The Last Heiress

Chapter 2 - The Day Angela Liang Died

Chapter 2 

Mr. Anta dragged me onward, shoeless, stumbling, and cursing under my breath. I had every reason to. I was skipping barefoot over the glass shards on the snow-white carpet. He finally relented as we entered the kitchen. This cottage had two kitchens. One was for show. It was connected to the main dining room with uplighting and rose marble as part of the modern concept of an "open" kitchen.

This was not that kitchen.

This one was in the back, by the door to the cellar, where the actual cooking took place. Mr. Wang was there, his hand over a bullet wound in his right shoulder. I almost ran to him in relief, but he shook his head. There was a body between us. I only saw a white sneaker at first, caked with mud, jutting out from just behind a vintage English tea trolly.

The sneaker was attached to a foot, and as my eyes followed that upwards, I realized it wasn't a guard at all. No, the body was covered in a blood-splattered apron. Oh no! They shot Mrs. Teng, my cook!

"Teng nai-nai!" I gasped.

"No, stay back Miss Liang!"

No, no, wait. I pause. Mrs. Teng had worked for us since I was in diapers. I used to call her Grandma Teng because I truly thought she was my granny. Mrs. Teng had three children at home, and her belly hung so far out that it was constantly rubbing floury circles across all the counters. I liked to believe that she loved me like one of her own.

This body was dressed in the white chef's uniform, but the body build was too slender to be Mrs. Teng. My eyes drifted to a limp hand with ballerina-pink nails. With relief, I realized it definitely wasn't Mrs. Teng. The body belonged to a young woman.

"This isn't Mrs. Teng. It's Jing Jing, the assistant cook we hired last week to bring things up from the cellar. Don't worry. No one will miss her."

Mr. Wang was holding up my purse now. He took out my Bvlgari wallet and placed it in the woman's pant pocket.

I didn't understand. Was Mr. Wang trying to leave the dead servant's family money? Surely, there was a better way to do that than to hand her my wallet!

"Miss Liang," Mr. Wang implored with sadness in his eyes. "Will you remove your necklace so I can place it on the body?"

"W-why?"

"So, after we set this part of the house on fire, they'll think this body was yours."

"What? Why not call the police?"

"There's no time to explain. These are your father's instructions. Please hurry."

I hesitated.

"Your life depends on it," Mr. Wang repeated. "You need to live."

With trembling hands, I undid the minuscule lobster claw clasp holding my Cartier necklace around my neck. I tossed it to Mr. Wang with the full force of my rage. It was impossible to conceal my disdain for his and my father's ridiculous plan.

Fake my death? Like a coward?

What worth was there to live if I had to pretend to be dead to everyone who mattered?

I opened my mouth to protest, refuse, and demand my necklace back, but Mr. Wang had already turned his back on me. He was busy removing Jing Jing's shoes and wedging a pair of my emerald green Manolo Blahniks over the woman's limp feet.

What?

Those old things?

To think I would ever allow myself to be caught dead in those!