Chapter 513The News of Martin's Demise
After ending the call, Martha immediately went to the cemetery and, using the provided address, and found Martin’s gravestone.
Seeing the photo and the inscription on the tombstone, she didn’t hide her triumphant delight, chuckling.
"Dead, ha! Martin, you're really gone... Just what were you thinking? After all the hoops you jumped through to wrestle the Langley Group from my son, you couldn't even keep a grip on it. And now, it's all fallen into my lap."
She trampled all over the flowers until they were a mangled mess.
"What's the point of these now that you're dead? Wait and see. I'll soon snatch the Langley Group, kick your wife and kids to the curb, and watch them die on the streets."
After spitting on Martin's tombstone, she turned on her heel and strutted off.
Martha wouldn't let this golden opportunity slip by. Once home, she began to plot.
That night, she drove alone to the biggest den of iniquity in Ivara City—Dreamscape. A place where every vice was catered to.
The basement housed a casino, the ground floor featured a bar, and on the second floor was a karaoke lounge.
Martha made a beeline for the basement, interrupting a poker game to pull a young man away from the table. "Stop playing cards! Is this all you know? What else do you have in your life besides this endless playing?"
The man, in his early twenties, resembled Martin with his tall, lean stature and chiseled, well-defined features, topped with neatly groomed eyebrows. However, unlike Martin's cold and arrogant demeanor, this man exuded a carefree swagger, his hair slicked back.
Ian, irritated, shrugged off Martha's grip. "What's your problem? I've been on a losing streak all night, and I was counting on this hand to break even. You're ruining my game."
Martha's temper flared, and she slapped him. "You good-for-nothing fool, can't you see the seriousness of our situation?"
Ian retorted with impatience, "What seriousness? If I'm not here playing, what should I be doing? Tell me, what's left for me?"
He continued, his frustration evident, "At the company, Martin played the king, refusing to let me manage even a single department. He made me start from scratch, humiliating me. Do you think I want to return to that? That's impossible. I'd rather be out here, living freely, unlike him, who became nothing more than a work-obsessed robot."
Martha could see her son's deep-seated frustrations. Martin had always overshadowed him, blocking any path to his own success. She had thus far tolerated his gambling, his only vice, understanding it as a form of rebellion. The Langleys' immense wealth meant that even constant gambling wouldn't make a dent in their fortunes. In a way, losing Martin's money brought a twisted sense of revenge.
But the circumstances had shifted dramatically. Martin was no longer alive. Ian couldn't afford to waste away any longer.
"Martin's dead," Martha stated, her voice barely audible over the casino's clamor.
Ian, thinking he'd misheard, leaned in and asked, "What did you say? I didn't catch that."
Raising her voice in frustration, Martha declared, "Martin is dead."
Ian was in disbelief, immediately dismissing the possibility. "That's impossible! He was in perfect health—how could he just suddenly die? Mom, I know you've been waiting for this, but don't let your imagination run wild!"
Infuriated, Martha slapped him again. "I'm telling you, Martin is dead."
The seriousness in his mother's expression made Ian's casual demeanor vanish, replaced by a dawning realization. "You're serious? This isn't some kind of joke?"
Her incredulous look was confirmation enough. "What do you think?"
Still struggling to accept the news, Ian questioned, "But how? He was fine. How could he just die out of the blue? Was it an illness?"
He couldn't fathom any other explanation.
Irritated, she retorted, "It doesn't matter how he died! Now is our chance! Martin is dead, which makes you the sole heir to the Langley fortune. We must seize this opportunity to take over the company."
Ian's expression grew serious; he was tempted. He'd always felt stifled and underachieving. With Martin usurping the limelight, he’d let himself go, living a life of nightly stupor and daily dreams. Now that Martin was gone, being the only Langley adult male made him the perfect candidate to inherit the empire.
A cunning smile crossed his face. "We must take over... The Langley Group should have been mine from the start. Just because he was born a few years before me and had our grandparents’ support, it went to him. I'm clearly more competent, more talented."
Martha sensed a glimmer of hope hearing her son's newfound determination. "Stay away from gambling. I have a foolproof plan to reclaim the company—"
"Great! I'll do whatever you say!"
With a nod, Ian nonchalantly tossed the remaining chips in his hand into the air and, filled with ambition, strode out after her.
...
The next day. Mr. and Mrs. Langley were having lunch at the dining table. Martha rushed in suddenly, breathing heavily and with sweat plastering her face—it was obvious she had run here quite hastily.
Jessica frowned, displeased. "For God's sake, act your age. What's the rush?"
Martha took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and said, "D-dad, Mom, s-something terrible has happened!"
Jessica asked absently, "What is it?"
"Martin is dead."
Gregory slammed his fork down on the table. "What nonsense are you spouting? How have I taught you to behave?"
Jessica was also angry. "I know you've never liked Martin, but don't go too far. You're making it plain for all to see your disdain."
"It's true!" Martha insisted. "I went to the cemetery today with some friends to pay respects to another friend, and... and I saw Martin's gravestone. I even took a photo."
She fished out her phone, opened the gallery, and handed Gregory the photo she'd taken at the graveyard.
Gregory took the phone with a hint of skepticism, but his face turned pale as soon as he saw the image.
Noticing his reaction, Jessica grabbed the phone and examined it, only to have a similar reaction.
Her fork dropped with a 'clang.'
"How... Where did this come from? How can this be?"
The timestamp confirmed the photo was taken that very morning.
How could her precious grandson be dead?
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