Everyone expects me to be successful because I’m a Prince Will, but how can I compete when you control everything? I’ve given you every advantage. Advantages? Blake laughed bitterly. You’ve given me just enough to fail spectacularly, just enough to make me look like a spoiled rich kid who can’t make it on his own, but never enough to actually succeed.
The accusation stung because it held a grain of truth. I had been careful about how much money I gave Blake, perhaps too careful, but I’d seen too many wealthy families destroyed by children who never learned the value of work. Blake, calm down.
Let’s discuss this rationally. There’s nothing to discuss. I need that money, and I need it now.
This isn’t a request, Mom. It’s a necessity. Give me the money, Mom.
You’ll soon die anyway. I felt my blood chill. My son wanted me dead.
Something in his tone made my blood run cold. This wasn’t the petulant demand of a spoiled child. This was something else entirely, something that felt dangerously close to a threat.
The answer is no, Blake. I won’t be investing in another one of your ventures. He stood up so abruptly that his chair rocked backward.
But don’t come crying to me when you’re older and alone because you chose money over family. The words hit like a slap, but it was the cold calculation in his eyes that really terrified me. This wasn’t anger anymore.
This was something much worse. Blake, is there something you’re not telling me? Are you in some kind of trouble? For just a moment, his mask slipped completely. I saw fear there, and desperation, and something that looked like genuine panic.
But then the cold expression returned, and he headed for the door. Forget I asked, he said without turning around. I’ll figure it out myself.
As Blake’s BMW roared down the driveway, kicking up gravel and dust, I sat alone in my study feeling like I’d just dodged a bullet I didn’t understand. Something was very wrong with my son, and whatever it was, it required $100,000 to solve. I picked up the phone to call my private investigator, then set it down again.
Blake was my son, my flesh and blood. Whatever trouble he was in, we could work through it together. That decision would nearly cost me my life.
Two days later, Blake returned with his wife Skylar, and immediately I knew this wasn’t a social visit. Where Blake’s previous approach had been desperate and direct, this felt calculated and strategic. They arrived at exactly 10am, not early enough to seem overeager, not late enough to appear disrespectful.
The timing felt deliberate. I watched from my kitchen window as they got out of Blake’s car. Even from a distance, Skylar commanded attention.
She was beautiful in that sharp, expensive way that required considerable maintenance, platinum blonde hair that moved like silk, designer clothes that fit her model-thin frame perfectly, and an aura of confidence that came from knowing she was the most attractive person in any room. Blake and Skylar had been married for three years, but I never felt truly comfortable around my daughter-in-law. There was something theatrical about her interactions with me, like she was playing a role rather than being herself.
She always said exactly what people wanted to hear, but her eyes remained calculating and cold. Colleen, I hope you don’t mind us dropping by. Skylar said as she glided into my kitchen, carrying two steaming cups of coffee in delicate china mugs.
She moved with the kind of practice grace that made every gesture look like a performance. I brought you something special. She was wearing a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than most people earned in a month, and her makeup was flawless despite the early hour.
Everything about her appearance suggested someone who’d spent considerable time preparing for this visit. I made this just for you, Skylar continued, extending one of the cups toward me with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. It’s a special blend I picked up from that boutique coffee shop downtown.
Ethiopian beans with Madagascar vanilla. I thought you might enjoy trying something new. The coffee smelled wrong.
Not bad exactly, but sharp and bitter with an underlying chemical odor that reminded me of almonds mixed with something medicinal. After thirty years of prosecuting criminals, you develop an instinct for danger. Every nerve in my body was screaming that something was off, but I kept my expression neutral.
How thoughtful of you, dear. I said, accepting the cup while studying Skylar’s face. She was watching me with an intensity that felt predatory, like a cat watching a mouse approach a trap.
Blake lingered by the kitchen doorway, and I noticed he wouldn’t meet my eyes. His usual nervous energy had been replaced by a strange stillness that made him look like he was holding his breath. When I glanced at him, he quickly looked away, focusing on his phone with obvious discomfort.
Blake tells me you two had a little disagreement the other day, Skylar said, settling gracefully into the chair across from me with her own cup. About business opportunities and family support, the way she said family support made it sound like an obligation rather than a choice. I noticed she hadn’t taken a sip of her coffee yet, despite encouraging me to drink mine.
We had a discussion about financial boundaries, I said carefully. Blake has some wonderful entrepreneurial energy, but I think it’s important for him to develop his own resources. Of course, Skylar agreed, her smile never wavering.
Independence is so important, though it can be challenging when family members have such different perspectives on success. When Skylar turned slightly to glance at Blake, I made a split-second decision that would save my life. Using the moment when her attention was diverted, I quickly switched our cups.
They were identical white china mugs, and the exchange took less than two seconds. Blake’s told me so much about his latest venture, I said, testing to see how much Skylar knew about her husband’s mysterious business partner. It sounds very promising.
Something flickered in Skylar’s eyes, surprise, maybe, or annoyance. Yes, he’s very excited about the potential. And his partner? Blake mentioned someone from California with tech experience.
Mhmm. Skylar hummed noncommittally, raising her cup, which was now my original one, to her lips. Innovation is so important in today’s market.
We chatted about meaningless things while I pretended to sip my coffee and watch Skylar take her first real drink. Her face twisted slightly, like she tasted something unpleasant, and I saw her eyes widen with what looked like confusion. But she said nothing about the flavor, which was interesting.
This is delicious. I lied, setting my cup down after another fake sip. You’ll have to tell me where you found this blend.
The shop on Elm Street, Skylar said absently, and I could see her mind working, trying to process something that didn’t make sense to her. Blake was checking his watch with increasing frequency, and there was a tension in the room that felt like a storm building on the horizon. Whatever they’d come here to accomplish wasn’t going according to plan.
Twenty minutes later, Skylar started coughing. It began as a small, polite clearing of her throat, but quickly escalated into deep, violent spasms that shook her entire body. Her face flushed red, then began taking on a grayish pallor that made her look genuinely ill.
Something’s wrong, she gasped, gripping the edge of the table as the coughing grew worse. Her voice was becoming hoarse and strained. I can’t—I can’t breathe properly.