Mrs. Princewill, we know you have something that could hurt us. Tell us where it is, and this will be quick and painless. The mask was completely off now.
Victoria’s sweet Southern accent had been replaced by something harder and more dangerous. This was Rebecca Martinez, professional killer, and she was done pretending to be anything else. There is no evidence, I said, allowing my voice to shake with what appeared to be terror.
I made it up. I thought if people believed I had proof of my innocence, they might look more carefully at what really happened. Blake and Victoria exchanged glances.
You’re lying, Blake said. She’s not, Victoria replied, studying my face with professional assessment. She’s telling the truth.
There is no evidence. Then why are we here? Victoria smiled, and it was the most terrifying expression I’d ever seen, because now we know for certain that she doesn’t have anything on us, which means we can finish this properly. She raised the syringe, and I saw my death reflected in her cold eyes.
Wait, I said, my voice barely a whisper. Before you kill me, I need to know something. What? Was any of it real? Did Blake ever actually love me, or was this always about the money? Blake’s face twisted with something that might have been genuine emotion.
Mom, I- He loves your money, Victoria cut him off, just like I do, just like everyone who’s ever pretended to care about you. It was the cruelest thing she could have said, and it was exactly what I needed her to say. Thank you, I said quietly, for telling me the truth.
Victoria frowned, confused by my response. That confusion lasted exactly long enough for the FBI agents to crash through every entrance to my study simultaneously. FBI, hands where we can see them.
The arrest was swift and efficient. Blake went down without a fight, but Victoria tried to use the syringe as a weapon before being tackled by Agent Sarachan. The entire encounter was over in less than 30 seconds.
As they read Blake and Victoria their rights, I sat in my chair and watched my son’s life implode in real time. He looked at me with something between hatred and disbelief. You set us up, he said.
You tried to murder me, I replied. I just returned the favor. Six months later, I sat in a federal courtroom watching Rebecca Martinez receive four consecutive life sentences for the murders she’d committed across multiple states.
The evidence against her was overwhelming, DNA, fingerprints, financial records, and most damning of all, the recorded confession she’d made in my study. Blake received 25 years for conspiracy to commit murder and fraud. As they led him away in shackles, he turned to look at me one last time.
I felt nothing but cold satisfaction. The media had turned me from suspected murderer into heroic victim overnight. Oil heiress helps FBI catch serial killer was much better publicity than my original headlines, and the offers for book deals, movie rights, and interviews were pouring in.
I declined them all. Some stories were too personal to share with the world. Marcus had done an excellent job managing the legal aftermath.
All charges against me were dropped, my reputation was restored, and I was free to return to my quiet life on the estate. But quiet wasn’t what I wanted anymore. Using my considerable resources and Harrison’s law enforcement connections, I’d spent the past six months systematically destroying every aspect of Blake and Victoria’s criminal network.
Their co-conspirators were arrested, their hidden assets were seized, and their reputations were obliterated so thoroughly that even their fellow inmates knew exactly what kind of monsters they were. Blake’s gambling debts were still outstanding, and the people he owed money to weren’t the forgiving type. Prison might actually be the safest place for him, though I’d made sure that information about his crimes and his family’s wealth had reached the right ears.
25 years was going to feel much longer when you were constantly looking over your shoulder. For Victoria, I’d arranged something special. The families of her previous victims had been very interested to learn about her location and daily routines.
Prison justice operated by its own rules, and serial killers who targeted elderly people weren’t popular with the general population. But my greatest satisfaction came from my updated will. The Prince Will Foundation for Animal Welfare would inherit every penny of my estate, ensuring that my family’s oil fortune would be used to help creatures who deserved love and care rather than the human predators who tried to destroy me.
Blake would inherit nothing except the knowledge that his greed had cost him everything. This morning, I received a letter from It was full of apologies, explanations, and desperate pleas for forgiveness. He claimed that Victoria had manipulated him, that he never intended for things to go so far, that he still loved me despite everything that had happened.
I read the letter twice, then fed it into my fireplace. Some betrayals are too deep for forgiveness. Some wounds never heal.
Blake had chosen Victoria and her blood money over the mother who’d given him everything, and now he could live with the consequences of that choice. As I sit here in my study, looking out at the oil derricks that have provided wealth and security for three generations of Prince Wills, I feel something I haven’t experienced in months. Peace.
The estate feels like home again, no longer tainted by the presence of people who saw me as nothing more than a source of money. The rooms echo with memories of better times, when family meant something more than financial opportunity. I’ve hired a new housekeeper, updated my security systems, and changed all the locks.
Blake’s keys no longer work here, and he’ll never set foot in this house again. My new will brings me daily satisfaction, knowing that every penny of my fortune will go to causes that matter rather than the greedy hands that tried to steal it through murder. The Prince Will name will survive, but it will be associated with generosity and compassion rather than the kind of family dysfunction that Blake and Victoria represented.
Tonight, I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and toast to justice served. Not the kind that comes from courtrooms and judges, but the kind that comes from refusing to be anyone’s victim. Blake and Victoria thought they were dealing with a lonely old woman who could be easily manipulated and disposed of.
They learned too late that Colleen Prince Will hadn’t survived this long by being weak. Some people collect art or jewelry. I collect the satisfaction of watching my enemies destroy themselves through their own greed and stupidity.
And in that collection, Blake and Victoria’s downfall will always hold a place of honor.