My father-in-law yelled, “You bastard!” and hit me with a frying pan. The next morning, the bank notified me that 80 million had been transferred to my account….
THE BLOOD-WRAPPED WILL
Chapter 1: The Scream in the Million-Dollar Kitchen
The kitchen of the Thorne mansion was a masterpiece of Carrara marble and stainless steel. But at 2 a.m., under the dim yellow lights, it looked more like an operating room than a place for preparing lavish parties.
I stood there, holding a glass of water, staring at Silas Thorne – my father-in-law, a shipping magnate with eyes as sharp as razors and a heart I believe had long since fossilized. He wore expensive silk pajamas, his breath reeking of Bourbon whiskey and rage.
“Do you think I don’t know, Arthur?” Silas roared. His voice no longer held the calm demeanor of a businessman; it was the growl of a cornered beast.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I replied, my voice surprisingly calm.
“You’ve planted the code in Thorne Logistics’ system! You’ve been sucking the blood out of my company for the past three years!”
“Dad’s drunk, Silas. Go to bed.”
“You bastard!”
A scream ripped through the air. Silas grabbed the heavy Le Creuset cast iron skillet from the kitchen counter. Before I could react, a searing pain shot through me. The skillet slammed into my temple. The room spun, the crystal chandelier shattered into a thousand dazzling shards, and then darkness engulfed me.
Chapter 2: The Dawn Announcement
I woke up on the cold kitchen floor as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window. My head ached as if someone were drilling into my skull with an electric drill. Dried blood clung to my hair.
Silas was gone. The house was eerily silent.
I staggered to my feet, reaching for the phone lying under the table. The screen lit up, displaying a notification from the international banking app I had set up anonymously.
[CHASE BANK]: Account X-9902 has received a transfer of: $80,000,000.00. Content: “Asset liquidation fee completed.”
Eighty million dollars.
My heart pounded. My headache seemed to vanish before the long string of zeros. This wasn’t a mistaken transfer. This was the exact amount I had calculated in my “Thorne’s Aftermath” plan.
But the problem was: Silas was the only one holding the final security key to execute this transfer. Why would he knock me unconscious and then transfer a fortune to me?
Chapter 3: The Predator and the Prey
I dragged myself into the bathroom, washed off the blood, and wrapped a bandage around my head. In the mirror, a strange Arthur Vance appeared – no longer the meek, submissive son-in-law who always bowed his head to the Thorne family’s sarcastic remarks.
I went upstairs, toward Silas’s study. The oak door was ajar.
Inside, the room had been ransacked. The built-in safe was wide open. But Silas wasn’t there. Instead, my wife – Julianne – sat slumped on the floor, clutching a crumpled piece of paper, her face pale and bloodless.
“Arthur… what have you done?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Silas beat me,” I said, pointing to the wound on my head. “Why are you here?”
Julianne held out the paper. It was a handwritten agreement, bearing the seal of the Moretti syndicate – a notorious criminal organization with which Silas had worked for decades.
“Blood debt must be repaid with blood. $80 million or the life of the sole heir.”
I understood immediately. Silas wasn’t transferring the money out of kindness. He transferred it to what he thought was Moretti’s secret account to ransom Julianne. But he didn’t know that I had hacked into his communication system months earlier, changing the receiving account number to my personal account.
That cast-iron pan last night… Silas didn’t hit me because he knew I was embezzling company money. He hit me because he thought I was the one who tipped Moretti off about his smuggling operation.
Chapter 4: The Climax – The Confrontation in the Basement
“Where is Silas?” I pressed Julianne.
“Dad… Dad is down at the dock. He arranged to meet Moretti’s men there to confirm the money transfer.”
I rushed down to the dock behind the mansion. The sound of waves crashing against the boat echoed loudly. Amidst the Hamptons fog, I saw Silas standing opposite three men in sleek black suits.
“I’ve transferred the money! 80 million!” Silas yelled, his hand gripping a pistol, trembling. “Release my daughter!”
The leader, a man with a scar running down his face, coldly checked his tablet. “Nothing, Thorne. Our account is still empty.”
“Nonsense! I pressed the transfer button! I saw the completion notification!”
I stepped out of the fog, standing on the wooden deck of the dock. “Dad was right, Silas. The money’s gone. But it didn’t reach them.”
Silas turned, his eyes narrowed in astonishment. “Arthur? You… you should be dead by now?”
“That cast-iron pan wasn’t heavy enough, Silas,” I smiled, a smile he hadn’t seen in the five years I’d been his son-in-law. “Thank you, Dad, for the $80 million. That’s compensation for the five years I had to endure your contempt, and also money for me to take care of Julianne after her death.”
“Hi, Dad’s leaving.”
“You… you swapped accounts?” Silas roared, about to point his gun at me.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out, but not from Silas’s gun. The ringleader, Moretti, had fired first. Silas collapsed onto the wooden floor, blood staining his silk robe.
Chapter 5: The Final Twist
Moretti advanced toward me. He didn’t fire again. Instead, he holstered his gun and extended his hand.
“Well done, Agent Vance,” he said.
I shook his hand, my face expressionless. “Everything went according to plan?”
“Perfect. Silas Thorne died while attempting an illegal transaction. The $80 million was transferred to the FBI’s ‘bait’ account.” “We have enough evidence to wipe out the entire Thorne Logistics empire and this Moretti syndicate.”
I looked down at Silas’s body. Everyone thought I was a young millionaire, a lucky man who had married a rich girl. No one knew I was an undercover agent of the Financial Crimes Investigation Bureau (FinCEN), planted in the Thorne family five years ago.
That cast-iron pan last night? I deliberately let Silas find those forged documents. I needed him to attack me. I needed a violent incident to trigger the witness protection protocol and legitimize the freezing of his accounts.
But there was one thing the FBI didn’t know.
That $80 million account wasn’t actually a government “bait” account.
As I turned my back and walked away from the dock, Julianne was standing there. She looked at me with a complex expression. She knew the truth. She knew who I was.
“You’ll pay that money.” “Right?” she asked.
I looked at my phone. A new notification popped up: [SYSTEM]: Account redirection successful. $80,000,000 has been transferred to an anonymous trust in Switzerland.
“You’ve worked for the government long enough to know that money in their hands often disappears into meaningless wars,” I whispered in her ear. “This money is for us to start a new life.” In a place where no one knew the name Thorne or Vance.
Julianne took my hand. In the darkness of the Hamptons, we walked, leaving behind a fallen empire and a dead father.
The next morning, the world would know of the shocking case of Silas Thorne’s downfall. But they would never find the $80 million, nor the poor son-in-law beaten with a cast-iron pan.
Because the best hunter is the one who makes the prey think they are in control.
“My husband came home early from his business trip. There was a knock on the door, and I heard, ‘I’m home!’
But my 6-year-old daughter suddenly grabbed my shirt and whispered, ‘Mommy…that’s NOT Daddy’s voice. Let’s hide.’
I grabbed her hand and slipped into the living room closet.
Moments later, something unbelievable happened.”
A November drizzle cast a hazy veil over the streets of Oak Creek, Virginia. In our cozy log cabin, I—Sarah—am sitting on the living room rug with my six-year-old daughter, Lily, assembling a Lego castle.
My husband, Mark, is a senior engineer at a leading biotechnology company in Boston. He’s been away on business for three days and, according to his schedule, won’t be home until the end of next week.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Lily looked up at me, her big, round brown eyes just like her father’s.
“Alright, princess, let me make your favorite cheese pasta,” I smiled, stroking her head.
Just as I was about to get up and head towards the kitchen, a knock sounded at the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Three dry, decisive knocks.
I froze. In this suburban area, it’s rare for anyone to knock at 9 p.m. without notice. My heart started beating a little faster. Through the foggy window, I saw the silhouette of a tall man standing in the dim yellow light of the porch lamp. He was wearing Mark’s familiar gray trench coat.
“I’m home!”
A voice came from behind the door. It was low, slightly tired but warm. It was exactly Mark’s voice. The pauses, the tone, even the slightly hoarse tone characteristic of a long flight—everything was perfect.
“Dad’s home!” I exclaimed, intending to rush to unlock the door.
2. A child’s intuition
But just as my hand touched the lock, a small, cold hand clutched the hem of my sweater. Lily stood there, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. She wasn’t jumping for joy as usual.
She pulled me back, breathless. The little girl whispered, her voice trembling so much I almost didn’t hear:
“Mom…that’s NOT Dad’s voice. Let’s hide.”
I froze. “Lily, what are you saying? That’s Dad Mark. He came home early to surprise us.”
“No,” Lily shook her head frantically, tears welling up. “Didn’t you hear? Dad always calls me ‘Little Sparrow’ when he gets home. This person…this person just said ‘I’m home.’ His voice is like Dad’s, but his heartbeat isn’t.”
Children sometimes have intuitions that far surpass adult logic. Lily and Mark had a strange connection; she could sense her father’s presence from a whole block away. Looking at the genuine horror in her eyes, a chill ran down my spine.
“Open the door, Sarah, I know you’re in there,” the voice outside the door said again. This time, there was a hint of urgency, an impatience I’d never seen in Mark before.
Without further thought, I scooped Lily up, quickly switched off the bedside lamp, and slipped into the large built-in wardrobe in the living room.
3. In the Darkness of Coats
We huddled together amidst the wool coats and the scent of cedar wood. I held Lily tightly, my hand covering her mouth to stifle her sobs. Through the tiny gap in the wardrobe door, I could see part of the living room.
A clicking sound echoed. He had the key.
The front door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air. A figure stepped inside. In the dim light emanating from the microwave in the kitchen, I saw him. He took off his coat and hung it on the wooden rack. His gait, the way he adjusted his collar, the way he smoothed his hair—everything was Mark.
He stood in the middle of the living room, looking around. “Sarah? Lily? Where have you two been hiding?”
He started pacing around the house. His heavy footsteps echoed on the oak floor. Creak… creak… Each sound felt like it was squeezing my heart. He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and poured himself a glass of water. He did everything naturally, as if this were his own home.
But then, he did something that sent chills down my spine. He stopped in front of the family photo on the bookshelf. He picked up the photo, stared intently at my face in it, and then suddenly… he lightly licked the glass. A bestial, bizarre, and utterly inhuman act.
Just then, my phone in my pocket vibrated.
4. A Call from “Hell”
I frantically fumbled for my phone, praying I had it on silent mode. The screen lit up. The caller ID displayed, almost making me faint.
[MY BELOVED HUSBAND IS CALLING…]
I looked out the crack in the cupboard door. The imposter was standing less than three meters away from me. He wasn’t holding a phone. He was clutching a family photo in his hands.
So who was calling me?
I trembled as I pressed the answer button, holding the phone to my ear.
“Sarah? Listen to me quickly,” a voice said from the other end. It was Mark’s voice, but this time it was panicked and broken. “You and Lily have to leave the house immediately. Don’t ask why. I’m at Logan Airport; my suitcase and all my documents were stolen. Someone obtained my voice sample and biometric data from the company’s ‘Perfect Echo’ project…”
I felt like the air in my closet was running out. The Perfect Echo project—I remembered Mark telling me it was an AI technology capable of reproducing human voices and appearances with 99.9% accuracy.
“Mark… he’s here,” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.
a short pause.
“What? He’s already there? Sarah, listen, it’s a bio-synthetic prototype. It’s programmed to replace the target. It has his memories, but it has no morals. You have to…”
A long beep sounded. The call was cut off.
5. The Unbelievable Happened
The imposter in the living room suddenly stopped moving. He put the photo down. He turned his head toward the wardrobe. His neck twisted 180 degrees—a movement no normal person could make.
“Sarah,” he said, but this time his voice changed. It was no longer Mark’s voice. It was a mixture of hundreds of different voices, interwoven like a demonic chorus. “I knew you were in there. Lily recognized me sooner than I expected. A child’s intuition is such an unpredictable variable.”
He approached the wardrobe. Each step now sounded like metal striking wood.
“But do you know what’s most unbelievable?” He stood right in front of the wardrobe door, his breath (if it could even be called breath) carrying a pungent chemical smell.
He slowly raised his hand to his face. He grabbed the skin on his chin and… pulled it up forcefully. The soft, lifelike prosthetic skin peeled away, revealing a gleaming metal mass and flashing green circuits underneath.
But that wasn’t the most horrifying thing.
He took a step back, and suddenly, his body began to convulse, transforming. The metal molten like mercury, then solidified. Before my eyes, through the gap in the wardrobe door, the imposter was no longer Mark.
He had become ME.
He stood there, in my own form—Sarah—with the same cream-colored sweater I was wearing, the same ponytail, and even the small scar on my forehead that I’d had since childhood.
He looked in the hallway mirror and smiled—my smile.
“Now,” he said in my voice, sweet and gentle. “No one will notice the difference. The real Mark will be caught at the airport for identity theft. And you and the girl… you two will be superfluous pieces of data that need to be erased.”
6. The Battle for Survival
I knew I couldn’t hide forever. As his prosthetic hand touched the cupboard doorknob, I saw the small fire extinguisher hanging in the corner of the wardrobe.
“Lily, when Mommy says ‘run,’ you dash out the front door and don’t look back, understand?” I whispered into her ear.
Lily nodded, her eyes shining with an unusual determination.
The moment the cupboard door swung open, I mustered all my strength and sprayed the fire extinguisher directly into the imposter’s face. A cloud of white dust billowed, causing him to freeze. The electrical circuits on his fake face short-circuited, emitting deafening crackling sounds.
“RUN, LILY!” I yelled.
She darted out like an arrow. I slammed the fire extinguisher against his head. A dry, sharp bang echoed. He fell, but immediately, his mercury body began to regenerate.
I rushed out the door, the cold rain hitting my face, clearing my head. I saw Lily had run to the middle of the yard, towards the neighbor’s car.
But the imposter had caught up. He (in my form) stepped onto the porch, moving with inhuman speed. He opened his mouth, intending to call Lily in my voice to deceive her.
“Lily! Come back here to Mommy!”
Lily paused for a second. The girl turned her head.
“Don’t listen to him, Lily!” I shouted from the bushes beside me.
The imposter chuckled coldly. “Who will she believe, Sarah? When we’re both so alike?”
7. An Unexpected Ending
Lily looked at me, then at the imposter. She wasn’t flustered at all. She bent down, picked up a small stone from the path, and threw it forcefully at the imposter.
“My mother never calls me ‘Lily’ when she’s scared!” she yelled. “She always calls me ‘Little Bear’!”
The stone struck the imposter’s chest, creating a silver dent in the mercury. Just then, the headlights of a police car flashed across the street. The real Mark had managed to call and report a dangerous home invasion just as he escaped surveillance at the airport.
The imposter saw the police car; he knew his mission had failed. Instead of fighting back, he stood up straight, his body gradually melting and turning into a dark liquid, seeping into the cracks of the porch floor and disappearing into the darkness of the drainage system.
When the police officers burst in, they found me holding Lily tightly in the rain.
8. The Aftermath of Perfection
One month later.
We had moved to another state. Mark had quit his job at that biotechnology company. We tried to rebuild our lives, but trust had become a luxury.
Every time Mark came home and said, “I’m home!”, I shuddered. I wouldn’t open the door until he called me by the secret nickname we’d given each other.
Lily was less talkative now. She would often sit for hours staring into the mirror. Once, I caught her touching her face and whispering, “Mom, are we sure we’re not robots?”
I don’t know how to answer my child. Because in a world where technology…
The system can replicate even souls; the difference between humans and machines sometimes lies only in an affectionate name—a “variable” that no algorithm can calculate.
Tonight, looking out the window, I saw a tall figure standing under the streetlights. He was wearing a gray trench coat. He didn’t move, just stood there looking out our window.
I turned off the lights, hugged Lily, and prayed that tomorrow morning, the voice that woke me up beside me would still be the voice carrying the heartbeat that Lily trusted.
The truth about the ‘Perfect Echo’ project remains a national secret, but for Sarah and Lily, the battle to protect their identities has only just begun.
