Saturday, April 7, 2007
On the day after, the Ancestral Estate and the small village
situated near it were completely overwhelmed.
Yellow police tape cordoned off the roads leading to the
Estate as police combed over the centuries old building, beginning
their
investigation into the murder of the now late Duchess of Wessex.
Media from around the United Kingdom and the United States,
Canada, and elsewhere, flocked to cover the case.
They interviewed locals and anyone who remotely had contact
with the couple – including the old Innkeeper, whose establishment once
rested
on the grounds of the Estate; until the Duke, in an act of malice,
ordered him
off the land. Several months later
he
committed arson, burning it to the ground.
In Hell’s fire he struck at people. As
Avarice he had submitted himself to
allegedly doing the Devil’s work. He
knew no mercy, no pity, and did evil as he believed he had to. He sought to smash the Ten Commandments, and
nearly desecrated them all.
Save for murder.
That Commandment was broken by the man who once served his
family for nearly fifty years. He knew
that the Duchess was driven by one thing: avarice.
She had no love in her heart for him, and
once he caught wind of the assassination plan against Edward – the
Duke’s son –
he committed himself to destroy the evil that drove the Duke onwards.
And on Good Friday, 2007, he finally was freed from that
evil. With three words, a prayer he had
not spoken in years – “God help me” – the Devil was banished from his
life
eternally, and the one he used to destroy him, was dead.
And with it:
Avarice was dead.
The lives of countless people were turned upside down in the
flash of a pistol.
The Duke, covered in blood, was escorted out by the police
for questioning, as was James, the Master of the House.
He ran into the Grand Library moments later,
and summoned the authorities.
Simkins sat in prison, and was questioned exhaustively; James,
Stephanie Dynasty-Lancaster, and many others were all questioned.
Paulus Marcus and Juan Alvarez - the financial advisor and the
assassin, respectively – sat on
pins and needles. Their crimes they were
well aware of. The only question was:
was the police.
Paulus had with the Duchess, adulterated countless times
over the span of their marriage. He had
embezzled and transferred to a phony offshore company millions of
pounds from the
Duke’s Estate and via Lancaster International, the Duke’s holding firm. He had helped to arrange the forgery of two
priceless paintings, and replaced the originals – which hung in his
home – with
the fakes. He also helped to sell the
diamond out of the Duchess’ ring, given to her on their marriage, and
did so on
the diamond black market for a huge sum, once again stashed into a
Swiss bank
account.
If he fled, he knew he would be targeted at the
airport. Surely the old bastard had told
the police that he was connected to the Duchess intimately. Time was now his enemy.
The assassin thought the same. If he
resigned from Edward’s school and
picked up shop and left immediately, the police would put two and two
together
and seek him out as well.
But all the police had to go on was evidence from James and
Simkins. They heard the Duchess say
this, or that.
Not enough.
The Duchess of Wessex was a PhD, in English. A
brilliant woman, sly, cunning.
But not brilliant in all areas of life. Including
the obvious.
To the Estate, the day after.
“Phil, take a look at
this.
The dumb bitch.”
The detectives were scouring through her study, examining
come what may. He stumbled upon a
letter, written in her hand, addressed to Paulus, and dated just a day
prior to
her murder.
“Dearest Paulus,
With any luck that dumb fuck Jimenez
will have eliminated that
little shit for us this Easter weekend.
I’ve been all over his ass lately, I just CAN’T TAKE THIS
ANYMORE.
He’s supposedly aware of his plans for the
weekend, thanks to that bitch Stephanie opening up to him…but why
couldn’t he
have done it earlier, he works RIGHT in his school what the FUCK is
taking him
so long!? God.
AND what’s worse, with that bastard
having LOST to that
BITCH he wanted to fuck I can’t stand being around him much more –
despite the
fact that I’m going to have to mother a child by him. Oh I can’t
wait (can’t you tell babe!). I dream daily of that glorious day –
with
that son of a bitch’s money, with my child, and with you, by my
side.
I count the minutes.
Yours forever, love Marissah.”
Phil snickered as he finished reading the letter.
“How could she be so fucking
dumb?”
The other detective just laughed quietly and shrugged.
“She really wanted to
make it easy on us,
didn’t she.”
Later that day, both the assassin and the financial advisor
were arrested. The plot against the
Duke’s son was over.
Now the news had to be broken to him.
Sunday,
April 8, 2007
I lay on the bed. I
cannot do anything else. I have no
desire to do anything else.
I am numb. Exhausted.
The smell of blood still hangs strongly in my
mind.
It is putrid, nauseating, shattering.
My home itself has been shattered, so here I stay, in a
hotel in London, for God knows how long.
My life has been destroyed.
Just as it was 14 years ago, when I heard news that my
parents were killed in that crash at Heathrow.
Then at 23, I was thrust into a role I was totally
unprepared for. The status.
The money.
The duty.
The duty.
I can only shake my head as I feel tears begin to well up in
my eyes.
A quick wipe with my sleeve and I dispatch with them.
No more.
Enough. I’ve done enough over the
past few days.
My duty now must be to my wife and to see she is sent off
properly, as the Duchess of Wessex should.
Several knocks ring at my door. It isn't
locked, so I just lean up and call
out, "Come in."
The detectives, looking at me with firm but polite smiles,
enter. I try and compose myself for
them, straightening my hair and my shirt.
I've come to know these men despite having been questioned by
them for
hours on end from Saturday.
"Sorry to disturb you Your…Mr.
Lancaster."
"It's fine.
Please."
"We have news for you,"
the other chimes in. "We feel we can share this with you
since it is the belief of the police that you had no role in the crime
perpetrated by Mr. Simkins."
"In searching the Estate we are
sad to inform you that
we found a letter composed by your late wife, in which she outlines
plans
to," he breathes strongly.
"Assassinate your son."
I lose it.
I lay my face in my hands and sob uncontrollably.
I cannot believe it.
"She also made reference to
another gentleman whom we
have arrested, Mr. Paulus Marcus, your financial advisor. He has
been charged with conspiracy to murder. The note
also suggests a strong romantic liaison between the two, and your
Master of the
House, James, has suggested financial irregularities in his role as
your
financial advisor. We are checking those
accusations out as we speak."
What they say hits me like blows in the ring - far worse
than any blows any wrestler could ever do to me.
"Thank you sir for your
assistance thus far…and we'll
be in touch."
I raise my head to the best of my ability, my eyes red and
sore, and nod. One of them pats me on
the back and forces an uneasy smile.
They depart.
My sadness soon evolves into anger. Anger
that I realize that her only desire to
bear me a child was to make that child the heir to my family's title,
and not
my beloved little boy.
As I sit on the edge of the bed, I realize that I may have
been her next target after that child was conceived.
She is getting nothing.
Absolutely nothing. No formal
service, no recognition to her status as Duchess of Wessex. I will tell her parents to do with her as
they wish, for I shall have nothing to do with her any longer. I won't attend her service.
She struck at me in life, so through this, I
strike at her through her death.
More anger. Anger
that I realize that for years she has used me from day one. There was no love, only lust, for status, for
my wealth. That same wealth which has
done nothing but irrevocable harm since the day I took the Duchy of
Wessex into
my hands.
On the spot I make two decisions. One is
to retire from wrestling. I have had it.
The second…
In the days to come the Duke of Wessex learned of the
grievous financial assault Paulus had perpetrated on him.
Millions from his personal and family accounts had
vanished. He learned that his two priceless art pieces
had been forged and that the genuine articles were hanging in Paulus'
home. Paulus even relayed to the police
the illicit removal of the diamond from her ring, and its sale on the
black
market. He hoped that by cooperating he
would save his ass and avoid a lengthy prison sentence as much as
possible.
All became clear to Lancaster.
The light finally shined on him as Marissah's body was flown
and laid to rest in New York, as her parents desired.
On the days after, he was overwhelmed.
But he was liberated.