Chapter 6 Blood-Soaked Inheritance

Chapter 6: Blood-Soaked Inheritance

The cigarette boat cut through the dark water like a knife, sending spray over the sides as I pushed the throttle to its limit. Behind us, the boathouse erupted in gunfire, flashes illuminating the night. My father huddled in the passenger seat, his frail body shivering despite the blanket I'd thrown over him.

"Where are we going?" he shouted over the engine's roar.

I had no answer. Every safe harbor I'd ever known had been revealed as a carefully constructed lie. The Walkers had raised me as a pawn. Dean had loved me as a replacement. And Matt...

Matt had orchestrated my entire existence for his twisted game of revenge.

"Somewhere they can't find us," I finally replied, steering toward the far shore where trees created shadows dark enough to hide our approach.

We found shelter in a lakeside cabin whose owners were clearly away for the season. I broke in through a back window, helped my father inside, and set about securing our temporary refuge.

"You've grown resourceful," he observed as I rigged makeshift alarms using fishing line and empty cans.

"Survival instinct." I found some canned soup in the pantry and began heating it on the propane stove. "Ten years in that basement, and you never tried to escape?"

My father's hollow laugh held no humor. "Matt made sure I couldn't. The stroke left me paralyzed for the first three years. By the time I regained limited mobility, he had... other ways to ensure my cooperation."

"Dean," I whispered, remembering the organ donor form.

He nodded grimly. "Matt would bring photos of medical procedures. Show me the scars on his son's body. Explain how each piece of Dean was keeping me alive." His hands trembled. "I became a monster's science experiment, kept alive solely to witness my own daughter being manipulated into the Williamson web."

I placed a bowl of soup before him, watching as he struggled to hold the spoon. "Why did Matt hate you so much? What really happened between you two?"

"We were like brothers once." My father's eyes grew distant. "Built our first company together straight out of college. But Matt... he always wanted more. Power. Control."

"And my mother?"

"Elizabeth." A small smile softened his features. "She was our company's attorney. Matt saw her as another acquisition. I saw her as my soulmate."

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"So you stole her from him."

"No one stole anyone. Elizabeth chose me." His expression darkened. "Matt couldn't accept that. He became obsessed, started following her. When she threatened a restraining order, he destroyed our company instead—sold our technology to competitors, drained our accounts."

"That doesn't explain why he would spend twenty-four years plotting against me."

My father's hand found mine across the table. "Because you were the final proof that Elizabeth chose me. You were everything he couldn't have."

Dawn found us still talking, piecing together the fragments of truth from a lifetime of lies. As sunlight crept through the cabin windows, I made my decision.

"I need to end this. Today."

"How?" my father asked. "Matt controls everything—the police, the banks, the media."

I pulled out the smartphone I'd stolen from one of Antonio's men during our escape. "Not everything."

Over the next hours, I worked furiously, using skills I'd cultivated in secret for years. Most people saw me as nothing but a socialite, a pretty face to be paraded at galas. No one suspected that beneath the designer dresses and perfect makeup lurked a mind that had taught itself coding, cybersecurity, and system penetration.

Three separate attacks. Three separate systems. All launched simultaneously.

First, I accessed Matt's private server using passwords I'd memorized while watching him work. Every weapons shipment, every illegal transaction, every bribed official—all sent directly to federal authorities with timestamps and verification codes.

Second, I found the evidence of Dean's attempt to have me killed after our engagement party—text messages, wire transfers, photos of meetings with hitmen. These went straight to the district attorney.

Third, I hacked the security system at Antonio's warehouse, broadcasting the live feed of Irene negotiating drug shipments with his lieutenants. The stream went viral within minutes.

"It's done," I told my father, setting down the phone. "Now we wait."

We didn't have to wait long. By noon, news alerts were blowing up across all channels:

BREAKING: WILLIAMSON INDUSTRIES CEO UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR WEAPONS TRAFFICKING

DEAN WILLIAMSON ARRESTED FOR CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER

CARTEL CONNECTION: WALKER HEIRESS CAUGHT IN DRUG DEAL

My father watched the reports with grim satisfaction. "You've destroyed them all in a single day."

"Not destroyed," I corrected. "Exposed. There's a difference."

As afternoon faded into evening, my burner phone rang—a number I didn't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Impressive work." Matt's voice was calm, almost appreciative. "I underestimated your technical skills."

My heart hammered in my chest. "How did you get this number?"

"I've always been able to find you, Audrey." Something in his tone sent chills down my spine. "From the day you were born."

"It's over, Matt. Your empire is falling."

"Empires can be rebuilt. I've done it before."

"Not this time. You're finished."

His soft laugh terrified me more than any threat could have. "Do you know what I admire most about you, Audrey? Your conviction that you're in control."

The line went dead. Seconds later, the cabin's lights flickered and died. Outside, I heard the distinctive sound of helicopter blades.

"We need to go," I told my father urgently. "Now."

But it was already too late. The cabin door burst open, revealing Matt—bloodied, disheveled, but very much alive and in control. Behind him stood several armed men.

"Did you really think I wouldn't have a contingency plan?" He stepped inside, eyes never leaving mine. "I've prepared for this day for twenty years."

My father struggled to stand, placing himself between us. "Haven't you taken enough from her?"

Matt ignored him, advancing toward me. "Your mistake was believing this was ever about destroying you. It wasn't."

"Then what was it about?" I demanded, backing away until I hit the wall.

"Keeping you." Matt reached for me, his fingers brushing my cheek in a perverse caress. "Everything—the Walkers, Dean, the engagement—it was all to bring you closer to me."

I slapped his hand away. "You're insane."

"Perhaps." His smile was chilling. "But I'm also right. You could have escaped at any time. Gone to college across the country. Married someone outside our circle. But you didn't." He leaned closer. "Because deep down, you've always been drawn to the darkness in me. Just as I've been drawn to the darkness in you."

An explosion rocked the cabin, sending us all staggering. Through the windows, I saw Antonio's men engaging Matt's security detail in a firefight that was rapidly destroying our surroundings.

Matt grabbed my arm. "Time to go."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I spat, struggling against his grip.

"Yes, you are." His voice hardened. "Because I'm the only one who can ensure your father's continued medical treatment."

The cabin roof splintered as helicopter fire rained down. Matt pulled me toward the back door, shouting commands to his men to secure my father.

"The building's going to collapse!" I screamed as flames engulfed the front room. "We'll all die!"

"Then we die together," Matt replied with disturbing serenity.

Another explosion, closer this time. The floor beneath us cracked, timbers groaning. Matt shielded me with his body as debris rained down, his arms forming a protective cage.

"The agreement's final clause," he whispered against my ear as the world burned around us. "I forgot to write 'do not fall in love with you.'"

The confession struck me harder than any physical blow. In that moment of clarity, I saw the truth—Matt Williamson, the calculating monster who had orchestrated decades of manipulation and pain, had developed feelings for the instrument of his revenge.

The absurdity of it nearly made me laugh.

A support beam crashed down, narrowly missing us. Through the flames, I saw my father being dragged toward the helicopter by Matt's men. Our eyes met briefly—his filled with anguish, mine with determination.

"If you truly love me," I told Matt, "prove it. Let my father go."

Matt studied my face for a long moment. "And if I do?"

"I'll stay with you. Voluntarily."

His grip on my arm loosened slightly. "You're lying."

"Try me."

For a heartbeat, I thought he might agree. Then his expression hardened. "No. You're mine either way."

He dragged me toward the door just as the cabin's structure gave way. We tumbled through burning debris, Matt's body covering mine as we hit the ground outside. Through smoke and chaos, I saw the helicopter lifting off with my father inside, Antonio's men still firing from the trees.

Matt pulled me to my feet, hauling me toward a waiting SUV at the edge of the property. I fought him every step, kicking and clawing until he pinned me against the vehicle's side.

"Enough!" he growled. "It's over, Audrey. You've lost."

"Not yet." I brought my knee up sharply between his legs.

As he doubled over in pain, I grabbed the gun from his waistband and backed away. "Call them back. Tell them to return my father."

Matt straightened slowly, eyes never leaving the weapon. "You won't shoot me."

I aimed at his leg and pulled the trigger.

His scream echoed across the lake as he collapsed, blood spreading across his designer pants. "YOU SHOT ME!"

"Be grateful I didn't aim higher." I kept the gun trained on him while reaching for his phone. "Now call them back."

Before he could respond, a bullet whizzed past my head. Antonio emerged from the tree line, his own weapon raised.

"Step away from him, niece." His voice was cold. "This ends now."

"Antonio, don't—" Matt began.

The crime lord fired again, the bullet striking Matt in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground.

"Twenty years of planning," Antonio spat, advancing toward us. "Twenty years of watching you manipulate my flesh and blood."

I kept the gun steady. "Where's my father?"

"Safe. My men intercepted the helicopter." Antonio's gaze shifted between Matt and me. "Now I'll finish what should have ended decades ago."

He aimed at Matt's head. I stepped between them.

"Move aside, Audrey."

"No." Despite everything, I couldn't let it end this way. "Enough people have died because of this vendetta."

"He would have destroyed you," Antonio insisted. "Used you and discarded you like everyone else."

"Maybe." I glanced down at Matt, who was watching me through pain-glazed eyes. "Or maybe he's just as trapped in this cycle as the rest of us."

Antonio's finger tightened on the trigger. "Last chance. Move."

Instead, I dropped my weapon and spread my arms. "If you want to kill him, you'll have to kill me first."

For several heartbeats, I thought he might do it. Then, slowly, Antonio lowered his gun.

"You truly are Sophia's daughter," he said softly. "She could never let go of lost causes either."

Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer by the second. Antonio glanced toward the sound, then back at me.

"This isn't over," he warned, backing toward the trees. "Family is forever, niece. Remember that."

Then he was gone, melting into the forest as red and blue lights began flashing through the trees.

Matt's breathing was labored as I knelt beside him, applying pressure to his wounds. "Why?" he gasped. "Why save me?"

I had no answer that made sense, even to myself. All I knew was that in that final moment, watching Antonio ready to execute him, something in me had rebelled against the cycle of vengeance that had claimed three generations.

"Because ending you wouldn't end this," I finally said. "It would just continue it."

The police arrived, followed by ambulances and federal agents. As they separated us, Matt caught my hand.

"The agreement," he whispered, "is still binding."

Three months later, I stood in the penthouse of what was once Williamson Tower, now Reynolds Enterprises. The view of the city was breathtaking, especially at sunset when the skyscrapers turned to gold.

The legal battles had been brutal but swift. With Matt in custody awaiting trial, Dean under house arrest, and Antonio vanished to parts unknown, I had emerged as the sole functional heir to three separate fortunes.

The prenuptial agreement Matt had crafted so carefully had become his downfall—upon his arrest, all assets transferred immediately to me. The board had initially resisted my leadership, until I demonstrated precisely how much damaging information I still held in reserve.

My father was recovering in a private medical facility in Switzerland, receiving the specialized care he needed after a decade of Matt's "treatments." We spoke daily, rebuilding a relationship that had been stolen from us.

Irene had cut a deal with prosecutors, testifying against both families in exchange for witness protection. Last I heard, she was living under a new identity somewhere in the Midwest.

As for Matt...

The private elevator chimed, interrupting my thoughts. Security entered first, sweeping the room before allowing the prisoner to be brought in, his wrists and ankles shackled.

"Mrs. Williamson," he greeted me, voice formal despite the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Mr. Williamson." I nodded to security. "Leave us."

They hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement, but ultimately complied. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Matt remained standing, chains clinking softly as he shifted his weight. "You look well."

"Prison agrees with you," I replied, noting the leaner lines of his face, the new intensity in his eyes.

"Hardly prison. Federal detention pending trial is quite civilized." He glanced around the office—his former office. "You've redecorated."

"I've done a lot of things." I moved to the bar, pouring two glasses of whiskey. "Your empire has been... repurposed."

"So I've heard. Weapons divisions sold off. Military contracts canceled. Very noble." There was no mockery in his tone, only curiosity. "What does one do with three billion dollars of blood money?"

I handed him a glass. "Rebuild. Restore. Repent, if possible."

"Repentance." He savored the word along with the whiskey. "Is that why you visit me every week? Seeking my redemption?"

"I visit because I need to understand." I met his gaze directly. "Was any of it real? Any of it at all?"

Matt set down his glass, the chains between his wrists rattling. "Define 'real.'"

"Don't play games. You know what I'm asking."

He moved closer, stopping only when the chains pulled taut. "The plan was real. The revenge was real." His voice dropped lower. "What I didn't account for was you, Audrey. The real you—not the pawn I created, but the woman who emerged from the game."

I stepped within his reach, a dangerous indulgence. "And the tattoo? The heart?"

"A calculated move to manipulate your emotions." His fingers brushed my cheek, feather-light. "At first."

"And later?"

His eyes held mine, all pretense stripped away. "Later, it became the most honest thing about me."

The monitoring bracelet on my ankle hummed softly, a reminder of my own precarious legal situation. Immunity in exchange for testimony, house arrest in a gilded cage of my own making.

"They'll never let you out," I said softly.

"Perhaps not." Matt's smile was knowing. "But then, they don't know about the contingencies I put in place."

My heart skipped. "What contingencies?"

Instead of answering, he gestured toward the far wall. "Have you found the safe behind the Monet yet?"

I hadn't, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it. "What's in it?"

"Insurance." He stepped back, chains clinking. "For both of us."

The security team knocked, indicating our time was up. As they prepared to take him away, Matt leaned close one final time.

"Check the basement of the lake house," he whispered. "The heart monitor is still running."

Three days later, I stood in the hidden room beneath Matt's lake house, staring at the steady rhythm on the medical equipment. The bed was empty, the patient long gone, but the machines continued their vigil—beeping, recording, transmitting data to servers unknown.

On the bedside table sat a single photo in a silver frame. Me, at our wedding, wearing his ring. Beneath it lay a note in Matt's precise handwriting:

*Some games never truly end.*

I should have felt terror. Instead, I felt the strangest sense of anticipation as I pressed my palm against the cold screen, matching my heartbeat to the one still recorded there.

Somewhere, Matt Williamson's heart was still beating. And somehow, against all reason, against all self-preservation, a part of me was waiting for it to return.