“Time to meet the sharks,” my daughter-in-law murmured before shoving me overboard. My son stood by, grinning, as the waves swallowed me whole. His aim? To seize my eight-million-pound fortune.
“Exit to the sharks,” I muttered as I plunged into the frigid North Sea. The water closed over me, the sky above vanishing into a blur of blue. I fought my way back to the surface, choking on saltwater, just in time to see them one last timemy son Edward and his wife, Prudenceleaning against the yachts railing, champagne glasses lifted in mock celebration.
At seventy-one, I was no longer the strapping lad whod once swung from ropes in the shipyards, but decades of dawn swims off the Cornish coast had toughened me against the sea. My arms ached as I struggled, yet survival was nothing new. Id clawed my way up from a dockworkers son to a property tycoon worth millions. And now my own flesh and blood had cast me aside like rubbish.
For years, Id sensed Prudences smile hid more calculation than kindness. It was all for designer gowns, society portraits, and whispered “plans for the future.” Edward, my only son, had idled since Oxford, softened by privilege. Id told myself hed find his spine, that hed inherit the grit Id carried in my pocket like a lucky coin. But that night, under the yachts golden glow, I realised whod chosen his backbone for him: Prudence.
The salt stung my eyes as I swam toward the shadowed shore. The distance was brutal, but fury burned hotter than the cold. Each stroke was vengeance. By the time I dragged myself onto the pebbled beach hours later, my body screamedbut my mind had never been clearer.
If theyd meant to break me, fine; let them savor their hollow triumph. But once they set foot in my London townhouse, dripping with seawater and arrogance, theyd find me waiting. And Id give them a parting gift theyd never outlive.
Edward and Prudence returned to the Mayfair office three days later, their faces carefully blank. “A dreadful accident,” Prudence recited to the staff, her eyes glistening as condolences poured in. Theyd told the coastguard Id stumbled overboard, too frail to fight the tides. No body was foundjust paperwork and pity.
In the library, amid shelves of leather-bound volumes, they toasted their victory. Laughter bubbled, the kind that reeks of certainty. But when Prudence clicked the remote, the screen didnt flash with newsit showed my face.
“Surprise,” I said in the recording. My voice, steady and quiet, cut through the room like a blade.
Edwards glass shattered on the floor. Prudences lips parted, but no sound came.
The video played on. “If youre seeing this, youve tried to steal what I built. You want the money? Take it. But know what youve truly inherited.”
Id seen their betrayal coming years ago. My solicitor, a man Id trusted since my first shilling, had helped me establish a trust. If I died under suspicious circumstances, Edward would inheritbut every penny would funnel to charities, soldiers homes, and scholars. Prudence had always scoffed at my donations, calling them “guilt of a sentimental old fool.” She never guessed they were the trap Id laid.
“Eight million pounds,” I said onscreen, “and itll slip through your fingers like sand. Unless you earn it as I did: brick by brick, deal by deal, sacrifice by sacrifice.”
The screen went dark. Silence thickened like fog.
Then came the final blow. I strode through the library door, very much alive. My suit crisp, my stance unbroken, the gash on my temple the only mark of the seas betrayal. Edward went grey, his knees buckling like a boy caught pilfering sweets. Prudence, though, stood rigid, her eyes sharp as a card sharks.
“You should be dead,” she spat.
“And yet here I stand,” I replied. “And heres my gift to you both: freedom. Freedom from me, from the fortune you prized above blood. Youll pack tonight. By sunrise, youll be gone from this house, my company, my life. The moneys yoursnow see how hollow it feels.”
Prudence wasnt one to yield quietly. “You cant cut us off,” she hissed, pacing like a caged fox. “Edwards your son. You owe him.”
Edward stayed mute, sweat beading on his brow. He looked between us, trapped.
“Owe him?” I roared. “I gave him every advantageEton, the firm, a seat at the table. And what did he do? Let you turn him into a would-be murderer.”
Prudences smirk returned. “Whod believe a doddering old man over us? Youve no proof.”
“Youre mistaken,” I said.
From my desk, I drew a waterproof pouchthe one Id strapped to my wrist before her push. Inside was a tiny camera. Its footage held Prudences sneer”Time to meet the sharks”and Edwards laughter.
Edward swayed. Prudence lunged, but I stepped aside. “One copys with my solicitor. Anothers in a vault. Make trouble, and the world sees it.”
The fight drained from Edward. He collapsed into a chair, head in hands. Prudence, though, straightened her spine. “Youre a heartless man,” she said softly. “You never wanted a sonjust a successor. Perhaps you were never capable of love.”
Her words stung, but briefly. I had loved my son. Some part of me still did. But love could no longer blind me.
At dawn, their trunks stood by the door. I watched them leave in silence, gravel crunching like shattered chains.
For the first time in years, the house was stilltoo still. I poured a whisky in the library and sank into my old armchair. My strength was intact, my life reclaimed.
Yet the fortune felt tarnished. Betrayal had stripped its gleam. So in the weeks that followed, I phoned charities, signed deeds, diverted my wealth to those whod treasure it. Veterans got roofs, students got books, hospitals got machines.
That was the true gift. Not vengeance, not survival, but turning a legacy of greed into one of grace.
And Edward? Perhaps one day hed returnas a beggar or a penitent.
Until then, the sharks would always circle in the depths between us.
