Time to meet the sharks, my daughter-in-law murmured before shoving me overboard. My son looked on, grinning, as the waves swallowed me whole. His prize? My fortune of eight million pounds.
Exit to the sharks, I muttered as I plunged into the sea. The frigid English Channel closed over me, the sky above shrinking to a distant blue sliver before vanishing into the dark. I fought my way back to the surface, coughing up seawater, just in time to see themmy son James and his wife, Felicityleaning against the railing, champagne glasses raised in mocking salute.
At seventy-one, I was no longer the spry man whod once outwitted rivals in Londons cutthroat property market, but years of morning swims in Brighton had toughened me against the sea. My arms ached as I struggled, but survival was nothing new. Id clawed my way up from a bricklayers son to a real estate tycoon, amassing a fortune through grit and guile. And now my own flesh and blood had tossed me aside like yesterdays rubbish.
For years, Id doubted Felicitys charm, her smiles as calculated as a tax returnalways for designer gowns, glossy magazine spreads, and whispered future plans. James, my only son, had been adrift since Oxford, drowning in privilege. Id told myself hed find his spine, that hed harden into the man Id once been. But that night, under the yachts golden glow, I realised Id chosen his backbone for him: Felicity.
Salt stung my eyes as I swam toward the shadowed coastline. The distance was merciless, but fury drove me harder than the tide. Each stroke was a rebuke, each kick a vow. By the time I dragged myself onto the pebbled shore, my body screamed in protest, but my mind had never been clearer.
If they wanted me gone for my strength, fineId let them taste their hollow triumph. But when they returned to my home, smug and secure, theyd find me waiting. And Id give them a present theyd never escape.
James and Felicity reappeared at the London office three days later, their story seamless. A dreadful accident, Felicity cooed to the staff, her eyes glistening as she accepted condolences. They told the coastguard Id slipped, too frail to fight the waves. No body was foundjust paperwork and polite lies.
In the library, surrounded by mahogany and leather, they toasted their victory. Laughter bubbled between them, the kind that reeks of certainty. But when Felicity clicked the remote, the screen flared to lifenot with news, but with my face.
Surprise, I said in the recording. My voice, steady and cold, cut through the room.
Jamess glass shattered on the floor. Felicitys lips parted, but no sound came out.
The video played on. If youre watching this, youve tried to steal what I built. You want the money? Take it. But know what youve really inherited.
Id seen betrayal coming years ago. My solicitor, a man Id trusted since my teens, had helped me draft a will. If I died under dubious circumstances, the fortune would pass to Jamesbut every penny would funnel to charities, shelters, and scholarships. Felicity had always sneered at my donations, calling them guilt cheques. She never guessed they were my contingency plan.
Eight million pounds, I said onscreen, and itll slip through your fingers like sand. Unless you earn it as I didbrick by brick, deal by deal, sacrifice by sacrifice.
Silence engulfed the room as the screen went dark.
Then came the final twist. I strode through the library door, very much alive. My suit crisp, my stance unbroken, the fresh scar on my temple the only hint of my ordeal. James went pale, his knees buckling like a boy caught stealing sweets. Felicity, though, stood rigid, her gaze sharp as a poker players bluff.
You should be dead, she spat.
And yet here I stand, I replied. Consider this my parting gift: freedom. Freedom from me, from the fortune you clearly cherish more than family. Youll pack tonight. By sunrise, youll be gonefrom this house, from my company, from everything I built. The life you wanted is now yours to keep.
Felicity wasnt one to surrender quietly. You cant cut us out, she hissed, circling like a trapped fox. James is your son. You owe him.
James stayed silent, sweat beading on his brow. He watched us, torn but too weak to choose.
Owe him? I snapped. I gave him every advantageEton, a place in the firm, a seat at the table. And what did he do? Let you turn him into a patricide.
Felicitys smirk returned. Do you really think the police will take the word of a paranoid old man over ours? Youve no proof.
Youve misjudged me, I said.
From my desk, I pulled a waterproof pouchthe one Id strapped to my belt before Felicity pushed me. Inside was a tiny camera. Its footage held all the evidence needed: Felicitys chilling whisper, Jamess laughter as I fell.
James swayed, his face ashen. Felicity lunged, but I stepped aside. One copys with my solicitor. Anothers in a vault. Try anything, and the world sees it.
The fight left James then. He crumpled into a chair, head in hands. Felicity, however, paced to the window, her expression unreadable. Youre a cruel man, she said softly. You dont want a sonyou want an heir. Perhaps you never knew love at all.
Her words stung, but only for a moment. I had loved my son. Some part of me still did. But love couldnt be blind forever.
At dawn, their suitcases waited by the door. I watched them go in silence, the gravel crunching beneath their feet like the snap of shackles.
For the first time in years, the house was quiettoo quiet. I poured a cup of tea and sank into my favourite armchair, the one Id fought to reclaim. My strength was intact, my life my own again.
Yet the money felt heavier now, tarnished by betrayal. So, in the weeks that followed, I made calls, signed papers, diverted my wealth to those whod value itveterans, students, hospitals.
That was the real gift. Not revenge, not survival, but turning a legacy of greed into one of grace.
And James? Perhaps one day Ill hear of him againeither as a beggar at my gate or a penitent at my door.
Until then, the sharks will always circle in the waters between us.
