Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nightfall had come at last, and General Wellington kept a watchful eye on Tia’s home from a distance.
He observed who left, who entered, who cleaned the windows, and whoever walked past. General kept his notebook out, noting the activities and their times.
From his observations, he studied how pathetic the old geezer’s guards were.
By three in the morning, they were asleep.
General chuckled to himself. If those guards were his men, he’d wring their necks.
A lazy man’s work was a crime in his book—especially one of a soldier.
That was why his sons were well-respected.
That was until they gave up on themselves and disgraced his dear name, fueling the rumors regarding his cursed bloodline.
Keeping his head down, General walked the sidewalk and to the gate where the sleeping men were.
As he stood there, they didn’t bother to stir as they snored away against the fence.
While they continued to remain in deep sleep, General fought the urge to slit their throats.
But that would be too easy. What would be the fun in this battle? The more difficult the better.
He reflected on his first kill and how addicting it was, watching the life slip from their eyes like Mammy’s.
He had been oblivious to how spectacular it was until he killed his first man in the Mexican-American War.
Afterward, he became eager to take more lives into his hands.
It gave him a sense of control. General liked being able to take lives anytime he wanted to; taking their souls was like fuel to him, giving him more power.
He grew sick of the men who cried like babies on the battlefield, whose bodies quivered after taking their first life.
Finding enjoyment was what led to General’s promotion.
But tonight wasn’t for killing as many people as he could—he was going to take one life, one that would give him the most satisfaction.
The more he waited, the better revenge would be.
Her death was so near that he could almost taste it.
I will squeeze your soul out of your body, Josephine Wellington, and it will be more satisfying than any soldier’s death.
General removed the keys from a guard’s pockets and unlocked the gate.
He pushed it open, careful not to make a creak.
At last, he was in. He ran like a soldier on the battlefield as he approached the door and unlocked it while a blaring thud pulsed in his ear, not like earlier, but because he was more than ready, so ready to close this chapter.
As he stepped inside, everything was just like it was earlier that afternoon.
General tiptoed down the marble hallways and up the staircase.
From his memory, he recalled the estate having four floors.
As he reached the second floor, he felt like a fool, realizing how many doors there were.
It would take all night to look, and there wasn’t enough time.
Soon the staff would be awake and tending to their duties.
He couldn’t have those lowlifes destroy his plan again—especially the butler.
Then, it hit him. The servants’ sleeping quarters.
It was time to assert his dominance over the weaklings of the house.
He’d begin with a little fun, some interrogation.
Oh, how he missed it. He thoroughly enjoyed it with Mammy and the maid from earlier. Maybe one more time.
General chuckled to himself. Even though he was saving his strength for Josephine, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have any fun with someone else.
General stepped down the staircase and onto the ground floor where the kitchen was.
Below was the kitchen staff—the perfect targets.
They would have prepared Josephine’s meals, so who better to interrogate for the truth?
General walked down the staircase, then the hallway until he found a room of his choosing.
Ten rooms to choose from and only one could play his game.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, deciding who the lucky helper would be.
He chose a room in the middle and opened the door.
Two little beds, more like cots, nestled in the corner of the room, each occupied by a young boy, no more than fifteen, sound asleep.
General retrieved his knife from his holster, pleasure surging through him as he looked down at the sharp blade. Wait. You must wait.
He bent at the first boy’s bedside, holding the knife to his throat.
As the boy jolted awake, the blade nicked him.
Just the smell of blood made General’s temptation grow.
Stupid lad. The boy opened his mouth, letting out a small croak, but General held the knife closer.
The boy silenced and shivered beneath General’s firm control. General smiled.
“Now, you listen to me,” General whispered. “You make a sound or try anything stupid, I will slice your throat and this boy next to you. Understand?”
The boy whimpered silently and nodded.
“Now you get up and do what I say.” Oh, how I missed this.
The boy slowly stood in his striped, blue nightshirt. He tiptoed out the door, his bare feet making no sound on the floor as he slipped into the hallway. General kept the knife against the boy’s throat and whispered in his ear. “Now, you are going to answer my questions.”
The boy nodded.
“I am looking for my wife. She is the niece of your dead mistress. Her name is Josephine Wellington. Which room is she in?”
The boy swallowed. “Who?”
General pressed the blade harder. “Better think smart, boy.”
The boy struggled to gain his breath. “I-I—” he stuttered.
General rolled his eyes and loosened his grip.
“I heard rumors. The kitchen staff . . . They were talking about a woman in the attic. N-Nobody saw her.”
The crazy old lady locking her niece in the attic? It seems right, given she was mad.
“Who is your boss now?”
The boy gulped a large breath of air. “Mistress Callahan’s lawyer. H-He has an office upstairs . . . in the study . . . on the second floor.”
General pressed the knife harder. It was starting to draw blood, the smell tempting General. How he longed to watch one more person die from his hands. “Take me.”
The boy went up two more floors, and General followed after him. They walked another hallway until they stopped at the third door on the left.
“Mr. Anderson has been working here until her estate is in order.”
The boy tried to open the door, but the brass knob only jiggled slightly with a groan.
General watched in pleasure as sweat drizzled down the boy’s forehead.
Even though General had the key from the guard’s pocket, he enjoyed seeing the struggle before him.
The boy’s breathing became more rapid. General patted the boy on the back and chuckled.
“Steady, lad. I have the key.”
General was hoping the boy would smart off to him so he’d have an excuse to torture him a little more, but the boy was smart, smart enough to know his place—unlike Josephine.
He’d give the boy credit for that. The door opened, revealing a large library with a shiny mahogany desk in the corner, surrounded by mountains of book stacks and walls of bookcases.
“Where is his safe?” General asked.
“I-I don’t know, sir,” the boy whimpered. “I’m just a kitchen boy.”
General rolled his eyes. He grabbed the boy’s face and showed him the knife that was already stained by his blood around the edge.
“Don’t even think about trying anything, boy.”
The boy nodded, his legs quivering as he attempted to stand tall. Ignoring the boy's nervousness, General checked the desk and drawers, rifling through their contents. They were filled with pens, useless papers, candies, and personal items like photos.
At last, General opened a cabinet and discovered a large chest with a sturdy lock.
With a determined glare, he grabbed his knife and picked at the keyhole.
It took a few tries, but finally, he managed to pop it open with a satisfying click.
He sorted through the documents until he found what he was looking for—a file with an enveloped letter inside.
He snatched the letter, eager to know its contents.
I, Tatiana Marie Callahan, give my estate, assets, fortune, and personal belongings to my beautiful great-niece, Josephine Eleanor Callahan Blythe, as my sole heir.
General paused in shock. Blythe? There had to be a mistake. After all, the woman was senile. She couldn’t have been in her right mind to mistake Wellington with Blythe. He read on.
I ask on my deathbed for my lawyer, Victor Anderson, to defend my niece and protect her child located in Willow Grove, Montana.
As I close my eyes in death, this is my final wish.
These two are my last living relatives and must be protected and cared for.
As for General Marcus Wellington, if he ever wakes from his illness, protect my home. Guard it day and night.
General’s nostrils burned with rising heat.
Either the woman was completely out of her mind, or there was more to Josephine’s story.
She had a child? That witch! How dare she take my child from me!
She couldn’t give me a proper heir, and now she takes what belongs to me.
She will pay for her crime! I will watch her suffer! I will have that child of mine!
His father’s weakness drove General Marcus Wellington to become a strong-willed Southerner.
His mission was to continue the family line and fortify it for generations.
Jared and Loyd had failed, and Josie seemed too weak to bear him a worthy heir.
But maybe he was wrong. General smirked to himself.
He couldn’t deny it—she had proven herself by taking him down.
Yet she was also naive and foolish. Josie thought she could go far away and escape him, but she was wrong. He’d take what was his and destroy the woman who tried to destroy his life.