Chapter 279 Henry Is Dead
Chapter 279 Henry Is Dead
Nathan's fist slammed on the table. The teacup jumped, tea splashed out, spreading into several brown stains on the white tablecloth.
"Reasonable and legal? You got the Jones Group shares this way, and you're telling me it's reasonable and legal? Benjamin made that will when he wasn't in his right mind. I'm going to challenge the validity of the will—"
"You can't." Jessica's voice was calm. "The legality of the will has already been confirmed by the court. When Benjamin made the will, he was mentally sound, clear-headed, not under duress, and not deceived. You're a businessman yourself. You should know there's no way around these procedural issues."
Nathan's face darkened even more.
He opened his mouth to say something when his phone started vibrating in his pocket.
He didn't want to answer, but the phone kept vibrating relentlessly, like a death knell. He pulled it out, glanced at the caller ID, and his expression suddenly changed.
He stood up, his chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor with a loud bang. He turned and walked to the window, answering the call.
"What? When did this happen? How did he die?" His voice was shaking, his whole body trembling.
He hung up and stood there with his back to everyone. After a long while, he turned around, the expression on his face no longer angry but more like all the strength had been drained from him.
"Henry is dead." His voice was soft, so soft it sounded like he was stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.
The conference room erupted into chaos. Some people stood up, some whispered to each other, some pulled out their phones to check the news.
No one noticed Jessica's expression. Her expression hadn't changed at all, because she already knew.
Henry died in that secret room, died in the cage he had built himself.
The knife wasn't brought in from outside—it was taken from the kitchen, the most ordinary kind of fruit knife, with a blade only about four inches long.
That was enough to kill someone. Lyanna, who had been tortured for so long, still had enough strength left in her body.
Jessica had Atticus arrange this the day before it happened.
She only had someone pass along one message to Lyanna: "Azalea killed your whole family. To make Henry feel secure about keeping you locked up, she silenced them years ago."
When Lyanna heard this news, she didn't cry. She sat in that lightless room, looking at her scarred hands.
Her nails were all broken, her fingers covered with new wounds layered over old ones, some places already numb. She thought of her mother's embrace, of her father riding his bike to take her to school, of her little brother calling her name as he followed behind her.
Those memories surfaced one by one, each one like a knife stabbing into her heart.
She thought she couldn't feel pain anymore, thought she had gone numb, thought she had become an empty shell that only knew how to breathe.
But she hadn't. Those memories were still there, the people she cared about were still in her heart, those things that had been taken away, destroyed, erased—they were like marks carved into her bones, impossible to grind away.
When she picked up the knife, her hand was steady.
She had stayed in that room for so long that she could tell where Henry slept even with her eyes closed.
She walked over and stood in front of him. He was sleeping deeply, probably having drunk quite a bit again, breathing heavily with a strong smell of alcohol.
Moonlight filtered through a crack in the wall, falling on his face, revealing a young, handsome face that had disgusted her for so many years.
She raised the knife and aimed it at his throat.
She stabbed down. Blood spurted out, splashing on her face, her body, her hands.
The blood was warm, thick, with a metallic smell.
Henry's eyes flew open, his pupils reflecting her image—covered in blood, expressionless, like a corpse that could still walk.
He tried to shout, but no sound came from his throat; he tried to move, but his body seemed pinned to the bed.
His hand grabbed her wrist, trying to take the knife, but she gripped the handle with both hands, stabbing down again and again. She didn't know how many times she stabbed him. Only when his fingers fell away, his eyes slid shut, and his body went completely still did she finally stop.
She stopped, knelt on the ground, gasping for breath.
The knife slipped from her hand and fell to the floor with a clear clinking sound.
She lowered her head and looked at her hands. They were covered in blood—she couldn't tell whose anymore.
She suddenly laughed, and as she laughed she began to cry, and as she cried she laughed again.
Lyanna was arrested.
When Jessica heard the news, she was on her way to the hospital.
She wasn't going to see Henry, but to see Aria.
Aria's condition had been much more stable lately. She could eat and sleep, and occasionally even smiled, though the smile was so faint it seemed like a breeze could blow it away.
Atticus called to say the police had taken Lyanna away.
"Got it." Jessica hung up, feeling nothing inside. Henry was dead, Azalea was in prison, Nathan had been stripped of power.
Those who had hurt her in her past life, one by one, had all met their endings.
But she didn't feel satisfied, didn't feel vindicated, didn't feel like the things she'd lost could be recovered. She just felt empty.
She felt like someone who had walked a very, very long road and finally reached the end, only to find there was nothing there.
Aria's room was at the far east end of the third floor of the nursing home, with a south-facing window that let sunlight in from morning to night. When Jessica first chose this room, the nurse said it was the most expensive. She said it didn't matter—as long as it had good sunlight.
Aria was always cold. No matter how hot the fire burned, her hands and feet were still ice-cold.
When Jessica pushed open the door, she paused mid-step.
Joseph sat in the chair beside the bed, sunlight falling on him, illuminating his profile softly.
His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. He held a bowl of porridge in his hands, scooped up a spoonful with a silver spoon, blew on it gently to cool it, then brought it to Aria's lips.
Aria leaned against the headboard, her hair neatly combed, her complexion much better than it had been months ago, her lips showing a hint of color. She looked at Joseph and obediently opened her mouth, swallowing the porridge.
"Is it good?" Joseph asked.
"It's good." Aria's voice was soft, slightly hoarse, as if she hadn't spoken in so long she'd almost forgotten how.
"Then have another bite."
Aria opened her mouth again, like an obedient child, eating the porridge spoonful by spoonful. When she reached the bottom of the bowl, she pointed at Joseph's face. "I know you."