My Rich Ex Boyfriend Died And Left A Jeopardy Game To Determine Who’d Inherit
The Jeopardy Game and Public Blame
My rich ex-boyfriend died and left a Jeopardy game to determine who’d inherit his fortune. The lawyer’s office was packed with Charlie’s relatives and ex-girlfriends. I sat in the back hoping nobody would notice me.
His mother kept shooting daggers my way. She’d always blamed me for the breakup and now she blamed me for much worse.
Mr. Charlie Williams left specific instructions.
The lawyer announced his $$670,000$ estate will be distributed based on your performance in this Jeopardy game.
His brother scoffed.
This is insane and she shouldn’t even be here.
He pointed at me.
Not after what she did.
Miss A. Meers was specifically invited. The lawyer continued, setting up the game board. Categories appeared: Charlie’s habits, medical history, final months, personal secrets, and that night.
First question for 100. Charlie’s morning routine included this specific drink.
His sister buzzed.
Protein shake.
Incorrect.
I buzzed reluctantly.
Green tea with honey.
No caffeine after his diagnosis.
What diagnosis?
His mother’s voice was sharp. The lawyer continued without answering. More questions flew by. I knew them all.
His Thursday therapy appointments, the meditation app he used, why he really sold his motorcycle. Each correct answer made his family angrier.
She stalked him.
Charlie’s brother muttered.
That’s how she knows this. We moved through categories. Medical history revealed his anxiety medication. Final month showed how isolated he’d become.
Personal secrets exposed things his family never knew. With each answer, their suspicion grew. Daily double in medical history.
What medication was Charlie taking?
I buzzed.
Certillene 100 mg daily.
His mother exploded.
If you knew about his medication, then you knew what would happen if he mixed it with anything.
You knew and you let him.
Please hold comments until the end, the lawyer said firmly.
The game continued, but the atmosphere was electric with accusation. Every answer I gave correctly felt like another nail in my coffin. His family whispered among themselves, plotting.
When we reached that night for 500, the room went silent.
What beverage did Charlie consume at Amanda’s apartment?
I buzzed.
Chamomile tea with honey.
You gave him tea knowing he had to drive.
His sister screamed, knowing it would make him drowsy with his medication. The lawyer raised his hand for silence.
We’re not finished.
Final Jeopardy category, the truth. Everyone grabbed their pens. I could feel 20 pairs of eyes burning into me. His mother was already on the phone with someone, probably.
Please make your wages, the lawyer instructed. I bet everything. What did it matter now?.
They’d already decided I was guilty. The forensic searches I’d done trying to help Charlie find safer medications. The texts begging him to come over that night.
It all looked like premeditation. Final Jeopardy question.
What did Charlie take after leaving Amanda’s apartment?
His family scribbled various answers. Alcohol, more tea, sleeping pills. They were all guessing what they thought I’d given him.
They believed I’d done to cause the accident. I wrote my answer knowing it would damn me either way. The timer buzzed.
Let’s see the answers.
His brother.
Alcohol.
Incorrect.
His sister sleeping medication.
Incorrect.
His mother.
Whatever Amanda poisoned him with.
The lawyer shook his head.
Amanda, your answer.
I turned my board around.
Diffen hydramine.
Massive dose.
The room erupted.
She admits it.
She knew.
Call 911.
His brother was already dialing.
Wait.
A voice from the back interrupted. Dr. Hayatt, Charlie’s therapist, stood up.
Let her finish.
Benadryil, I continued quietly.
fatal when mixed with certuline which he took after leaving my apartment.
After the harmless tea after calling Dr. Hayatt to discuss his plan the police arrived just as doctor Hayyatt stepped forward.
Charlie called me that night 20-minute conversation about ensuring certain people were protected.
Protected from what?
Charlie’s mother demanded.
from blame.
Doctor Hayatt said simply. He knew the tea would provide misdirection, make Amanda look suspicious while being completely harmless.
You’re saying he his sister couldn’t finish.
The game isn’t over, the lawyer announced. Final question worth the entire estate.
What did Charlie leave in his safety deposit box?
This wasn’t on the board. This was new. Everyone looked confused except Doctor Hayatt, who pulled out a key.
Amanda, you have one chance.
What’s in the box?
My hands shook. I thought about that last night. Charlie insisting on tea he hated.
Adding honey himself. The strange goodbye. The way he’d held me like he was memorizing it.
His journal.
I whispered.
Correct.
The lawyer produced a worn notebook.
Shall I read the marked page?
Requested Reds is on Spotify now. Check out link in the description or comments. Rachel Williams held up her hand and the room went quiet.
Charlie’s mother kept yelling that I was a murderer. Rachel’s voice cut through everything, firm and professional.
She announced that the journal was in a sealed safety deposit box at First National Bank. The contents would determine the final estate distribution.
She explained that Charlie had left specific instructions about when and how the journal should be accessed. His mother screamed that this was all fake.
She claimed I had manipulated everything, that her son would never have planned this. Charlie’s brother suddenly lunged across the table toward me.
Two cousins grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back while he shouted that I murdered Charlie. He yelled that everyone in this room knew it.
Rachel stood up and said she would call security if people couldn’t control themselves. The brother kept struggling against the cousins.
His face was red and veins popping in his neck. Rachel picked up the phone on her desk.
She said the police were already waiting outside to speak with several people, including me. Everyone needed to cooperate or face obstruction charges.
The room finally went quiet. His mother was crying now, her sister’s arm around her shoulders. Rachel gathered her papers and said officers would be conducting interviews in the conference rooms down the hall.
She looked directly at me and said I should come with her. Detective Elise Napier introduced herself in a small conference room.
The room had gray walls and a table that smelled like lemon cleaner. Her tone was neutral, almost bored, like she did this everyday.
She wore dark pants and a blue button-up shirt with her badge clipped to her belt.
