chapter 100

chapter 100


The following morning, the air around Antony’s family home buzzed with tension and anticipation.
Detective Mills and his team had requested an emergency meeting. Everyone, from Lydia to Antony’s grieving parents, gathered anxiously in the drawing room, their nerves raw from weeks of grief and unanswered questions.

Detective Mills walked in with a laptop tucked under his arm and a hard, unreadable look in his eyes.

"We have news," he announced, his voice sharp and clear. "We were able to recover the surveillance footage that had been wiped from the hospital’s security system."

A heavy silence fell across the room.

Everyone leaned forward as Mills placed the laptop on the table and pulled up the footage.

What appeared on the screen made every heart in the room stop.

There, clear as day, was the image of a woman sneaking into Antony’s hospital room the night he died. She moved with eerie precision, her face partially covered but unmistakable to those who knew her.

It was James’s mother.

Lydia gasped, covering her mouth with trembling hands.
Antony’s father uttered a curse under his breath.
The whole room reeled.

But what shocked them even more was the timeline. At the time of Antony’s death, it had been public knowledge — and deeply believed — that James's mother was still in a coma after a mysterious accident she had suffered weeks earlier.

Apparently, it was a lie.

Detective Mills paused the footage and looked around the stunned room.

"It seems she was never truly unconscious," he said grimly. "Or she woke up much earlier than reported... and someone helped her keep it a secret."

The revelation struck like a bolt of lightning.

James, who had genuinely mourned Antony’s death and remained unaware of his mother’s role, was unknowingly protecting the very person responsible.

Antony’s father leaned back heavily against the sofa, running a shaky hand through his gray hair.

"Why... why would she do this?" he murmured hoarsely.

Lydia, still struggling to absorb the horror she had just seen, whispered, "Was it revenge? Was it planned all along?"

Detective Mills nodded.

"Based on further investigation, we believe there was an old grudge between Antony and James’s mother — one involving business betrayals and deep personal hatred. But we still need to uncover the details."

At that moment, the reality of it all hit Lydia like a wave.

Antony hadn't just been a victim of bad luck.
He had been targeted.
Planned.
Murdered by someone they all thought was powerless.

Detective Mills closed the laptop and stood tall.

"We're issuing an arrest warrant. And we're going after whoever helped her fake the coma, too. Justice will be served."

The family sat in stunned silence as the detectives left to finalize the arrest.
The house, once filled with grief, now burned with a new, righteous fury.

Somewhere, James’s mother — and possibly others — were about to pay dearly for their sins.

And as Lydia wiped the tears from her eyes, she realized that Antony’s voice, his legacy, and his truth would finally be heard.

The day passed slowly, each hour heavier than the last.

By evening, the detectives were ready to move. They had coordinated with the hospital staff, obtained enough evidence, and now they were surrounding James’s family villa — the place where his mother had been supposedly "recovering" in secret.

Inside the house, James was blissfully unaware, chatting with a nurse about his mother’s recent progress. She had been awake but weak, hardly speaking — or so he believed.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging at the front door.

"Police! Open up!"

James stiffened. The nurse dropped the glass she was holding, the crash echoing in the silent hall.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he rushed to the door.

When he opened it, he was met with the sight of armed officers and Detective Mills, holding up an arrest warrant.

"We’re here for Margaret Hayes," Mills declared grimly. "James, stand aside."

"What?!" James's voice cracked. "There must be a mistake! My mother— she's—"

"James," Mills interrupted sharply. "We have surveillance footage. We know your mother murdered Antony."

The world tilted under James’s feet.
He staggered back, unable to speak.

"No," he whispered. "No, she couldn't have—she was unconscious! She was—!"

"We have proof," Mills said coldly. "And whoever helped fake her coma will be prosecuted as well."

Before James could even gather his thoughts, two officers pushed past him, heading straight for his mother’s room.
James, in a daze, stumbled after them.

They found Margaret sitting upright in bed, calmly sipping tea like nothing was wrong.
When she saw the officers, she simply smiled — a cold, knowing smile — and placed her cup neatly on the table.

"I was wondering when you'd come," she said in a voice filled with cruel amusement.

James gaped at her, horror washing over him.
"Mother... why?"

Margaret looked at her son with a kind of sad pity.

"Because Antony had to pay," she said simply. "He ruined everything for us. For you."

James shook his head wildly.
"I never wanted this! You killed my best friend!"

"You needed someone to take responsibility," she said with chilling calmness. "You just didn't know it yet."

As the officers handcuffed her and read her rights, James collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands.
Tears, hot and blinding, streamed down his cheeks.

Everything he believed, everything he trusted — destroyed in a single night.

Outside the villa, neighbors had gathered, whispering and pointing as the once-respected Margaret Hayes was led away in handcuffs.
The media vans had already started arriving, flashbulbs exploding like fireworks.

James sat alone in the living room, the chaos swirling around him.
His world had crumbled.

Meanwhile, across town, Lydia and Antony’s family received the news. The detectives informed them of the arrest and the confession Margaret had given.

Relief and sorrow mingled together in the room.

Justice was coming — but it didn't erase the loss.

Hours Later

James showed up at the police station, disheveled and broken.

He requested to see Antony’s family.
When he was finally allowed, he fell to his knees before them in the station's meeting room, trembling with emotion.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I swear... I didn't know. I didn't—"

Antony’s father, a man of deep dignity, stared down at him. His face was hard, but not cruel.

"You lost a mother tonight," he said in a low, heavy voice. "But we lost a son."

James wept openly, no longer caring who saw.

Lydia, standing behind Antony's father, wiped her own tears.
She wanted to hate James — truly she did.
But looking at him now, broken and shattered, she realized that hate would only prolong the pain.

Silence reigned for a long time before Antony's father spoke again.

"Justice will take its course," he said. "And so must we."

Without another word, they left James kneeling there, his body wracked with sobs, as the weight of everything finally crashed down on him.

Justice had been served.

But some wounds would never fully heal.