then betrayed and murdered.

Chloe said softly into the void,

“I will see this through. I promise. I will complete your victory over Paul.”

In prison, Paul Garrett lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling. Life had collapsed. Everything he had built in 3 years fell apart in one month. Evelyn had defeated him even after her death. He remembered her last days, how she lay in the hospital room pale, weak, how he whispered to her, assuming she was unconscious, how he rejoiced. But she had heard everything, understood everything, and launched a counterattack from which he would never recover.

Paul closed his eyes. The cell was cold and stuffy at the same time. Water dripped somewhere. His cellmate was snoring. Life went on, but for him, it had stopped.

He remembered Victoria. She had left when she sensed the danger. Smart woman. She was always smarter than him. She had used him just as he had used Evelyn. The realization that he had only been a tool in the hands of both women was humiliating.

Paul turned to the wall. Tomorrow, another interrogation, then the court, then the sentence. 20 years, maybe more. He would never experience freedom again. 20 years at his age. That was a death sentence. He smiled bitterly. Evelyn knew what she was doing. She had spared his life, but taken everything he had lived for. That was worse than death. She had taken his soul by denying him his greed.

Footsteps were heard outside. The guards were bringing someone new in. The door of the next cell slammed shut. Paul didn’t move. He didn’t care. Evelyn had won, and that victory was absolute.

6 months passed. Spring came unexpectedly quickly. The city was filled with the scent of fresh greenery.

Chloe Jefferson stood by the window of her new apartment, looking down at the wide street. The apartment was spacious, bright, with high ceilings. Her apartment, bought with Evelyn’s money.

Much had changed in these months. The investigation was concluded. The case of Paul Garrett was handed over to the court. In parallel, the civil case regarding the will was finished. The court had declared Evelyn Vance’s will lawful and justified and dismissed Garrett’s challenge.

Chloe was officially the heir to the entire fortune. The house, the three private hospitals, the two shopping centers, the office spaces, and the bank accounts. The sum was enormous, about $40 million.

Chloe hired executives for the hospitals and commissioned realtors to sell some of the properties. She didn’t want to keep everything. It was too much. She sold the shopping centers and one of the office buildings. She kept the house and one of the hospitals that was functioning well and bringing in stable revenue. She invested the money from the sale in secure assets. She donated a part to a foundation for cancer patient support. She used another part to pay off all her debts, those of her mother and distant relatives.

She paid O’Connell and his team a generous fee, more than they had asked for. Singleton, too. She gave District Attorney Chen an expensive watch. He couldn’t accept money, but he accepted the gift.

“Thank you,” Chen said, shaking her hand. “Not everyone stands up to such pressure. You are a remarkable woman. You carried out the task of justice with flying colors.”

“I only kept my promise. That was my duty.”

“That is worth a lot.”

Chloe smiled.

Chen left and she remained alone in O’Connell’s office. Jason O’Connell poured her a cup of tea and sat across from her.

“What now, Miss Jefferson?”

“I don’t know. I want to live in peace, without fear, without persecution. I want to go to college, to train as a psychologist. Now I have the opportunity. I want to understand what drives people, both greed and goodness.”

“That is right. Evelyn would have wanted you to be happy, to rebuild your life.”

“I will try. I owe her that.”

O’Connell nodded.

“If you need anything, reach out to me. I will always help.”

“Thank you.”

She finished the tea, said goodbye, and walked out onto the street. The day was warm and sunny. The city lived its normal life. People rushed to work. Children played in the yards. Salespeople served customers in the stores. Chloe was now part of this normal world, no longer the invisible cleaning woman.

Chloe got into a taxi and gave the address. Evelyn Vance’s house, now her house, stood in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by a garden. She went inside, walked through the rooms. Everything was clean and tidy. The housekeeper had retired, but came once a week to air out and clean.

Chloe went upstairs to Evelyn’s bedroom. The room was spacious and bright. A photo stood on the nightstand. Evelyn in her younger years, beautiful, self-assured.

Chloe took the house keys from her pocket and placed them next to the photo on the nightstand. She said softly,

“Miss Vance, I did everything you asked of me. Paul is convicted. He got 22 years. He won’t poison anyone anymore. Won’t deceive anyone anymore. Thank you for your trust, for the chance. I will try to be worthy of what you left me. This inheritance is my second chance.”

She stood there silently, then left the room, went downstairs to the living room, sat in the armchair by the fireplace, and closed her eyes.

It was over. Paul was behind bars. Victoria, too. The inheritance was settled. The debts paid. Life was beginning anew.

Chloe remembered the day in the hospital room when Evelyn had called her. She remembered her words.

“If you do everything I say, you will never work as a cleaner again.”

At the time, it seemed like the delusion of a sick person. Now it was reality.

She opened her eyes and looked at the fireplace. Life had given her a chance. Evelyn had given her a chance, and she would not waste it. She would use this money to do good and fulfill herself.

She kept the house but rarely lived there. Most of the time she was in the apartment downtown.

The hospital was turning a profit. The executives worked honestly. Chloe monitored the finances but did not interfere with the operational management. She knew she still had a lot to learn.

Chloe often thought of Paul. Had she forgiven him? No. But she also felt no hatred, only indifference. Paul was the past, along with the life where she mopped floors and lived on the poverty line.

In the autumn, Chloe enrolled in college for psychology. She wanted to study the depths of human nature, to understand how mistrust and greed could arise in a man like Paul. And at the same time, she returned to Evelyn’s house. She walked through the rooms, stopping by the bedroom. She entered, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at the photo.

“Miss Vance, a year has passed. I made it. I learned to live with this inheritance, didn’t waste it, didn’t go crazy with money. Paul is incarcerated, serving his sentence. Victoria, too. Everything as you wanted. Thank you for your trust, for the chance. Your revenge was my rebirth.”

She stood up, left the room, and closed the door quietly and carefully. Life went on without revenge, without hatred, just life. And that was the best thing Chloe could do, live with dignity and honesty in memory of the woman who had given her everything.

Evelyn Vance had won, not through violence or malice, but through intelligence, calculation, and the belief in the existence of justice. Paul had paid for every dose of poison, for every lie, for every second he watched his wife die. And Chloe had been given a