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On June 19th, there was a gathering in my honor. I of course was not there, but from what I have heard it was quite pleasant despite the tears. A lot of important people showed up and used it to shmooze. My own sons while putting on their sad faces shook a lot of hands and made a lot of deals.
Three years prior was when the plan was set into motion. I had gotten tired of the monotonous work and schmoozing required for my daily life. I wanted to relax on a beach and not have any responsibilities, yet I couldn’t just retire. If I did that I would still be expected to attend galas and make public appearances to appease the rich.
I enjoyed the basic life of being rich and never having to question if I had enough money to take a spontaneous trip to Paris or to buy a fresh slave to break in. I had slaves and servants for every need. It really is the life.
But to be rich I had to get my name recognized and schmooze my way to the top. That was fun in the first few decades of my life but had quickly gotten annoying. I knew every top politician in the western world and most in the east. I no longer had to schmooze my way to the top, but I was now expected to make an appearance at every socialite gathering. They all start to look the same after a few years.
This leads us to how I faked my own death so I could have a luxurious retirement on a private island with no need to lift a finger.
First I discreetly started putting money into a secretive account that would not seem too suspicious to my accountants or to my sons once they got ahold of my bank accounts.
I then used this new account and new identity to purchase a small tropical island and build a one-man resort.
Of course, I bought a few slaves along the way and slowly sent some of my favorites to the island to make it feel like home. In order to not arouse suspicion, all of my favorite slaves that were sent to the island were either fictionally killed off or sold to random aliases for minor misbehavior.
I of course had to keep up appearances so all of my favorites couldn’t mysteriously disappear. That is where Balthazar comes in. He was one of many of the fake favorites that I had crafted and would eventually leave in my will to my sons. They would have fun breaking him down. I let him get away with too much in my old age and he got too comfortable. He was also too old for my liking which is one of many reasons he was not sent to the island.
On with the hows before I start getting ahead of myself.
I hired a man to craft 2 realistic wax dummies that would look like me directly after a heart attack and stroke and one that had appeared to be dead and embalmed. They came together quite nicely and looked very realistic if I do say so myself. And I should know best since I look at myself often in the mirrors that make up the walls of my bedroom.
Closer to my chosen death date I paid off many people to make my death happen and then promptly forget about it or an immediate target would be placed on their head.
The medical professionals who would have to pick up my body and fake my autopsy and cause of death were the easiest to bribe. They really hated their jobs and would do just about anything for the money I would give them that would lead to early retirement.
Next were the detectives that would of course be investigating my death because it would be sudden and a lot of people would benefit a lot of money by killing me off. I briefly thought about framing one of my eldest but eventually decided it would take both of them to not run my company into the ground. The detectives of course were already corrupt and on my payroll, so it didn’t take much effort on my part.
The next set of people I had to pay off were the funeral home employees who would be handling the wax dummies and making the smoothless transition between the two. I included in my will the exact instructions of my funeral, so I did make their job a bit easier because they would not have to engage with my obnoxious sons trying to go Alpha on them and plan my funeral. I still paid them substantially because they were the biggest cog in the machine that could make everything quickly go wrong.
The final people I paid off were the drivers and pilots who would smuggle me to my paradise. They required a bit more money because they had specific skills, but their job was probably the easiest. All they had to do was get me from point A to point B without being detected and they were already pretty skilled at that.
On the day of my supposed death, I made sure to mention to a few people that I felt a little off and was going to my office to work on some animal charity fundraising. One of my biggest philanthropic avenues because who can resist a cute cat or dog who is starved and in a cage with sad music in the background.
After grabbing a small bag of things I snuck out the side entrance that I paid a servant to make sure was empty and got into my getaway car. From there I hopped on a plane to my own private paradise and never looked back until one of my detective informants informed me that someone was looking into my death.
Apparently, that slave I mentioned previously Balthazar got suspicious somehow and decided to do some of his own investigating with a friend named Ash and my own bastard son Castiel funding it.
They had found one of my aliases and are on the right track to finding my private island. I should have just killed both my bastard son and that stupid slut long ago.
Endings are hard. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. There’s always going to be holes. I’m telling you they are a raging pain in the ass.
—
After chartering a private plane to the middle of the pacific and finding the man already dead with a bottle of pills next to him in his hammock, Balthazar and Castiel did some digging in the mansion on the property and found this written manuscript titled "How to Fake Your Own Death" on an elaborate entrance table.
Balthazar was the first who braved reading it before handing it off to Cas as he ran back outside pocket knife in hand to make sure his prior owner was really dead this time. He found the man still in the hammock and stabbed him a few times in the heart for good measure.
He saw the blood slowly trickle out from the wounds but to be sure cut a large gash into his chest and checked to make sure it was not another elaborate dummy. It was not. He found all the organs in place and severe trauma to what he assumes is the liver. Bal had sadly seen enough dead bodies in his life that he knew what to look for and this for sure is a real dead body.
Bal didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset. He had dreamed of finding the master that caused so much of his pain and stabbing him directly in the heart for so many years. He always had a feeling that the original Master Morningstar was not really dead and he could eventually get his revenge. Today was a big letdown in that regard, but at least now he is certain the Morningstar patriarch was no longer a real-life threat, but that would not soothe his nightmares. He would have to reconcile with the fact that his former master was too much of a coward to even offer up a fight and took his own life instead of facing up to the consequences of his actions.