Chapter 2 - The Return of the Ghost
The morning sun cast a bright, deceptive golden glow over our sprawling coastal estate in La Jolla. From my hiding place inside a rented sedan parked three streets away, I watched through binoculars as Christopher stepped out onto the front balcony wearing a crisp designer linen shirt, holding a crystal glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Beside him stood Pamela, wrapped in one of my favorite silk robes, laughing softly as she rested her head against his shoulder.
They looked completely relaxed. Why wouldn't they be? In their minds, the dirty work was done. The troublesome wife who owned the properties, the investment portfolios, and the trust funds was six feet under, safely rotting away beneath a neat patch of sod. By Monday morning, Christopher’s corporate lawyers were scheduled to file the emergency probate petitions to transfer every single one of my late father’s assets directly into Christopher’s sole control.
I checked my phone. The digital recording app was running, backed up securely to an encrypted cloud server accessible only by my father’s lifelong corporate attorney, Marcus Vance—no relation to Christopher, thank God. Marcus had been suspicious of Christopher’s financial maneuvering for months, but without concrete proof, our hands had been tied.
Now, we had all the proof we needed.
I popped the SIM card into a burner phone and dialed Marcus directly. The call picked up on the second ring.
"Marcus," I said quietly.
A sharp intake of breath echoed on the other end of the line. "Samantha? Good lord... Christopher called me an hour ago, claiming you suffered a fatal aneurysm and were already buried at sunrise. Where are you?"
"I'm sitting three blocks away from my house, Marcus, watching my loving husband celebrate my murder with his mistress," I replied, my voice chillingly calm. "He put me in a mahogany box, Marcus. He buried me alive."
A heavy, furious silence hung over the phone line for several seconds. When Marcus finally spoke, his voice was tight with controlled rage. "Tell me what you need, Samantha. Every asset, every legal document, every trap—let's spring them all at once."
May you like
"Not yet," I said, a dark smile touching the corners of my lips. "Christopher has invited San Diego’s top real estate developers and financial reporters to our home tonight for an exclusive charity gala—one that he planned to use to announce his new acquisition of my father’s real estate trust. I want to RSVP. I think it’s time I made a guest appearance at my own post-funeral party."
Marcus let out a low, grim chuckle. "Consider it done. I'll have private security, local detectives, and a camera crew standing by at the gates. Let's give them a resurrection they'll never forget."
