THE LAST WILL - by Jhaymkay🖤

THE LAST WILL MURDER MYSTERY, SHALL WE? By midnight, one of the richest men in the country would be dead, and everyone in his house would have a reason to celebrate. The house was called Ravenscourt. It had belonged to the Ashfords for four generations—an enormous estate hidden behind iron gates, manicured gardens and walls covered in portraits of dead people who had apparently never smiled. On Friday evening, Sebastian Ashford invited six people to dinner. His wife. His two children. His younger brother. His business partner. And his lawyer. Nobody knew why. But everyone knew Sebastian Ashford did not invite people to dinner unless he wanted something. At exactly 9:00 p.m., the champagne was poured. At 9:07, Sebastian stood at the head of the table. “I have rewritten my will.” The room went completely silent. His son, Julian, lowered his glass. His daughter, Elise, stopped eating. His brother, Richard, stared at him. His wife, Victoria, simply smiled. Sebastian looked around the table. “By tomorrow morning, you will all know who I have decided to leave Ravenscourt to.” He paused. “And some of you will wish I had died years ago.” Nobody laughed. At 9:16, Sebastian left the dining room. At 9:31, the housekeeper heard a loud crash from the library. At 9:34, she found him dead. Detective Lucien Vale arrived twenty-three minutes later. He found Sebastian Ashford lying beside his desk. One gunshot to the chest. No weapon. No open windows. The library door had been locked from the inside. On Sebastian's desk was a glass of untouched whisky. Beside it was a folded piece of paper. Four words were written across it. YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED. Lucien read it once. Then again. “Who found him?” The housekeeper raised her hand. “Mrs. Bell.” “Did you touch anything?” “No, sir.” “Good.” Lucien looked around the room. There were six bookshelves. Two windows. One fireplace. One desk. And a large antique clock standing against the wall. The clock read 9:31. Lucien checked his watch. 9:58. He walked toward it. Stopped. Looked closer. The second hand wasn't moving. He opened the clock. Someone had deliberately stopped it. “Interesting.” Behind him, Julian spoke. “What?” Lucien turned. “You heard the crash at 9:31?” “Yes.” “You're certain?” “Yes.” “And where were you?” “In the billiard room.” “Alone?” Julian hesitated. “Yes.” Lucien nodded. “That's unfortunate.” Julian frowned. “Why?” “Because the billiard room is on the opposite side of the house.” Julian's face changed. “You're saying I couldn't have heard it?” “No.” Lucien looked back at the clock. “I'm saying someone wanted you to believe the murder happened at 9:31.” The questioning began. Victoria, Sebastian's wife, admitted they had been fighting for weeks. “He was going to divorce me.” Julian had millions of dollars in gambling debts. Elise had discovered that her father planned to sell the family estate. Richard was being investigated for embezzling money from Sebastian's company. And the business partner, Marcus Reed, had recently been threatened with exposure over an affair. Five people. Five motives. One dead man. Lucien listened to every story. He believed none of them completely. Then he noticed something strange. Everyone described hearing the same thing. A crash. Nobody described hearing a gunshot. Lucien returned to the library. He looked at the shattered whisky glass. Then at Sebastian's body. Then at the note. He picked up the glass carefully. There was whisky on the carpet. But not enough. He examined the desk. Then the floor. Then Sebastian's shirt. His eyes narrowed. The bullet had entered Sebastian's chest. But there was almost no blood on the desk. Lucien looked at the doctor. “When did he die?” The doctor examined the body again. “Between 9:00 and 9:20.” Lucien looked at the stopped clock. 9:31. He smiled. The murder hadn't happened at 9:31. The entire room had been staged. At 11:12 p.m., Lucien gathered everyone in the drawing room. “I know who killed Sebastian Ashford.” Nobody moved. Victoria's fingers tightened around her glass. Richard stared at the detective. Marcus looked toward the door. Lucien placed a photograph on the table. “Your brother was killed before 9:20.” Richard frowned. “But the crash—” “Was staged.” Lucien turned toward the housekeeper. “Mrs. Bell, where was Sebastian's phone?” “In his pocket.” “Did it ring?” “No.” Lucien nodded. “That means something.” He looked at the family. “Sebastian's phone was set to automatically play a recording at 9:31.” Julian's face went pale. “The crash wasn't a crash.” Lucien continued. “It was the sound of a gunshot followed by a glass breaking.” Silence. “Someone used the recording to create a false time of death.” He looked at the five suspects. “Which means the killer had access to Sebastian's phone.” Julian stood. “Anyone could have had it.” “Exactly.” Lucien smiled. “So I stopped looking for someone who could access the phone.” He placed another photograph on the table. “I looked for someone who knew Sebastian would be alone.” He turned to Victoria. “You told us Sebastian went to the library every night after dinner.” She nodded. “Yes.” “You knew his routine.” “Yes.” “You knew about the will.” “Yes.” “You had the strongest motive.” Victoria stared at him. “But I didn't kill him.” “I know.” Everyone looked at Lucien. “Because you didn't need to.” He turned toward Marcus. “Neither did you.” Then Richard. “Nor you.” Then Elise. “Not you either.” Julian looked confused. “Then who?” Lucien looked at him. “You.” Julian went completely still. “You were in the billiard room.” “Yes.” “Alone.” “Yes.” “Which means nobody can confirm your alibi.” Julian shook his head. “I didn't kill my father.” “No.” Lucien's voice was calm. “You killed him because he told you he was changing the will.” Julian's eyes filled with tears. “He was going to leave everything to Elise.” Elise looked at her brother. “What?” Julian laughed bitterly. “He told me.” Lucien nodded. “You confronted him at 9:12.” Julian said nothing. “You argued.” Nothing. “He threatened to expose your gambling debts.” Julian's face crumbled. “You hit him.” “I didn't mean to.” “You struck him with the brass letter opener.” Julian whispered: “He fell.” “And died.” Julian closed his eyes. “I panicked.” “So you took his phone, planted the recording, shot him with the gun you'd brought, and staged the room.” Julian looked up. “No.” Lucien stopped. “You didn't?” Julian shook his head. “I never shot him.” The room went silent. Lucien stared at him. Julian continued. “He was already dead when I left.” Lucien's expression changed. “How?” “I hit him.” “With what?” “The letter opener.” Lucien looked toward the library. Then at Julian. The doctor had said the gunshot killed Sebastian. But what if it hadn't? Lucien stood. “Stay here.” Three minutes later, he returned with the medical examiner. “Check the wound again.” The doctor examined Sebastian's body. Then froze. “There is no exit wound.” Lucien looked at him. “And?” The doctor removed the bullet. It was lodged shallowly beneath the skin. Lucien understood. “The gunshot was fired after death.” Everyone stared at him. Julian hadn't killed his father with the gun. He had killed him with the letter opener. Someone else had fired the gun afterward. Someone else had staged the murder. Lucien looked around the room. And suddenly there was a sixth possibility. Someone who had not been on his list. Someone who had been in the house all evening. Someone who had access to every room. Someone who knew exactly how Sebastian's household worked. He turned toward Mrs. Bell. The housekeeper's face was expressionless. Lucien asked quietly: “Where were you at 9:12?” She smiled. “In the kitchen.” “Alone?” “Yes.” “That's interesting.” “Why?” “Because the kitchen has a service corridor leading directly to the library.” Her smile disappeared. Lucien stepped closer. “And because Sebastian's blood was found on the cuff of your dress.” Mrs. Bell looked down. A tiny dark stain. She hadn't noticed it. Nobody had. Except Lucien. She finally sighed. “I didn't shoot him.” “I know.” “I found him after Julian left.” “And then?” “I knew what his death would do to this family.” Lucien waited. She looked at Sebastian's widow. Then his children. Then the lawyer. “I shot him.” Everyone stared. “Why?” Mrs. Bell's eyes hardened. “Because he was still alive.” Silence. “He was dying on the floor. Julian had stabbed him. He begged me not to call anyone.” “Why?” “Because he knew exactly what would happen.” She looked toward the library. “Sebastian had spent forty years destroying people and buying their silence.” Her voice trembled. “He looked at me and asked me to finish it.” Lucien said nothing. “He knew his son had attacked him. He knew the family would tear itself apart. So he asked me to make his death look like murder.” Victoria whispered: “You're lying.” Mrs. Bell looked at her. “No.” She reached into her pocket. And removed a small recording device. She pressed play. Sebastian's voice filled the room. “If you are hearing this, I am dead.” Everyone froze. His voice continued. “My son will believe he killed me.” Julian's face went white. “Let him.” A pause. “He needs to believe that.” Then Sebastian said something that made Lucien's blood run cold. “Because the real reason I am dying must never leave this house.” The recording ended. Nobody spoke. Lucien looked at Mrs. Bell. “What reason?” She looked toward the staircase. “Ask Victoria.” Everyone turned. Victoria had gone completely pale. She whispered: “Sebastian found out.” Lucien's voice was quiet. “Found out what?” Victoria looked at her children. Then at the empty doorway. “I killed someone twenty years ago.” Silence. “Who?” Victoria's eyes filled with tears. “Sebastian's first wife.” Lucien stared at her. The room seemed to shrink. “She didn't die in an accident,” Victoria whispered. “I killed her.” And suddenly the will made sense. The blackmail. The threats. The dinner. The murder. It had never been about money. Sebastian had been preparing to expose his wife. His son had killed him first. And the housekeeper had pulled the trigger to protect the secret. Three crimes. Three people. One dead man. Lucien looked at the old house around him. Then at the family who had spent decades burying their secrets beneath its beautiful floors. Outside, dawn was beginning. He closed his notebook. “Ravenscourt will be a very different house tomorrow.” Mrs. Bell looked at him. “No, Detective.” She glanced toward the staircase. “It already is.” Lucien followed her gaze. At the top of the stairs hung a portrait of Sebastian's first wife. The woman Victoria had murdered twenty years ago. Lucien stared at it. Then noticed something he had missed earlier. The portrait had been recently dusted. A single fresh fingerprint marked the glass. From the inside.

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