He Tried to Kill Me for the Insurance Money - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

"Mr. Blake, about that job offer you mentioned before—is it still available?"
I stood by the window, watching Victor's Oscar-worthy performance as the distraught husband on the pier while he made his call.
Samuel Blake's voice dripped with amusement through the phone. "Lillian Carter? Well this is a surprise. Weren't you adamant about playing doting housewife just months ago? Suddenly the corporate world doesn't seem so terrible?" His teasing made my lips twist into a bitter smile.
When we'd married, Victor had sweet-talked me into quitting my job—right as I was up for promotion. Samuel had practically thrown golden handcuffs at me, but Victor's honeyed words—"I just want you happy, darling. Let me take care of you"—had sealed my resignation.
Now I realized that moment marked the first snip of the scissors he'd used to cut me off from the world.
Dead women don't ask questions.
"Turns out a career's the best armor a woman can have," I said dryly.
Samuel's chuckle crackled through the receiver. "Welcome back to reality. We've moved headquarters to Harbor City—you good with relocation?"
"Try and stop me."
"I'll have my assistant book your flight."
As the call ended, my shoulders finally unclenched. Until this nightmare ended, sticking close to someone I trusted was my safest play. Even Victor and his mistress wouldn't risk making a move with corporate witnesses around.
The next day, my phone buzzed mid-flight with a notification from our family photo album.
I nearly dropped my phone.
Victor had uploaded a pornographic slideshow—him and Ruby in every conceivable position against our penthouse windows, in our bathtub, on our dining table...
But as I swiped through the obscene gallery, something else caught my eye. Ruby's jewelry escalated with each photo—until the final shot showcased a rock so massive it could've sunk the Titanic.
Victor's salary couldn't cover that.
Then it hit me—the life insurance policy's suspicious clause I'd found. My "disappearance" for fifteen days counted as accidental death. Thirty days meant legally deceased.
Ruby had clearly abused her insurance job to push through irregular terms and early payout. Textbook fraud with prison-time consequences.
They'd kept this airtight—until now, when they assumed their loose end was sleeping with the fishes. Too arrogant to even kick me from the shared album.
Every photo became Exhibit A in my growing evidence file.
For thirty days, Victor played grieving widower by day while he and Ruby burned through our savings on champagne dinners and designer sprees.
Then D-Day arrived.
I watched them march into the police station, death certificate paperwork in hand, practically vibrating with greed. My lawyer and I exchanged nods. Showtime.
Victor handed the documents to the officer, face arranged in perfect tragedy. "My wife... the boating accident..." His voice cracked on cue. "We've searched everywhere. It's time to..."
The officer nodded sympathetically. "Without contrary evidence, we'll proceed. My condolen—"
"NOT SO FAST."
My heels clicked like gunshots across the linoleum as every head whipped toward me.
"Victim of that 'accident,' reporting for duty." I flashed a razor-sharp smile. "As you can see—very much alive."