Time to Meet the Sharks,” My Daughter-in-Law Murmured Before Pushing Me Overboard. My Son Smiled as the Ocean Claimed Me—His Plan? To Seize My £10 Million Fortune.

**Diary Entry**

*”Time to meet the sharks,” my daughter-in-law murmured before shoving me overboard. My son stood by, grinning, as the waves swallowed me whole. His prize? My ten-million-pound fortune.*

*”Exit to the sharks,” I muttered to myself as I plunged into the sea. The English Channel closed over me, the blue sky above vanishing into cold, suffocating dark. I barely broke the surface, coughing up seawater, just in time to see them one last timemy son, James, and his wife, Charlotteleaning against the yachts railing, clinking champagne glasses in triumph.*

At seventy-one, I was no longer the agile adventurer Id once been, but years of early-morning swims off Brightons shores had toughened me. My limbs burned as I fought the current, but survival wasnt new to me. Id clawed my way up from a bricklayers son to a property tycoon worth millions. And now my own flesh and blood had tossed me aside like rubbish.

For years, Id suspected Charlottes smiles hid calculations, not warmth. They were for designer dresses, glossy magazine shoots, and whispered “plans for the future.” James, my only son, had been adrift since university, smothered by privilege. Id told myself hed find his spinethat hed inherit the grit Id carried in my pocket like loose change. But that night, under the yachts golden lights, I realised whod chosen his backbone for him: Charlotte.

Salt stung my eyes as I swam toward the shadowed coastline. The distance was brutal, but rage carried me harder than the tide. Each stroke was fuelled by betrayal. By the time I dragged myself onto the pebbled beach hours later, my body ached, but my mind had never been clearer.

If they wanted me gone for my fortune, fineId let them taste victory. But once they stepped into my London townhouse, smug and certain, theyd find me waiting. And Id give them a “gift” theyd never forget.

James and Charlotte returned to the office three days later, their faces carefully blank. “A tragic accident,” Charlotte rehearsed to the staff, blinking back crocodile tears. They told the coastguard Id fallen overboardtoo old, too weak to survive. No body was found, just paperwork and hollow condolences.

In the library, surrounded by mahogany and leather, they poured champagne. Their laughter rang with the certainty of winners. But when Charlotte grabbed the remote, the flatscreen didnt flicker to the newsit showed my face.

*”Surprise,”* I said in the recording. My voice was calm, but it cut through the room like a blade.

Jamess glass slipped from his hand. Charlottes lips parted, but no words came.

The video played on. *”If youre seeing this, youve tried to take what I built. You want the money? Fine. But you should know what youve really inherited.”*

Id seen this coming years ago. My solicitora man Id trusted since my first pennyhad helped me set up a trust. If I died under suspicious circumstances, the fortune would pass to James but every pound would go to charities, shelters, and scholarships. Charlotte had always sneered at my donations, calling them “guilt cheques.” She never realised they were my escape plan.

*”Ten million pounds,”* I said on screen, *”and not a penny will line your pockets unless you earn it like I didbrick by brick, sacrifice by sacrifice.”*

Silence filled the room as the recording ended.

Then came the real blow. I stepped through the library door, very much alive. My suit crisp, my posture unbrokenonly the fresh scar on my temple betrayed my ordeal. James went pale, knees buckling like a boy caught stealing sweets. Charlotte, though, stood rigid, eyes sharp as a cardsharps.

*”You should be dead,”* she spat.

*”And yet here I am,”* I replied. *”Consider this my parting gift: freedom. From me, from the money you clearly love more than family. Pack your things. By sunrise, youll be gonefrom this house, from my company, from my life.”*

Charlotte wasnt one to surrender quietly. *”You cant cut us out!”* she snapped, pacing like a caged fox. *”James is your son. You owe him.”*

James stayed silent, sweat beading on his brow, torn but too weak to choose.

*”Owe him?”* I barked. *”I gave him every advantageuniversity, a place in the firm, a seat at the table. And what did he do with it? Let you turn him against his own father.”*

Charlottes smirk returned. *”Whod believe a paranoid old man over us? Youve got no proof.”*

*”Wrong,”* I said.

From my desk, I pulled a waterproof pouchthe one strapped to me when Charlotte pushed me. Inside was a GoPro. Its footage showed it all: her whisper, *”Time to meet the sharks,”* Jamess laughter as I fell.

James crumpled into a chair, head in his hands. Charlotte merely tilted her chin. *”Youre cruel,”* she said softly. *”You dont want a sonyou want a soldier. Maybe you were never capable of love.”*

Her words stung, but not for long. I *had* loved my son. In some buried part of me, I still did. But love couldnt be blind anymore.

At dawn, their suitcases waited by the door. I watched them leave in silence, gravel crunching like shattered chains.

For the first time in years, the house was quiettoo quiet. I poured a cup of tea and sank into my armchair, my fortune intact, my life reclaimed.

But the money felt heavier now. Betrayal had tarnished its shine. So, in the weeks that followed, I rang charities, signed cheques, diverted my wealth to those whod value itveterans homes, student grants, hospital wings.

*That* was the real gift. Not revenge, not survivalbut turning a legacy of greed into one of grace.

As for James? Maybe one day hell returnas a beggar or a penitent man. Until then, the sharks will keep circling in the waters between us.

**Lesson learnt:** Blood may be thicker than water, but greed? That drowns all.