Chapter 7 - The Mirage of Victory
The helicopter landed back at the main regional airport two hours later.
Jason stepped off the aircraft with a masterclass performance of grief and terror.
He hyperventilated, collapsed near the hangar doors, and screamed for emergency dispatchers.
"She leaned out too far for a photo!" Jason wept frantically to the responding officers.
"The wind caught her shawl! I tried to grab her dress, but she slipped right out of my grip!"
Pilot Miller and Notary Webb, both paid handsomely by Jason weeks prior, corroborated the story word-for-word.
"It was a tragic equipment positioning error," Miller testified to the coast guard investigators.
"Mrs. Whitmore lost her balance near the open threshold."
The local authorities initiated a standard search and rescue operation over the ocean quadrant.
Meanwhile, Jason was escorted to Eleanorās penthouse suite to recover from his "shock."
The moment the heavy front doors closed behind him, his weeping stopped instantly.
He poured himself a glass of Eleanorās fifty-year-old scotch and poured a generous measure.
He walked through the vast, quiet rooms, running his fingers over the antique furniture and expensive artwork.
"All mine," he whispered to the empty air, chuckling softly into his glass.
He pulled his laptop onto the kitchen island and opened the offshore account portals listed in the notarized documents.
He initiated the preliminary transfer requests to move fifty million dollars into his private account in Grand Cayman.
The digital screen blinked: TRANSFER PENDING ESTATE VERIFICATION.
"Just a matter of forty-eight hours," Jason muttered, leaning back in the plush leather chair.
Suddenly, his cell phone chimed with a private, encrypted message.
The sender was unknown.
May you like
The message contained no text.
Only a ten-second video attachment.
