Delusional Revenge

The door of the Blackhood study cracks open from the force of a boot. The silence in the house shifted. Jane Blackwood could only watch as the scene unfolded. Two police officers surged into the room. They pinned her father, Luke Blackhood against his massive oak desk.

"Luke Blackwood, you are under arrest for corporate fraud and embezzlement," one officer said. The words sounded unreal to Jane. Her father couldn't hurt a fly, let alone steal money. 

Luke’s expensive suit crumbled under the grasp of the officers. His eyes were filled with bewilderment. “This is a mistake! I have done nothing wrong! Jane, call the lawyer, now!” he pleaded. 

Another figure enters the room before Jane can move, his shadow stretching long and menacing across the polished floor. It was Michael Curry, her father’s best friend, his business partner, the man who shared countless holiday dinners at their table. Michael was a man with the physique of a bodybuilder, dark hair, and beautiful eyes that could hypnotize anyone who watched him for long.

“You brought this on yourself, Luke,” Michael stated. Jane's heart ached from what she heard. “There’s evidence to prove you're guilty. I warned you, but you wouldn't listen.”

Jane fell to the ground near her father, clutched his suit, and was not ready to let go. “No, Michael, you know him! He would never do this! Tell them, please, tell them they have the wrong man!” she demanded. 

Michael turned to Jane with a wicked gaze. “You need to step away, Jane. This might be difficult for you, but justice must be served.”

“How is this justice?” Jane screamed. “Your friend needs you, but you've turned your back against him, traitor,” the words slip out of Jane’s mouth.

“The company must be protected, Jane. Your father has jeopardized the company's reputation.” He nods at the officers, “Take him.”

The officers dragged Luke away. He struggled for a moment, his eyes locked on Jane. “Jane, remember the safe! The truth is…” His words were muffled by the hands of one of the officers. 

At the door of the study, Jane's mother, Mrs. Grace Blackwood, stood paralyzed. Grace was a woman who had been battling heart disease for the past ten years. “Luke!” Grace whispered, her voice hardly audible to anyone else. She fell to her knees clutching her chest, gasping for air, then her body smacked the ground.

“Mum! What is it?” Jane rushed to save her mother. “Mum?” Grace doesn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on Luke as she struggled to breathe.

Michael, who had been watching the officers escort Luke out, turned back and raced to Grace’s side. He knelt, reached for Grace’s hand, trying to feel for a pulse. “Call the ambulance, now, Jane!” he ordered. It was the only moment Michael looked panicked. 

But Jane was shaken by the turn of events. She couldn't move; her ears were deadened to her surroundings. Her mother was gone. Just like that. Her father was gone. 

In the next few hours, the house was filled with police, paramedics, and lawyers. Michael took charge, asserting his authority. He spoke to the authorities and arranged for the removal of Grace’s body. He spoke to the press, giving everyone the impression that Luke had gone rogue, but he is the savior of the company.

Jane watched him from the shadows of the living room, her grief a leaden weight in her stomach. She saw the way he commanded the space, the way he absorbed the power vacuum. He wasn't just the best friend; he was the successor, the usurper. He had insisted on her father's guilt, and now he was inheriting the spoils. The pity she had seen in his eyes earlier now looked like a triumphant calculation.

The day went by so fast. The sun disappeared as darkness emerged. Jane was alone. Her father was in a cell, her mother deceased, and the orchestrator of this tragedy was seated in her father's study, signing papers and sealing his new ownership.

Jane switched to stealth mode as she went up the stairs. She didn't pack clothes or jewelry. She took a small purse that had a stash of emergency cash and a second passport her father insisted she keep for “just in case.” She didn't understand what her father's last words were, but she knew she couldn't stay in a place that reeked of betrayal and death.

She slipped out a secret door that led straight to the roadside. She hailed a cab and asked to be taken to the airport. She bought the first ticket out of the country not caring about the destination. Jane pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window as the plane climbed into the sky. She watched California city below, the city that gave her everything and took it back without any heads-up. 

She was no longer Jane Blackwood, the sheltered, weak daughter of a wealthy man. She was an orphan, a refugee, a vessel for a single, burning purpose. She closed her eyes, the image of Michael's unyielding face seared into her memory.

“I will come back for you, Michael Curry. I will make you pay for this,” she whispered.

As the plane touched down, a memory flashed in her mind: Michael whispering something to the officer who was dragging her father— a quick exchange, a small, white envelope pressed into the officer’s hand. It was a gesture that had been too swift for her grief-stricken mind to process then. It wasn't a simple bribe. It was something far more complex than the eye could see. 

“I’ll expose you, Michael,” Jane screams out.