The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 189

Lindsay shook her head. “No, I’m not scared at all.”

“That’s a relief. I was so worried you’d be too frightened to talk to me,” Cheryl said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Yves nudged the conversation back on track. “Let’s focus—what did they say?”

Cheryl snapped out of her daze. “It’s odd, really. They said Mr. Quigley boarded the plane with them, but then something happened. The plane started shaking violently, and they blacked out. Next thing they knew, the plane had crashed.”

“So where did Mr. Quigley go?” Lindsay’s brow furrowed. “If you all survived the same crash, shouldn’t someone have seen him? Why is he the only one missing?”

Cheryl threw up her hands. “That’s the weird part. I didn’t see Mr. Quigley at all. But maybe that’s actually good news—it means he might still be alive.”

Lindsay’s expression grew serious. “If he survived, then who pulled him out before the crash? And how could anyone have known exactly when the plane would go down?”

A chill crept down her spine. If Mr. Quigley was alive, perhaps his fate was even worse than death.

“Terrorists, maybe?” Cheryl ventured. “Maybe they’re after a ransom?”

Lindsay shook her head. None of it added up. She sensed something deeper, a plot far more complicated than it appeared on the surface—whether Mr. Quigley was alive or dead, things were never that simple.

“What do you think, Yves?” Cheryl asked, glancing sideways at Yves, who’d been silent so far.

Yves thought for a moment. “Whatever’s going on, it’s complicated. But if he’s alive, that’s the best outcome.”

Cheryl opened her mouth, but nothing came out—her mind was struggling to catch up.

Before long, the rest of the Quigley family arrived: three sons and their wives, all at once.

Helen, the eldest, collapsed dramatically on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. “How could you leave us like this?” she wailed, her voice raw with grief. “Without warning, just gone—how are we supposed to go on?”

Lindsay scoffed. “What do you think they’re playing at? Putting on a show for the cameras to prove how much they care about Mr. Quigley?”

Cheryl let loose, her words sharp as knives. “They’re all a bunch of actors. The truth is, they’re hoping he’s dead. I’d love to see Mr. Quigley show up right now and scare them out of their wits.”

“They’re only doing this for the inheritance. Mr. Quigley owns thirty-five percent of the company—they’re after that, plain and simple.”

“But there’s a will, isn’t there?” Cheryl pointed out. “He always doted on you. Even if he divided things up, you’d still get the biggest share.”

“That may not be true this time,” Lindsay said quietly.

Cheryl and Lindsay both turned to look at Yves. “What do you mean?”

Yves took a breath. “Before my mother passed away, she transferred her thirty-five percent share to me. That already stirred up a lot of resentment.”