Chapter 1
The wind tore my trench coat open and I was falling. Not tumbling, not flailing — falling backward out of the helicopter with the sky huge above me and the ocean suddenly very far and very hard below. My hair whipped across my face and my mouth opened before I could stop it and the cold hit my teeth. Richard's hand was already empty. He'd let go.
The contradiction sat strapped tight against my ribs the whole time. Under my cream shirt, under the tan coat that billowed like a sail, the black harness held. Chest strap, leg straps, buckles I'd checked three times in the bathroom mirror that morning. I didn't reach for them yet. I let myself fall just long enough for him to believe it.
My name is Amelia and that morning I dressed for my own murder.
It was just after eleven and we were high over the water, far enough out that the rocky coastline looked like a pale line. The helicopter door was open and the noise was deafening and Richard had asked me to stand by the edge for a photo. He said I'm sorry, Amelia, so quietly I almost didn't hear it over the rotor. He didn't sound angry. He sounded rehearsed.
I saw his palm on my shoulder. I felt the shift of his weight. I watched his fingers flex and then push, a short, firm motion, not a shove in anger but a decision executed. My back went out into nothing and the helicopter lifted away from me and his face got smaller. I had half a second to see his expression go clean and cold and satisfied, like a man who'd just filed paperwork.
I should have screamed right then. Instead I heard myself say it — "Richard, our baby!" — and the words ripped out thin in the wind. It wasn't a plea for him. It was for the small, hard recorder sewn into my coat pocket, for the future sheriff who would need to hear my voice terrified and his silence after.
He leaned out after me, white shirt bright against his dark blue jacket, and stared down. From that distance I could still see the focus in him, the calculation. He was watching to make sure I kept falling.
One breath. Two. The ocean rushed up, dark blue and glittering, and the wind burned my eyes.
"You should have trusted me with everything." My voice came out steadier this time, hoarse but clear, and I was looking right up at him as I fell. "You really thought I didn't know? What happens to your shares if something happens to you?"
His mouth opened. Even from fifteen feet above, I saw the change hit — eyes widened, jaw slack. Shock and disbelief wiped the cold off his face all at once. He gripped the door frame harder, as if the helicopter might drop him too.
May you like
I let him see it then. I pulled the trench coat wide with both hands and the black straps showed across my chest, neat and tight and intentional. I reached for the ripcord I'd sewn the pull-tab onto.
The helicopter door was still open behind him and someone on the radio inside was about to speak.
