Vị pháp sư tarot khẳng định rằng vị tỷ phú chắc chắn sẽ chết, ông không tin vì mình còn rất khoẻ mạnh. Thế nhưng ngay sáng hôm sau khi đang ngồi dùng bữa sáng bỗng trong túi áo khoác của ông rơi ra 1 cái đầu nọc thẻ …
The scent of incense and sage filled the sumptuous SoHo penthouse. Facing Arthur Sterling, a 65-year-old media mogul with a $4 billion fortune and 24/7 health care from the world’s top doctors, sat a gilded Visconti-Sforza Tarot deck.
Sitting across from him sat Madame Zephyr, a famous but enigmatic Reader who served only 10 clients a year.
“Turn over the last card, Arthur,” Zephyr said, her voice as hoarse as the wind whistling through the door.
Arthur smirked, his hand, clad in a solid gold signet ring, turning over the face-down card in the center.
The Tower (Tower – XVI).
An image of the tower struck by lightning, two people falling into an abyss against a pitch-black sky.
“Conclude,” Arthur said confidently. “A failed merger? A sex scandal? I’ve been through it all.”
Madame Zephyr didn’t smile. She looked straight into his eyes, her ashen eyes unblinking.
“Not property. You, Arthur. You’re going to die.”
Arthur laughed, his laughter echoing through the quiet room. “Die? Are you kidding? I got the results of my complete physical this morning. Heart of a 40-year-old, liver and kidneys in perfect condition. I’m healthier than most young men out there. I plan to live to be 100 and spend all this money.”
“Death doesn’t come from illness,” Zephyr whispered, her fingers brushing the Ten of Swords card lying beside her. “It comes from betrayal. It comes from those closest to me. The sun will rise tomorrow, but you won’t see it set.”
“Enough,” Arthur stood up, tossing a thick wad of cash onto the table. “I pay for business strategy, not cheap threats. You’ve lost your cool, Zephyr.”
He pulled on his Italian-tailored cashmere suit and walked away.
“Arthur!” Zephyr called after him. “Check your pockets. Fate leaves its mark.”
Arthur ignored her. He stepped into the private elevator, convinced it was just another ploy by the peddlers of the gods.
The next morning. 8:00 AM.
The Sterling mansion on the Upper East Side was bathed in autumn sunlight. Arthur sat at the head of the long dining table, enjoying eggs Benedict and Blue Mountain coffee. He felt wonderful. Yesterday’s prophecy had been consigned to the dustbin of his mind.
Sitting to his right was Elena, his third wife, 25 years younger than him, beautiful and sharp. On the left was Julian, his eldest son with his first wife, who was the group’s CFO.
“Dad, you look very handsome today,” Julian smiled, folding the Wall Street Journal. “How’s the cable acquisition going?”
“It’ll be closed by noon,” Arthur replied, sipping his fragrant coffee. “Dad is having a party tonight. Elena, get ready.”
“Of course, honey,” Elena placed her hand on his, affectionately. “I’ve asked the chef to prepare your favorite foie gras.”
Arthur felt satisfied. A perfect family. A strong empire. Good health. That old woman Tarot was crazy.
He reached into his vest pocket to take out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. He had the cashmere vest he’d worn to meet Zephyr yesterday, and he’d conveniently put it back on this morning because it was a little chilly.
His fingers touched something strange. Hard, small, and cold.
Arthur frowned. He pulled it out.
Falling onto the white tablecloth was a tiny object, glinting in the sunlight.
It was a microSD card. But it wasn’t an ordinary one. The tip of it was encased in a blood-red transparent plastic case, intricately carved into the shape of an eye. A “Ruby Head” memory card.
The table fell silent.
“What is it?” Elena asked, her voice cracking.
Arthur picked up the memory card. He remembered Zephyr’s words: “Check your pockets. Fate always leaves its traces.”
Had she slipped it into his pocket when he wasn’t looking? Or had someone dropped it?
“Julian, give me the tablet,” Arthur ordered.
“Dad, it must be trash someone left behind, let me throw it away…” Julian reached for the card.
“GIVE ME THE TABLET!” Arthur roared. His wolf instincts kicked in. He saw Julian’s hand tremble.
Julian reluctantly handed the iPad Pro to his father. Arthur inserted the memory card through the reader.
A single video file appeared. Filename: THE_BETRAYAL.mp4.
Arthur pressed Play.
The video was shaky, low-angle, seemingly filmed secretly from a bag or a button.
The setting was the living room of this very house. The time shown on the video: 10:00 PM, last night.
Arthur held his breath. He went to bed early last night at 9 o’clock after returning from Mrs. Zephyr’s.
In the video, Elena was sitting on the sofa, holding a glass of wine. Sitting opposite her was none other than Julian. And the third person… was Doctor Morgan, Arthur’s personal doctor.
“What’s the dosage?” Elena’s voice rang out, cold and sharp, completely different from her usual coquettishness.
“Enough to cause cardiac arrest within 30 minutes of ingestion,” Dr. Morgan handed her a small vial of colorless liquid. “High concentrations of Potassium Chloride combine
with the heart medication he’s on. It’ll look exactly like a spontaneous heart attack. No forensics person will suspect anything.”
“Excellent,” Julian said, sipping his wine. “The old man plans to change his will next week to give 50 percent of his estate to charity. We can’t let that happen. Tomorrow morning, over a cup of Blue Mountain coffee, it’ll all be over.”
“But what about that Tarot witch?” Elena asked. “Arthur went to see her this afternoon. If she figures something out…”
Julian sneered. “Don’t worry. She’s a con woman. Who believes fortune-telling? Just drink your coffee tomorrow morning, and it’ll all be over before he even gets to work.”
The video ends.
Arthur raises his head. He still holds the tablet, but his whole body is frozen.
He looks down at the cup of Blue Mountain coffee in front of him. It’s half empty.
TWIST & CLIMAX
The angina attacks him instantly, as if an invisible hand is squeezing his heart. It’s not psychological. It’s poison. It’s starting to take effect.
“You guys…” Arthur clutches his chest, gasping for breath, collapsing onto the table. The dishes shatter.
Elena and Julian don’t panic. They sit there, watching him struggle with cold, reptilian eyes.
“You drank it, didn’t you?” Julian asks, his voice chillingly calm. “I told you to give me the memory card, but you didn’t listen. Now I’ll die in pain and anger.”
“Who…” Arthur whispered, his eyes rolling back, trying to point at the memory card. “Who… filmed… this?”
That pearl-headed memory card. Who filmed it? Who put it in his pocket?
Suddenly, from the kitchen door, the old butler – Mr. Thomas – stepped out. He didn’t bring any more food. He held a pistol.
But he wasn’t pointing it at Arthur. He was pointing it at Julian and Elena.
“Sit still!” Thomas shouted.
Arthur, in his dying breath, looked at his loyal butler. But Thomas wasn’t looking at him. Thomas looked at the memory card.
“That’s mine,” Thomas said. “That memory card belongs to my daughter.”
Arthur was stunned. Thomas’s daughter?
“Madame Zephyr,” Thomas said, tears welling up in his eyes. “Her real name is Sarah. She’s my daughter.”
THE FINAL TRUTH
It turns out that Madame Zephyr is not a magical sorceress. She is the daughter of the housekeeper who has served the Sterling family for 40 years. Thomas overheard the plot between his stepmother and son last night. He did not dare to report to the police because he was afraid of Julian’s influence, and he could not approach Arthur because Elena was closely monitoring him.
He secretly recorded the conversation with a hidden camera in his buttonhole (the “jade head” was actually a disguised spy device). Then, he sent the file to his daughter – Madame Zephyr – the only person Arthur had an appointment with that afternoon.
Zephyr could not give it to Arthur directly because she knew that Arthur was suspicious and would not immediately trust a video file from a stranger. She used the tarot reading to warn him (“Death comes from betrayal”), and secretly slipped the memory card into his vest pocket when he stood up He left, hoping he would find it before breakfast.
But Arthur’s pride got the better of him. He didn’t check his pockets that night. He waited until this morning, after he’d drunk half a cup of poisoned coffee, to find it.
“Call 911! Help me!” Arthur screamed, foam coming out of his mouth.
Thomas held the gun, the other hand pressed the phone to call the police. Julian and Elena paled, knowing that everything had been recorded and that the witness was holding the gun.
The ambulance arrived 10 minutes later.
Arthur Sterling was taken away in critical condition. He survived the attack thanks to timely gastric lavage (having only ingested half of the poison), but his heart was permanently damaged – not just by the poison, but by the cruel truth.
Epilogue
Three months later.
Julian and Elena were both in prison awaiting trial for attempted murder.
Arthur sat in a wheelchair in the garden of his private nursing home. He was no longer the arrogant billionaire. He was a lonely old man.
He held in his hand the Tarot card that Zephyr had given him to the nursing home: The Fool.
Along with a piece of paper:
“The cards don’t kill us, Arthur. It is the blind belief in one’s own invulnerability that is the most potent poison. He did not die of illness, he nearly died because he could not believe that the people he raised could stab him.”
Arthur looked up at the sky. He was alive, but his empire had collapsed, his family was broken. Zephyr’s prophecy had come true in the most ironic way: Arthur Sterling – the once powerful billionaire – had died that morning. The man sitting there was only the breathing corpse of a late regret.
And in his breast pocket, he still kept that red-pointed memory stick. Not as a token, but as a tombstone to his lost faith.
