Manisha watched with interest.
“With Chelsea dead and the news of her involvement in his death, the second will contest you filed, based more strongly on coercion, and diminished mental capacity of Tony, has been successful.”
Manisha looked over at the paperwork Sarah thumbed through and met her solicitor’s gaze.
“You’re serious?” She reached over and took Sandip’s hand.
“Yes. It became clear that there’s a strong possibility Chelsea coerced him into changing his will. This was the tipping point. His mental capacity could’ve been deteriorated, yes. But that’s always a hard one to prove. The coercion was more plausible, given her involvement and the case closed on his murder.”
“So, what does this mean?” Sandip sat up straight.
“Well, as his legal wife, your mother, you, and your sister, are beneficiaries.”
“Oh, m-my goodness,” Manisha said. “Sanita’s no longer in the UK. She immigrated once she got married. I’m sure she’ll be happy.”
Sarah smiled. “I’m sure she will, as you all should be.”
“This is what we needed, closure on his death, and to have what’s rightfully ours for the family. Not some gold-digger,” Sandip said.
“I agree.” Manisha nodded. “So, this means everything—the properties, restaurants, and money—it’s ours?”
“Yes, on his original will, you were named as the executor. The properties and restaurants pass to you. He was clear that if something should happen to you, they should pass down to the children. As for the cash, he also left that to you too.”
“What about us? Me and Sanita?” Sandip questioned.
Manisha noted the annoyance in her son’s voice. She glanced at him and wondered why he needed money so badly.
“Well, he hasn’t directly left anything to you.” Sarah slid a copy of Tony’s original will across the table to Sandip and Manisha. “His wish was that if something were to happen to your mother, at that point, you and Sanita would gain a fifty percent share of whatever is to be handed down.”
Sandip snatched up the copy and closely read it. “Right, okay.” He dropped the thick cream paper with his dad’s last requests onto the table.
“So, what happens now?” Manisha adjusted her reading glasses and looked from the will back to Sarah.
“Well, Chelsea’s accounts will be unfrozen, and we’ll organise for the money and assets to be transfer to you, Mrs. Patel.”
Manisha broke down in tears.
Finally, I’ve got what’s mine. Years, I spent being a housewife, and it’s my time now, she thought to herself.
“Thank you,” she muttered, then blew her nose.
“No problems, if there’s no further questions. I will contact you soon,” said Sarah.
“None, it’s all clear. Thank you.”
Manisha extended a hand across the table, and Sarah placed her hand in hers, giving her a firm handshake.
Sarah turned a stone-faced expression to Sandip. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just fine.” He rose to his feet. “Mum, I’ll meet you in the car.
“Okay, love, I won’t be long. I’ll just head to the ladies’ room, then meet you there.”
In the privacy of the toilets, Manisha looked herself in the eye, taking in her reflection in the mirror. With her crocodile tears gone, a lopsided smile spread across her face, which then moulded into a pout.
“Rich, free, and no longer your little housewife. Chelsea you did me a favour. You got there first and got rid of him,” she muttered under her breath.
Guess I should thank you.
She fixed her expression and practiced her ‘feel sorry for me’ face, for when she faced her daughter on Skype, and everyone else who would come knocking at her door once they learned the news.
Chelsea’s death and involvement in Tony’s death had made headlines, and so had she, since his unsolved murder was now resolved, and Lance imprisoned.
Ahhh, what a shame, aye? Never even got the satisfaction of killing him off slowly, Manisha mused.
The arsenic she had purchased to speed up Tony’s unfortunate death, wasn’t needed after all. Right after Dunne had called her in for questioning, she disposed of the contents of the rented mailbox—the arsenic, as well as the evidence from the private investor about her husband’s affair.
She pushed the thoughts, along with the memories of her abusive, thirty-year marriage to Tony to one-side, reapplied her lipstick, and then smiled at herself in the mirror.
31
Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
Sandip
“What do you mean, we’ve got nothing?” Sanita shrieked down the line.
“Exactly that, Sis. He left it all to Mum. We don’t see a penny until she’s gone,” Sandip responded. He shook his head in disbelief. “Everything—the properties, restaurants, money—it’s all going to Mum.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Sanita said. “At least it’s all back in the family and not with that gold-digger.”
“Hmm, suppose so.”
Sandip chewed on his lip, pondering on what was taking his mum so long. “Listen, I better go and see where Mum is, I’m still waiting for her. We’ll call you later. And remember, when Mum tells you, act surprised, okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course, don’t worry. It’s late here. Call me tomorrow if anything.”
“Okay, see you later.”
Sandip disconnected from the long-distance call to Australia and was livid—pissed-off with the way things had turned out.
He drummed the steering wheel of his car in frustration. His mind drifted back over the last few months, back to when his dad had refused to help him with his debts.
See, Dad, I took things into my own hands, he thought, and a chuckle crossed his lips.
“All that careful planning out the window—all for nothing,” he said out loud to the empty car. “Son of a . . .” His mind drifted back to that one fatal night.
32
The Note
Sandip, August 10th
“Get in the car.”
Sandip secured the bin liner bag over his dad’s head, then bound his hands with rope.
“Sandip, what are you doing I—”
“I said get in the fuckin’ car, and don’t mess with me, old man.”
Sandip placed a heavy hand on Tony’s head and forced him into the back seat of the car.
“Lie down, and don’t move.”
Sandip watched his father do as he was told.
The fear that floated off the old
