I’m Sorry… She’s Gone
I’m Sorry… She’s Gone
About An Hour Later— Emily's POV...
Inside a sleek black 2025 Cadillac SUV gliding along Manhattan’s West Side, Emily sat in the backseat, the late afternoon sun catching the highlights in her hair. Her phone was pressed gently to her ear, her brows furrowed in frustration.
"Why doesn’t he ever pick up his calls?" she muttered under her breath, letting out a deep, tired sigh.
She pulled the phone from her ear, set it on speaker, and dropped it gently onto her lap. Her thumb moved quickly as she redialed Carlos’s number.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Then it buzzed out. No answer.
She ended the call quickly and tried again.
Still nothing.
On the third try, she let it go to voicemail. Her voice was low, slightly shaky.
"You never answer my calls. Not once, ever. I just wanted to let you know I’m going to your wife Megan’s yacht party. She said she wants to become friends… but I don’t trust her ass. This is probably a setup, just like one of her sick, evil mind games."
She sighed again, her hand tightening slightly over the phone.
"Anyway, I’m informing you. So if anything happens to me… you’ll know who to hold responsible. Bye."
She ended the message just as the driver’s voice broke through the cabin.
"Look, ma’am. We’re here."
Emily leaned forward, peering through the windshield. In the distance, the massive, luxurious yacht sparkled on the Hudson River like a floating palace.
She dropped back into her seat and muttered, "Yeah, we are," rolling her eyes. No trace of excitement in her voice.
As the SUV pulled to a stop, she reached for the door handle.
"If anything happens to me today," she said firmly, "hold Megan responsible. My gut tells me something bad’s going to happen."
The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He offered a small bow and a warm smile.
"Nothing will happen, ma’am. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll follow you around and stand guard at the yacht."
Emily’s face softened. "Thank you. I’d really appreciate that."
They stepped out onto the riverbank pavement side by side, the soft wind brushing Emily’s dress around her legs. They approached the dock, where a few sleek, fast boats were moored.
The SS agent turned to her. "Let me help you onto the boat, ma’am."
She reached for his hand and allowed him to steady her as she climbed in.
The boat driver gave a polite bow. "Welcome, Ms. Johnson. How was your ride here?"
"Fine," Emily replied, her smile faint but polite.
The boat driver glanced at her again as he fired up the engine. "Madam Megan will be so pleased that you’re here."
Emily’s smile twisted ever so slightly. "I bet she will."
The boat sliced through the Hudson’s gentle waves with ease, and within moments they reached the towering yacht.
The SS agent once again offered his hand, helping her step onto the deck. A small crowd mingled on the lower level, glasses clinking, conversations humming.
"Where would she be?" Emily asked.
"Madam Megan, you mean?" the agent asked.
"Yes."
"Probably on the upper deck."
"Then that’s where we’re going," Emily said, her voice calm, deliberate.
They moved up the gleaming steps, and as soon as Megan caught sight of her, she spread her arms wide in mock welcome.
"Finally! I was getting scared you wouldn’t come," Megan exclaimed.
Emily returned the embrace with a stiff side hug.
"You really went all out," she said, gesturing around. "I thought this would be a small, intimate party with just your close friends."
"Only the best for the beginning of a new era," Megan said cheerfully. "The era where you and I squash our beef and become sisters."
Emily tilted her head. "You want to become sisters with me… but you sent your actual twin to prison."
For a moment, Megan’s smile faltered. Then she placed her manicured hand gently on her baby bump and laughed.
"That happened in the past. And I didn’t send her to prison. She tried to kill my baby. She got what she deserved."
"Interesting," Emily said, gaze sharpening. "You heard she escaped, right?"
"Good for her," Megan muttered, smile completely gone.
Megan then turned to the SS agent beside Emily. "Go and fetch her a drink."
The agent looked at Emily.
She gave a faint nod. "It’s fine."
He turned and walked off toward the bar.
In that instant, Megan grabbed Emily’s arm, pulling her toward the edge of the yacht.
"Look!" she said, gesturing to a group of partygoers swimming with floaters in the river below. "You should jump in. It’ll be fun!"
"I don’t know how to swim," Emily said quickly.
Before Megan could respond, two women came crashing into them in a blur of forced laughter and rough play.
Emily screamed.
Her body flew backward over the railing.
"I ca—n’t swi—m! Plea—se hel—p me!" Her voice shattered over the splash as she hit the water.
From the deck, Megan didn’t move.
She simply watched.
No one in the river moved to help.
Then the SS agent returned with a champagne glass. He looked around.
"Where is Ms. Emily?"
Megan gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. "She just fell overboard!"
Without hesitation, the SS agent dropped the glass and dove in.
Moments later, he resurfaced, dragging Emily’s limp body onto the yacht deck. He dropped to his knees, starting CPR immediately.
"Help! Help! Is there a doctor on board?! She’s dying!"
A woman in heels sprinted forward. "I’m a doctor!" she cried.
She dropped beside him and also began administering CPR.
Chest compressions. Breaths. Nothing.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Then… silence.
The doctor sat back, a sorrowful expression on her face.
"I’m sorry… she’s gone."