The truth struck colder than the sea. They needed me dead. My will, my trusts—everything would transfer to family. Accidental drowning. Tragic. Clean.

But fate doesn’t always cooperate.

I swam for nearly an hour, fighting cramps, terror, and exhaustion. Eventually, a fishing boat spotted me. Hypothermic, bleeding, but alive. I didn’t call my family. I didn’t report the incident. I disappeared.

Three months later, the Carter family returned to our London estate after publicly mourning my “death.” The house was quiet as they stepped inside.

Then I turned on the lights.