While I struggled to breathe, my daughter-in-law recorded me for laughs. I stayed calm, even afterward. One email from me was all it took to change everything.
Chapter 1: Suffocation in the Penthouse
From the 50th floor of the Sterling Tower, New York City looked like a giant, flashing electronic circuit board. I, Eleanor Sterling, 65, CEO of Sterling Media Group, sat in a cream-colored leather armchair, looking out at Central Park.
I had heart surgery two months ago. My health had deteriorated significantly, which is why my son, David, and his wife, Jessica, had moved here to “take care” of me.
“Mom, here’s your smoothie,” Jessica entered the living room. She was a former Instagram model, beautiful, stylish, but her eyes always held a calculating glint. She placed a glass of green smoothie on the table. “Spinach and almonds. Very good for the heart.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice slightly hoarse. I picked up the glass and drank. The taste was strange, a stronger almond flavor than usual.
After just three sips, my throat started to tingle. Then it turned to a burning sensation. It felt like someone was squeezing my trachea.
I had a severe almond allergy.
“Jessica…” I managed to say, dropping my smoothie onto the carpet. “Medicine… EpiPen…”
I pointed toward the medicine cabinet drawer in the corner of the room. I couldn’t stand up. My lungs were contracting violently. Each breath was a screeching sound like a broken train whistle.
Jessica stood there, looking at me. She didn’t run to get the medicine.
She smiled.
She pulled her iPhone 15 Pro Max from her back pocket. She turned on the camera, pointing it directly at my pale, bluish face.
“You look terrible, Eleanor,” Jessica said, her tone mocking, devoid of any respect. “You look like a fish out of water.”
“Medicine…” I whispered, clawing at my chest.
“Oh, that injection pen?” Jessica shrugged. “I accidentally threw it in the trash this morning. I thought you were better and didn’t need it anymore.”
She held the phone close to my face.
“Hello everyone, this is ‘Media Queen’ Eleanor Sterling,” she said into the camera, livestreaming for her close circle of friends. “This old lady is about to leave. Finally, the $500 million fortune is about to belong to David. And of course, David is mine.”
I collapsed onto the floor, my vision blurring. Oxygen was no longer reaching my brain. I was dying.
In that near-death moment, the usual panic didn’t come. Instead, a cold calmness—the kind that had helped me survive the cutthroat world of business for the past 40 years—emerged.
I stopped struggling. I closed my eyes, pretending to be unconscious.
My right hand, hidden beneath my body, silently slipped into my sweater pocket. My fingers touched the highly secure BlackBerry phone I always carried with me – the phone reserved for top-secret work.
I didn’t need to look at the screen. I knew the shortcut keys by heart.
I pressed and held the number 9 key for three seconds.
That was the key to activate a pre-written email. An email I had prepared six months earlier, when I began to suspect Jessica’s motives and my son’s weakness.
Subject: Omega Protocol – Activate Immediately.
I released my hand. Darkness enveloped me.
Chapter 2: The Resurrection and the Drama
I woke up in the intensive care unit of Mount Sinai Hospital.
The chief physician stood beside me, his face grim. “Mrs. Sterling, you were very lucky. The maid discovered you had fainted and called 911 in time. Just two minutes later and your brain would have been permanently damaged.”
David rushed into the room, his eyes red. “Mom! You scared me to death! Why did you eat almonds? You know you’re allergic!”
Jessica stood behind her husband, her face perfectly displaying anxiety. “I blended spinach for you… I swear I didn’t put almonds in… Maybe the manufacturer mislabeled it…” She sobbed, burying her head in David’s shoulder.
I looked at them both. David, naive and foolish. And Jessica, a venomous snake in human form.
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice weak but my eyes sharp. “It must have been an accident.”
Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. She thought I didn’t remember anything, or that I was too weak to resist. She thought she had won.
During my week in the hospital, I maintained a normal demeanor. I let Jessica feed me porridge, letting her play the dutiful daughter-in-law role in front of the press. I even smiled when she kissed my forehead.
I needed time for the “Omega Protocol” to function smoothly.
The day I was discharged from the hospital was also the day of the Sterling Group’s annual General Shareholders’ Meeting. This was the most important event of the year, where decisions about power were made.
“Mom, you should stay home and rest,” David advised. “Jessica and I will go in your place. I’ll read your speech.”
“No,” I said, adjusting the Hermès silk scarf around my neck. “I’ll go. I have an important announcement.”
Jessica looked at me, her eyes flashing with suspicion, but then she smirked. She thought I was about to announce my retirement and the transfer of power to David – something I had falsely promised earlier.
Chapter 3: The Bloody Shareholders’ Meeting
The large meeting room on the 60th floor of the Sterling Tower was packed. Hundreds of shareholders, executives, and members of the media were waiting.
I sat on the…
In a wheelchair, David wheeled me onto the stage. Jessica walked beside me, dressed in a dazzling red dress, shining as if she were the new mistress of the place.
I held the microphone. The entire auditorium fell silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I began, my voice resonant, devoid of the weakness of someone who had just escaped death. “Today, I am here to speak about the future of Sterling Media.”
Jessica gripped David’s hand tightly, her eyes gleaming with greed.
“But before we talk about the future, we need to look back at the past. Specifically, the past seven days.”
I pressed the control button in my hand.
The enormous LED screen behind me lit up.
It didn’t show growth charts.
It showed a video.
The shaky video zoomed in on my pale, suffocating face. The horrifying screech of my dying breath echoed through the surround sound system.
And Jessica’s voice rang out, clear, bitter, and cruel:
“This old woman’s going to die soon. Finally, that $500 million fortune will belong to David. And of course, David is mine.”
The entire auditorium gasped in horror. Whispers erupted like a swarm of bees. Cameras flashed incessantly.
Jessica’s face turned from red to pale, then ashen. She stood frozen, her hands hanging limply.
David looked up at the screen, then at his wife with disbelief. “You… what did you do? Did you film this?”
“No… it wasn’t me! It’s Deepfake! It’s AI!” Jessica screamed, utterly panicked.
“It’s not AI,” I said into the microphone, calmly and coldly.
I turned to look at Jessica.
“Do you think you’re smart for livestreaming in your private group ‘Gold Digger Sisterhood’? Have you forgotten that I’m the owner of Sterling Media Group? We own the social media platform you’re using. We own the telecommunications satellites. And most importantly…”
I held up my BlackBerry.
“…The email I sent before I died wasn’t a suicide note. It was an emergency backdoor access order to all mobile devices connected to the penthouse’s Wi-Fi. My cybersecurity department recorded everything. From the moment you threw away my syringe to the moment you laughed at my death.”
Jessica collapsed to the floor.
I turned back to the audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter-in-law’s actions are not just immoral. They constitute intentional murder and failure to provide assistance to a victim.”
The auditorium doors opened. The New York Police Department (NYPD) officers walked in, their handcuffs gleaming.
“Jessica Vance,” the chief read the order. “You are arrested for second-degree murder.”
“David! Save me! You know I didn’t mean to!” Jessica screamed as she was dragged away.
But David stood there, motionless. He looked at me, tears welling up. “Mom… I didn’t know… I swear…”
I looked at my only son. His weakness had indirectly aided this evil.
“And now,” I continued, not letting my emotions get the better of me. “Regarding the personnel changes.”
“I hereby announce the dismissal of David Sterling from his position as Executive Vice President. Reason: Lack of risk management competence and allowing personal feelings to compromise corporate security.”
David collapsed into his chair. He had lost his wife, and now his career.
“I also want to announce,” I said emphatically. “I will transfer my entire 51% personal stake to a Charitable Trust. The profits will be used to support victims of domestic violence and elderly people living alone.”
“I, Eleanor Sterling, will continue as CEO until I find a worthy successor. Someone with a heart, not just my blood.”
The applause was thunderous. The entire room rose. They weren’t applauding my fortune. They were applauding survival and the just punishment for evil.
Chapter 4: The Price of Silence
After the meeting, I returned to the penthouse. The house was now empty. David had moved out, ashamed and remorseful.
I sat back down in the cream-colored leather armchair – where I had nearly died a week earlier.
My private lawyer, Mr. Arthur, entered.
“Mrs. Eleanor,” he said. “The police found the EpiPen in the trash can, just as the video shows. Jessica’s fingerprints are everywhere. She’ll face 15 to 20 years in prison.”
“Good,” I nodded, looking out at the city lights.
“But, ma’am,” Arthur hesitated. “There’s something I wonder. Why were you so calm? When she was filming you, when you couldn’t breathe… Weren’t you afraid of dying?”
I smiled. A sad but proud smile.
“Arthur, I survived the 2008 financial crisis, the death of my husband, and heart surgery. I’ve learned one thing: Panic kills faster than poison.”
I picked up my glass of water.
“When she filmed me, she thought she was in control. She thought I was the victim. But she forgot who I am. I’m not some weak old woman.”
I set my glass down on the table with a sharp, decisive clink.
“I am the director of my own life. And if someone wants to turn my life into a tragedy, I’ll make sure they’re the character.”
“Right in the horror movie I wrote the script for.”
Just one email. One click.
I didn’t need to scream. True power isn’t loud. It’s silent, it waits, and when it comes down, it crushes everything.
Jessica wanted fame? I gave her fame. That video now has 50 million views worldwide. The whole world knows her true face. That’s a more cruel sentence than prison.
I got up and walked toward the bedroom.
Tomorrow is a new day. And the Sterling Empire needs a healthy queen to continue ruling.
