Chapter 7 - The Return of the Vultures
The news arrived at the Royal Bahamian Resort at 8:00 PM.
Rachel was sitting in the lounge, sipping champagne that Derek had finally paid for using the stolen funds, when her phone screen flashed with an official email alert from the Idaho District Health Department.
SUBJECT: NOTICE OF PASSING - LAWSON, WALTER H.
Rachel stared at the screen for two seconds before a massive, radiant smile broke across her face. She kicked Derek under the table.
“He’s dead,” she whispered excitedly. “The old man finally croaked!”
Gregory nearly choked on his cigar. “Are you sure? Did Lucas call?”
“No,” Rachel laughed softly, her eyes gleaming with cold triumph. “It’s the automated notification from the county coroner’s system! Lucas must have finally gone into the back room, found his body, and called the non-emergency line!”
Pamela clapped her hands together in quiet delight. “Oh, thank God! I couldn't stand another day of smelling that terrible laundry room!”
Derek set his glass down, his eyes sharp and calculating. “We need to catch the midnight flight back to Boise. If we land by 6:00 AM, we can be at the mansion before Lucas even realizes what legal paperwork we’re bringing.”
“What about the body?” Gregory asked.
“Let the city morgue handle it,” Rachel sneered, standing up and grabbing her designer bag. “I’m not spending another dime on that old piece of furniture. Derek, call the private charter company. We’re going home to claim our company.”
Four hours later, a sleek private jet cut through the stormy night skies, headed straight for Idaho.
Inside the cabin, the four of them celebrated. They opened a three-thousand-dollar bottle of vintage wine, proposing toasts to their new fortune.
“To Lawson Lumber!” Gregory cheered, raising his glass. “And to fifty million dollars in timberland!”
“To Derek,” Rachel purred, leaning against his shoulder. “The mastermind who made it all happen.”
“And to Lucas,” Derek laughed, raising his glass with a mocking toast. “The stupid bastard who’s going to spend the next twenty years in a federal prison while we live in the South of France!”
They laughed—a loud, arrogant sound that echoed inside the pressurized cabin, completely oblivious to the fact that two military-grade tracking drones were following their jet’s flight path from ten thousand feet above.
At 5:30 AM, the private jet touched down at Boise Airport.
Rain was pouring in heavy sheets as two black luxury SUVs picked them up from the tarmac. They drove through the misty pine forests toward the Lawson estate, their hearts pounding with greedy anticipation.
Rachel looked out the window as the heavy wrought-iron gates of the mansion came into view.
“Look at this place,” she murmured, her fingers touching the window pane. “The moment we fire Lucas, I’m tearing down that entire service wing. I’m building a luxury spa right where the old man’s room used to be.”
“Make sure you leave his desk empty,” Derek added with a smirk. “I’m moving into the executive office by noon.”
The SUV pulled up the circular driveway and stopped in front of the grand entrance.
The house was dark. No lights were on in the living room. The front door was slightly ajar, swinging gently in the cold morning wind.
Rachel stepped out of the vehicle, pulling her expensive fur coat tightly around her shoulders. She turned to Derek, Gregory, and Pamela.
May you like
“Put on your sad faces, everyone,” Rachel mocked, wiping a fake tear from her cheek. “We have a grieving widow act to perform for the police.”
Smiling cruel, victorious smiles, the four vultures stepped up the stone stairs and pushed open the front door.
