Benson paced the room anxiously, his mind racing. Margaret sat in her plush armchair, her face painted with a mix of frustration and dread. The walls of her luxurious bedroom felt more like a prison as they contemplated their next move.
"We have no choice, Margaret," Benson said, his voice low but insistent. "If we wait for him to make Adrian the heir officially, we're done. Everything he's built, everything we've worked for, will be his. And you and I—what will we have left?"
Margaret leaned back, her fingers pressed against her temple. "You think I don't know that?" she snapped. "But killing him? That's a step too far. People will ask questions. Adrian will ask questions."
Benson smirked bitterly. "Questions won't matter if there's no clear heir. Without a finalized will, the entire estate will be in legal limbo. That gives us time to take control—either by manipulating the board or ensuring Adrian can't fight back."
Margaret's silence spoke volumes. Benson crouched down beside her, his tone softening. "Think about it. This isn't just for me—it's for you too. Williams has never fully trusted you, Margaret. He's always kept you at arm's length. But if we act now, you can secure the life you deserve. You won't have to play second fiddle to Adrian anymore."
Margaret exhaled deeply, her eyes narrowing. "You have a plan, don't you?"
Benson nodded. "Poison. Something that won't raise suspicion. Something subtle, like heart failure. No one will question it; the man is old, after all. I know someone who can provide what we need."
Margaret's hands trembled slightly as she folded them in her lap. "This isn't what I wanted," she murmured. "I just wanted him to see my worth—to understand that Adrian isn't the only one capable of leading this family."
"And he never will," Benson replied firmly. "Williams has made his decision, and it doesn't include you. We can either accept that and live as leftovers, or we can take control."
Margaret hesitated for a moment, her mind flooded with memories of her life with Williams. It hadn't been perfect, but it had given her power and status—things she wasn't ready to give up. Finally, she nodded, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "Fine. But it has to be clean, Benson. No loose ends."
"Of course," Benson assured her, though the gleam in his eye suggested he had little regard for "clean." He stood and straightened his jacket. "I'll handle the details. You just make sure to play the grieving widow when the time comes."
Margaret shot him a cold look. "Don't underestimate me, Benson. I've played this game longer than you have."
That evening, Benson met with his contact, a shadowy figure who promised discretion and an untraceable poison. The plan was set in motion: Margaret would host a small family dinner in the coming days, under the pretense of mending fences and celebrating the family's unity. It would be the perfect opportunity to slip the poison into Williams's wine, a final toast to a legacy that would never be passed down.
The phone rang sharply that evening, breaking the tense silence in Margaret's living room. She glanced at Benson, who raised a brow in anticipation. Margaret answered, her voice calm and composed, but it quickly turned into a performance of shock and concern.
"What? Williams has been rushed to the hospital? Unconscious?" she exclaimed, clutching her chest for dramatic effect. "We're on our way!"
As soon as the call ended, she turned to Benson with a wicked glint in her eye. "It's working," she whispered.
Benson leaned back against the couch, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. "That's one problem out of the way," he muttered. "Now, all we have to do is play our parts."
Margaret nodded, grabbing her coat. "Let's go. We need to make it look convincing."
At the hospital, Adrian arrived minutes later, his heart pounding with fear and confusion. His father, a man who had been in perfect health that morning, was now fighting for his life. He couldn't make sense of it. Rushing to the nurse's station, he demanded answers.
"What happened to my father?" Adrian asked urgently.
"Sir, we're still running tests," the nurse replied. "He's in the ICU, and the doctors are monitoring him closely."
Adrian's fists clenched. Something about this felt wrong, too sudden, too... out of place. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this wasn't just a coincidence.
As Adrian paced the hallway, Margaret and Benson arrived, tears already streaming down their faces. Margaret wailed dramatically, drawing the attention of onlookers.
"My poor husband!" she cried, leaning into Benson for support. "How could this happen?"
Benson played the role of the worried stepson flawlessly, his face a mask of anguish. "We need to find out what's going on. This doesn't make any sense!" he said, his voice cracking.
Adrian turned to face them, his expression cold and unreadable. "What are you two doing here?" he asked sharply.
Margaret gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "What kind of question is that, Adrian? He's my husband! Of course, I'm here!"
Adrian stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Save the theatrics, Margaret. You've never cared about my father. Not truly. Don't think I don't see through you."
Margaret's crocodile tears dried up instantly, replaced by an icy glare. "How dare you?" she hissed. "Your father and I have been married for years, and I've stood by his side through everything. Unlike you, who's been too busy playing the big businessman to care about his health!"
Benson stepped between them, his voice calm but firm. "This isn't the time, Adrian. We should be focusing on Mr. Williams, not pointing fingers."
Adrian turned his fiery gaze on Benson. "And you," he sneered. "You're no better. Always lurking around, pretending to care about this family. You're just as fake as she is."
Margaret gasped in mock offense. "You're accusing us? How dare you, Adrian? You've always been jealous of the bond I share with your father!"
"Bond?" Adrian scoffed. "Don't make me laugh, Margaret. We all know you only see dollar signs when you look at him."
The argument escalated, their voices rising as nurses and doctors glanced nervously at the scene. Margaret clutched Benson's arm, pretending to cry again, while Benson tried to play the peacekeeper.
"You're being unreasonable, Adrian," Benson said, shaking his head. "Your father wouldn't want this. We should be coming together as a family."
"Family?" Adrian shot back. "Don't insult me. I'll do everything in my power to protect my father's legacy from people like you."
Margaret stepped forward, her face red with anger. "How dare you accuse me of anything! If your father wakes up and hears about this, he'll be ashamed of the way you're acting."
"If?" Adrian said, catching her slip. "What do you mean 'if'? He will wake up, and when he does, the truth will come out."
The tension was thick as they stared each other down. Margaret and Benson exchanged a quick, uneasy glance but kept up their facade. Adrian, though furious, was still distracted by his father's condition, unaware of the dark truth looming over them all.
In the ICU, Mr. Williams lay unconscious, machines beeping steadily around him. The doctors worked tirelessly, but his condition remained critical.