Chapter 38: A Fleeting Dream
Margaret Wilson no longer recognized how her life had spiraled into this abyss. When she finally regained clarity, she found herself trapped on a perilous path she'd never imagined—a road paved with shadows and blood.
Her first twenty years mirrored countless others: a modest childhood in the countryside, free from starvation but devoid of luxury, filled with simple joys. She wasn't unintelligent, but her environment limited her ambitions. School had been a chore, and she stumbled into a mediocre university, where the glitter of city life reshaped her world. New desires bloomed as she navigated bustling streets and neon-lit nights.
Her beauty drew swarms of suitors in college, leading to two fleeting romances that collapsed under youthful naivety. After graduation, she joined Wilson Real Estate Group, where she met John Wilson. His wealth hadn't been her primary lure—it was his charisma, the way he balanced authority with charm, his calculated romantic gestures. She idolized him, mistaking his polished facade for depth.
They married within a year. When she became pregnant, she quit her job, embracing domesticity. For a time, happiness seemed tangible—until her brother Michael Brown revealed John's infidelity. A tearful confrontation followed, and John swore reform during her pregnancy. But after their child's birth, the mask slipped. Affection turned to neglect, then cruelty. John flaunted his mistresses openly, even siring illegitimate children. Margaret stayed, clinging to the illusion of family for her son's sake.
Years of silent suffering calcified into resignation—until the Phantom forced her hand. Threatened with her child's safety, she poisoned John at a charity gala, meticulously erasing evidence. Every step followed the Phantom's instructions, yet she added her own refinements: adjusting dosage timelines, fabricating digital alibis, even rehearsing panic attacks for police interrogations. Sleep became a battleground; she trained herself to suppress whimpers that might betray guilt.
After her release, she'd hoped for peace. Instead, the Phantom sent a burner phone via courier, its first message a photo of her son playing in Hyde Park. Now, she funneled John's liquidated assets into a new venture—Dreamwing Media, a multimedia empire under her brother's stewardship. The Phantom's latest demand.
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**Late Night | London Suburbs**
Margaret stared at her reflection in the bedroom vanity, tears streaking her mascara. The burner phone buzzed on the mahogany desk.
"Progress report." The voice, distorted through a modulator, cut through the silence.
"Corporate filings are complete," she replied, steadying her breath. "We're finalizing key hires. Operations can launch within two weeks."
"Accelerate. I want Dreamwing dominating headlines by quarter's end. Remember—this isn't charity. When the time comes, you'll amplify certain… narratives."
"Understood."
"And Margaret?" The distortion crackled. "Your son's school play was quite touching. That rendition of *Macbeth*? Chillingly apt."
The line died. She hurled the phone into a soundproof lockbox, then dialed Michael. "Increase equity offers to the BBC's former COO. We need him onboard yesterday."
"Already done. Elaine's promotion party tomorrow—bring Ethan. He needs normalcy."
"Normalcy." She laughed bitterly, eyeing the family portrait where John's face had been digitally scrubbed. "I'll try."
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**Next Morning | Scotland Yard**
Sebastian Gray tossed a dossier onto Commander James Morrison's desk. "Margaret's liquidating Wilson Real Estate shares at a 15% discount. Pouring everything into this—" He tapped the file labeled *DREAMWING MEDIA*.
Thomas Wilson leaned against the window. "Smart play. John's old board would've devoured her. Now she's building a fortress."
"Or a weapon." Sebastian flipped open the dossier. "Dreamwing's recruiting investigative journalists from *The Times* and ITV producers. Perfect cover for laundering information—or shaping public perception."
Commander Morrison steepled his fingers. "Plant someone. If the Phantom's pulling her strings, we'll need eyes inside."