Chapter 31 Back at the hospital, the Ansel family circus was reaching a crescendo. The cuckold flowers kept coming. Audrey, already furious to the point of combustion, tried to physically kick a delivery driver out of the hallway and ended up twisting her ankle, confining her to the bed in pure agony. Grace, her head wrapped in thick gauze, fought constantly with her in-laws. Big screaming matches every three days. Vicious insults every two. Sometimes they just skipped the dialogue and went straight to throwing things at each other. Meanwhile, poor Charles Ansel—the universe's favorite punching bag—got his expedited DNA test results back. Neither of his teenagers were his. He immediately filed for a brutal divorce, froze all of his wife's assets, and hired thugs to put the "other man" in an ICU. Margaret, freshly conscious but partially paralyzed from her stroke, could only watch the yellow balloons bounce against her hospital ceiling. Her mouth was twisted. Her legacy was ash. Victor finally woke up from his severe concussion, deeply confused by the sheer volume of St. Patrick's Day-style green decorations and mocking flowers in his room. He grabbed a terrified nurse by the collar and forced her to explain. When he learned Elena had publicly exposed his affairs, his wife's revenge affair, and the company's impending bankruptcy, the emotional shock hit him like a freight train. He flatlined. Briefly. The doctors dragged him back to life, much to his own misfortune. Richard Ansel, watching his prestigious empire devolve into a trashy reality show, finally made the only decision ruthless men make when cornered. Kill her. He contacted his darkest underground connections. The brokers returned with a quote: $20 million for the hit. She is protected by ex-military operatives. That is the price. Not a cent less. Richard transferred the funds. At the exact same time, two rooms down, Grace Ansel made a call to a different underground broker. She received the same quote. She transferred another $20 million. Yes. They had both hired assassins. Separately. For the exact same target. The Ansel family couldn't even coordinate a murder properly. ⸻ Three Days Later Both Richard and Grace received an encrypted email confirmation.
Target: Eliminated. Attached were two files: a photograph of a burned, unrecognizable body pulled from a car wreck, and a verified DNA report matching the corpse to Elena Ashford. The broker included a polite note: Please wire the remaining balance immediately. Naturally, neither Richard nor Grace paid right away. $20 million was a massive sum, especially with their company's assets currently frozen by federal investigators. They demanded video proof. Thirty minutes later, the video arrived. The Footage:
Elena lands at a private airstrip in Finland. She steps into a Rolls-Royce. Two miles down a snowy mountain road, the convoy is ambushed. Heavy gunfire shatters the windshield. The Rolls-Royce swerves, crashing through a guardrail and tumbling violently down a steep ravine. The fuel tank ruptures. A massive explosion engulfs the car. Inside the roaring flames, a woman with a dark bob screams before the camera cuts out. Grace had the video analyzed by a private tech firm. The experts confirmed: no cuts, no CGI, one continuous shot. It's real. Satisfied, Grace authorized the final wire transfer. At almost the exact same moment, Richard authorized his. Two payments. $40 million total. For one dead woman. ⸻ The Next Morning Grace ordered the nurses to wheel Richard, Charles, and Victor into the hospital's private lounge. Because nothing says "family bonding" quite like watching a snuff film together. She played the video on the flat screen proudly, like she had just won an Oscar for Best Director. But within seconds of the car exploding, Richard's expression changed. Dark. Cold. Dangerously aware. Because the video Grace was playing... was identical to the one sitting in his encrypted inbox. Which meant they hadn't just shared the same trauma. They had fallen for the exact same scam. "Pause it," Richard wheezed, his chest heaving. He pulled up his own phone and tossed it onto Grace's lap. Grace stared at the screen. The same email. The same DNA report. The same video. Silence fell over the room. Then—SLAM. Grace hit the table, her face twisting in pure rage. "They charged us twice?! We paid forty million dollars!" Richard looked like his soul had already filed for bankruptcy. One target cannot be killed twice. Same video. Same method. There was only one conclusion. The assassins had played them. Just as Grace reached for her phone to call the broker and scream for a refund, both her phone and Richard's phone began to ring. The exact same unknown international number. They stared at each other. They answered simultaneously, putting it on speaker. A voice drifted through the line. Light. Playful. Utterly rotten. "Hi. Good morning." A soft pause. "Did you enjoy the movie?" Before either of them could even draw breath to scream, Elena laughed. "I have to say, I really enjoyed your forty million dollars." She wasn't dead. She had just robbed them. And somehow, she had made it deeply, humiliatingly personal.