At 11:43 p.m.on October 28th, 2023, Toronto’s emergency dispatch received a call that would expose one of the most psychologically twisted family murders in the city’s history.

A man’s voice, controlled but trembling with what seemed like shock, reported a terrible accident at the Ashford estate in Rosedale’s exclusive Heritage Row Enclave.

But this wasn’t just any accident.

And the victim wasn’t just any woman.

When paramedics arrived at the sprawling Neo Georgian mansion, they found 36-year-old Yasmin Price dead at the bottom of the wine celler stairs.

Blood pulled beneath her head.

Standing at the top of the stairs, hands shaking and marked with fresh scratches was 35-year-old Cameron Ashford Price, an investment banker who would soon become the prime suspect in a murder that shocked Toronto’s elite community.

What investigators discovered in the following weeks would reveal a web of deception, paranoia, and betrayal that stretched from a Rosedale mansion to a Caribbean wellness facility and exposed the dark psychology of wealth, control, and the complete destruction of trust.

This is the true story of how a father’s psychological experiment led to the murder of an innocent woman, and how one man’s need for control destroyed everything he claimed to protect.

Cameron Ashford Price wasn’t born into wealth, but he was raised to worship it.

Born in 1988 to Benedict Price, a self-made commercial real estate mogul, and Sienna Ashford, a socialite from Old Toronto Money, Cameron grew up in a world where success wasn’t just expected, it was mandatory.

The Asheford estate, a 15,000 ft mansion in Rosedale’s most exclusive private enclave, was more than a home.

It was a monument to Benedict’s rise from workingclass roots to billionaire status.

But monuments are cold, and Cameron learned early that perfection has a price.

When he was 7 years old in 1995, his mother, Sienna, walked out of the mansion and never returned.

No explanation, no goodbye, just an empty closet and a note that said she couldn’t do this anymore.

Benedict threw himself into work building Price Development Corporation into a $2.

3 billion empire.

While Cameron was raised by a rotation of nannies who were efficient but never stayed long enough to become family.

The abandonment shaped everything about who Cameron became.

At the University of Toronto’s Rottman School of Management, he graduated with honors in 2010.

His thesis on corporate fraud detection, earning recognition from the Canadian Banking Association.

His MBA from Queens University followed in 2012 and by 25 he was recruited by Donovan Sterling Investment Bank, one of Bay Street’s most prestigious firms.

By 32, he was senior vice president specializing in forensic accounting and fraud detection.

His colleagues described him as brilliant but cold, someone who could spot financial irregularities in thousands of pages of documents, but couldn’t maintain a relationship for more than 6 months.

Cameron lived in a minimalist condo in Yorkville despite having the wealth to buy anywhere in the city.

Every aspect of his life was controlled, measured, and optimized.

He worked out at Pinnacle Fitness Club every morning at 5:00 a.

m.

He wore only Tom Ford suits and Swiss watches.

He kept his dark hair perfectly styled, and his gray eyes revealed nothing.

Control was his religion, and his father, Benedict, was the only person he’d ever truly trusted.

that trust would eventually lead him to commit an unforgivable act.

Yasmin Daataga came from a world that couldn’t have been more different from Cameron’s cold precision.

Born in 1987 in Manila, Philippines to Miguel Daataga, a civil engineer, and Rosa Daataga, a school teacher, she grew up in a middle-ass household where love was loud, affection was constant, and family gatherings lasted for hours.

She was the eldest of two daughters.

Her younger sister Marisol following her everywhere, calling her eight, the Tagalog term of respect for an older sibling.

Yasmin studied tourism and hospitality at Dasal University in Manila, graduating in 2009 with dreams of seeing the world.

Those dreams became reality when Horizon Global Airways hired her as an international flight attendant.

For 10 years, she flew routes connecting Manila to Toronto, Dubai, London, and Singapore.

She learned to speak French fluently, picked up basic Mandarin, and developed the kind of cultural adaptability that made passengers feel seen and valued.

Her personnel file was filled with commendations for exceptional service, and regular passengers would request flights where she was working.

But what Yasmin loved most about flying wasn’t the destinations or the glamour.

It was the conversations.

At 30,000 ft, people opened up in ways they never would on the ground.

She heard stories of joy and heartbreak, ambition and regret.

She learned that loneliness didn’t discriminate based on wealth or status, and that sometimes the people in first class were the most isolated of all.

On March 15th, 2019, Yasmin worked Flight 237 from Toronto to Singapore.

In seat 2A sat a distinguished man in his late 60s reviewing architectural drawings of Toronto buildings.

Most first class passengers ignored the crew except to make demands.

But when she brought him his pre-eparture champagne, he looked up and smiled.

Those are beautiful buildings, she said, noticing the garrison tower sketches.

Toronto architecture.

You know the city? Benedict Price asked surprised that a Manilabased flight attendant would recognize Canadian landmarks.

I fly this route three times a month.

I’ve learned to love Toronto from 35,000 ft.

It’s a city that keeps reinventing itself.

That six-hour flight became a conversation that neither of them wanted to end.

Benedict told her about building Price Development Corporation from a single property flip in 1978 to an international empire.

But more than that, he talked about loss.

His second wife, Margot, had died in a car accident the previous year, and he’d been drowning in work ever since, trying to outrun the loneliness.

Yasmin shared her own dreams of studying architecture, of understanding not just how buildings looked, but how they made people feel.

When the plane landed in Singapore, Benedict asked if she’d have dinner with him the next time she had a layover in Toronto.

She said yes, expecting nothing more than a pleasant meal with an interesting person.

She had no way of knowing that this conversation would eventually lead to her death.

For the next 6 months, Benedict and Yasmin met whenever her flight schedule brought her to Toronto.

He sponsored her enrollment in a distance learning architecture appreciation course from the University of British Columbia.

She introduced him to Filipino cuisine and taught him basic Tagalog phrases.

He flew to Manila to meet her family.

and Miguel and Rosa Daimataga were charmed by this successful but humble man who treated their daughter with genuine respect.

The proposal came in December 2019 at Winterfest Gardens, a fictional elaborate holiday display that Benedict rented entirely for one private evening.

Surrounded by thousands of lights and ice sculptures, he took her hand and said something that still brought tears to her eyes months later.

I’ve built towers and estates across three continents, but you’ve helped me build something I’d lost.

hope for family.

She said yes, called her parents weeping with joy, and began planning a future that seemed impossibly perfect.

They married on January 25th, 2020 in an intimate ceremony at the Ashford Estates Conservatory.

30 guests attended.

Yasmin’s family flew in from Manila, and Benedict’s business associates filled the remaining seats, but there were notable absences that should have warned Yasmin about the family she was marrying into.

Cameron claimed a work emergency and sent a formal note declining the invitation.

Sienna wasn’t invited because Benedict hadn’t spoken to his ex-wife in over 20 years.

The twin boys, Leo and Lucas, were visiting their late mother Marggo’s family and sent a gift, but no apology.

Only Terrence Cobb, Benedict’s business partner since 1978, seemed genuinely happy for them.

Terrence walked Yasmin down the aisle since her father Miguel’s health problems made the long walk difficult.

And his toast at the reception spoke of how Benedict had been searching for joy for years and had finally found it.

The reception blended Canadian and Filipino traditions.

There was a money dance where guests pinned bills to Yasmin’s dress, a tradition that made Benedict laugh harder than she’d ever seen.

There was maple whiskey and lumpia, a string quartet and a Filipino band.

For one perfect evening, it seemed like love could bridge any gap, and family could be chosen rather than endured.

Yasmin had no idea that in less than four years, she would be dead, murdered in the wine celler of the very mansion, where she’d promised to love and honor the man who would ultimately orchestrate her destruction.

The Ashford estate became Yasmin’s new world.

And she approached it the way she approached everything, with warmth and determination to make it feel like home.

The 15,000q ft mansion in Rosedale’s Heritage Row was intimidating at first.

Seven bedrooms, a wine celler that held over 700 bottles worth more than most people’s annual salaries, an indoor pool with a retractable roof, a library with first edition books, and a home theater that seated 12.

Mrs.

Chun, the housekeeper, came daily.

Marcus maintained the grounds.

A part-time chef prepared meals when Benedict entertained business associates.

But Yasmin didn’t want staff managing her life.

She learned to cook Benedict’s favorite meals herself.

Spent hours in the library reading the books he loved and transformed the cold conservatory into a garden filled with orchids and sampita, the Filipino jasmine that reminded her of home.

She tried desperately to bridge the gap between her warm Filipino upbringing and Toronto’s elite social circles that viewed her with barely concealed suspicion.

The charity lunchons were the worst.

Women who’d known Benedict for decades would ask pointed questions with saccharine smiles.

So, how exactly did you meet Benedict on a plane? How convenient.

Or, you must be so grateful for this opportunity.

Not many flight attendants get to live in Rosedale.

Yasmin would smile and changed the subject, but the message was clear.

She was an outsider, a gold digger, someone who’d seduced a grieving widowerower for his money.

Only Terrence Cobb treated her like family.

Benedict’s business partner and closest friend would visit weekly, bringing her favorite pastries from Harborview bakery and asking about her family in Manila.

He was 63, gay, and had been Benedict’s friend since they were struggling contractors in 1978.

Don’t let those socialites bother you, he told her one afternoon over coffee.

Benedict chose you because you’re real.

That terrifies them.

What Yasmin didn’t know was that Terrence was hiding his own desperation.

His longtime partner had left him in 2018, and gambling had become the way he filled the emptiness.

By 2020, he owed $800,000 to lone sharks who operated out of Riverside Gaming Palace, an illegal poker club in the warehouse district.

To pay them, he’d started embezzling from Price Development Corporation, creating fake vendor invoices and inflating construction costs.

It was a slow bleed that he told himself he’d pay back eventually, but the debts only grew larger.

Cameron refused every invitation to visit the Asheford estate.

Yasmin sent birthday cards that were never acknowledged.

She invited him to holiday dinners that received formal email declines.

She tried to understand his pain, the abandonment by his mother, the complicated relationship with his father.

But Cameron saw her efforts as manipulation.

Another outsider trying to infiltrate the family for money.

The twin boys, Leo and Lucas, were different.

Born in 2001 to Benedict’s second wife, Margot, they were 22 now, charming and popular, having graduated from Western University earlier that year.

They visited the estate occasionally, and Yasmin treated them like friends rather than stepsons.

She’d make them Filipino breakfast, langana, garlic, rice, and eggs, and listened to their stories about university life and their plans for the future.

What she didn’t know was that both brothers were running a sophisticated drug distribution network, selling prescription stimulants, cannabis, and cocaine to young professionals across Toronto.

They made $40,000 a month, cash that funded lifestyles their small trust funds couldn’t support.

Then there was Sienna Ashford, Cameron’s biological mother, who had abandoned the family in 1995.

In 2022, she suddenly reappeared, claiming she wanted to reconnect and make amends.

She was 58 now, looking older than her years, and she showed up at the Asheford estate one spring afternoon with flowers and tears.

Benedict wanted nothing to do with her, but Yasmin’s compassionate nature won out.

“She’s Cameron’s mother,” Yasmin told Benedict.

“Maybe if she stays in the guest house for a while, it could help heal old wounds.

” Benedict reluctantly agreed, and Sienna moved into the estate’s guest house.

She and Yasmin developed a genuine friendship, drinking coffee together on the terrace, talking about life and regret.

What Yasmin didn’t know was that Sienna had fled to Vancouver in 1995 and married a man named Douglas Chun using falsified documents.

She’d never divorced Benedict, making her second marriage bigamy.

She’d built an entire life with Douglas, had two children with him, Emma and Michael, and when Douglas died in 2021, Sienna inherited his estate.

But if the bigamy was exposed, her Vancouver children would lose everything and she could face criminal charges.

By late 2022, Benedict’s behavior began to change in ways that worried Yasmin.

He became increasingly withdrawn, paranoid.

He questioned her about conversations with family members.

He installed additional security cameras throughout the estate without telling her.

He started taking solo trips to the Caribbean, claiming he needed to dive and clear his head, but he’d returned more agitated than when he left.

“Do you ever wonder?” he asked her one night in December 2022.

“If anyone would care about me if I had nothing, Benedict, what are you talking about? Your family loves you.

Do they? Or do they love what I can give them?” She couldn’t answer that because she’d seen the same patterns he had.

Cameron only contacted Benedict when there were estate matters to discuss.

The twins visited when they needed money.

Sienna had returned only after years of silence.

Even Terrence seemed distracted lately, taking mysterious phone calls and stepping outside.

On February 14th, 2023, Benedict announced he was taking a solo trip to Turquoise Cove Resort in Turks and Cis for a week of diving.

It was Valentine’s Day and Yasmin wanted to go with him, but he insisted he needed solitude.

“If anything happens to me,” he said as he kissed her forehead goodbye.

“Trust no one, not even family, especially not family.

” The words chilled her, but she attributed them to his recent paranoia.

She watched his car pull away from the estate, and she had no idea she’d never see her husband alive again.

At least, that’s what everyone would believe.

3 days later at 6:47 a.

m.

Toronto time, Yasmin’s phone rang.

The resort manager’s voice was gentle but grave.

Mrs.

Price, there’s been an accident.

Your husband went on a solo dive yesterday morning and never surfaced.

The Coast Guard is searching, but the currents in that area are very strong.

Yasmin flew to Turks and Cais that same day, staying at the resort for a week while search teams scoured the ocean.

Benedict’s dive equipment washed up on the beach.

his BCD, his tank, one fin, but his body was never recovered.

On March 19th, 2023, the local authorities issued a death certificate listing Benedict Price as presumed deceased.

The memorial service at the Asheford estate on March 30th was attended by over 200 people.

Business associates, charity board members, Toronto’s elite, all came to pay respects to a man who’d built an empire.

Cameron delivered the eulogy, his voice cold and factual, his gray eyes dry.

My father built an empire from nothing, he said.

He deserved better than this ending.

Yasmin sat in the front row, holding Terren’s hand, sobbing for the man who’d given her a chance at a different life, the man who’d made her feel valued and loved.

She had no idea that Benedict was alive, watching the funeral via satellite feed from a private wellness facility in Providentials, studying everyone’s reactions as part of an elaborate psychological experiment.

The will reading took place on April 10th, 2023 at Garrison and Associates law firm in downtown Toronto.

The estate was valued at 2.

3 billion Canadians, and the room was packed with family members and associates, all waiting to learn how Benedict had divided his fortune.

The primary beneficiary was Yasmin, but the terms were complex and restrictive.

She would receive income from the estate, but couldn’t access the principal until she turned 40, 4 years away.

If she remarried before turning 40, everything reverted to Cameron.

If she was convicted of any crime, everything reverted to Cameron.

Various trusts were established for the twins and charities.

Cameron received $50 million immediately and control of Price Development Corporation.

Cameron sat perfectly still during the reading, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth achd.

His father had left the empire to a woman who’d known him for less than four years.

It was proof in Cameron’s mind that Yasmin had manipulated Benedict in his grief and loneliness.

For 6 months following Benedict’s death, an uneasy tension settled over the Ashford estate.

Yasmin remained there as required by the will terms, withdrawing from social obligations and spending her days in Benedict’s library, reading the books he’d loved.

Terrence visited weekly, bringing groceries and checking on her.

The twins came by more frequently, and Yasmin appreciated the company even as Cameron grew more suspicious of how close they’d become.

Cameron himself began conducting monthly security audits of the estate, claiming he was protecting his father’s legacy.

He hired Pinnacle investigations to surveil Yasmin, looking for evidence of an affair or financial misconduct.

They found nothing, which only increased his suspicion.

He obsessed over the will’s terms Y age 40, why the crime clause, why such specific conditions.

On October 1st, 2023, Cameron scheduled his routine security audit, bringing a specialist from Donovan Sterling Bank under the pretense of a training exercise.

But his real goal was access to Benedict’s private safe in the master bedroom study.

Yasmin was in Manila visiting her family for the first time since Benedict’s death, giving Cameron the perfect opportunity to search thoroughly.

The safe was exactly where it had always been behind a false panel in Benedict’s study.

As the state executive, Cameron had the combination.

Inside were the expected items: jewelry, property deeds, bonds, important papers.

But Cameron’s forensic accounting training made him notice something others would have missed.

The safe’s interior seemed shallower than its exterior dimensions suggested.

He found the hidden release mechanism, and the false bottom sprang open.

Inside were six SD cards in individual sealed bags, each labeled with dates.

There was also a handwritten note in Benedict’s distinctive script.

For Cameron, “When you find this, remember things are not always as they appear.

Trust must be earned, Dad.

Cameron’s hands shook as he photographed everything, locked the safe, and drove directly to his Yorkville condo.

He locked his door, closed the blinds, disconnected his internet, and inserted the first SD card into his laptop.

What he saw on that screen would lead him to commit murder, destroy what remained of his family, and prove that sometimes the people we trust most are the ones who know exactly how to break us.

The file directory appeared on Cameron’s laptop screen at 2:47 p.

m.

on October 1st, 2023, and what he saw made his stomach turn.

The SD cards were meticulously organized, each file labeled with participant names and dates.

The first folder was titled Yasmin Lucas, June 2021, MP4, and contained multiple video files spanning several months.

Cameron’s forensic training kicked in before his emotions could.

He opened a new document and began taking notes.

Timestamp, location, participants, duration.

He would analyze this like any other fraud case, methodically and thoroughly.

But when he clicked on the first video file, all pretense of professional detachment shattered within seconds.

The footage was highquality.

Multiple camera angles clearly filmed using professional equipment.

The location was unmistakable.

the master bedroom of the Ashford estate, the room Benedict and Yasmin shared.

The timestamp read June 14th, 2021, 18 months after their wedding, and the content was explicit, showing Yasmin with Lucas, one of the twin brothers, who was 19 at the time.

Cameron watched 3 minutes before rushing to his bathroom and vomiting.

He stood over the sink, hands gripping the marble counter, breathing hard.

This couldn’t be real.

But when he returned to his desk and forced himself to continue watching, he found no evidence of editing, no obvious signs of manipulation.

The faces were clear.

The audio was crisp.

There was no mistaking what he was seeing.

The second video showed Yasmin with Leo, Lucas’s twin, filmed in the same bedroom a week later.

Cameron took notes with shaking hands, documenting everything like he was preparing a case file for court.

dates, locations, participants, duration of each encounter.

He told himself this was just data, information to be analyzed and understood.

But beneath the professional facade, Rage was building like pressure in a sealed container.

The second SD card contained files labeled Yasmin Sienna, August 2022, MP4, and Cameron’s world tilted further into nightmare territory.

The footage showed Yasmin and Sienna, his biological mother, in intimate situations filmed in the estate’s guest house.

His mother, the woman who’ abandoned him when he was seven, who’d returned, claiming she wanted to reconnect, who Yasmin had welcomed with open arms.

Cameron searched the footage obsessively for signs of deep fake technology or digital manipulation.

He looked for inconsistencies in lighting, unnatural movements, audio synchronization issues.

He found nothing.

To his trained eye, these videos appeared completely authentic.

The remaining SD cards contained dozens of files showing Yasmin with Terrence Cobb, Benedict’s closest friend and business partner.

The encounters spanned from early 2021 through February 2023, just a week before Benedict’s death.

Different rooms throughout the estate, different times of day, always when Benedict was supposedly on business trips.

Cameron spent 14 hours watching every single video.

He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t leave his condo.

By dawn on October 2nd, he’d filled 30 pages with notes, timelines, and observations.

The pattern was clear.

All the encounters occurred when Benedict was traveling.

The security system timestamps correlated with Benedict’s calendar, and every single person in these videos had access to the estate and opportunity.

But Cameron needed more than video evidence.

He needed to understand the financial mechanics of what appeared to be an elaborate scheme.

On October 3rd, he brought the SD cards to Donovan Sterling’s digital forensics department, claiming he was investigating suspected corporate espionage for a client.

The analysis took 2 days, and when the report came back, it confirmed his worst fears.

The videos were authentic.

No signs of deep fake manipulation, no evidence of editing beyond basic trimming.

The metadata confirmed the dates and camera models.

Sentinel security systems, the same brand installed throughout the Ashford estate.

The footage had been captured using the estate’s own security infrastructure, which meant someone had accessed the system and deliberately recorded these encounters.

As a state executive, Cameron had access to all of Benedict’s financial records, including accounts his father had kept private during his lifetime.

What he discovered in those records transformed his grief into cold, calculating fury.

There was an offshore account at Cayman International Bank that Benedict had opened in January 2020, the same month he married Yasmin.

The account showed regular monthly deposits from four different sources, each using numbered companies to obscure the true payers.

But Cameron’s forensic accounting skills allowed him to trace them.

LC Enterprises belong to Lucas.

LP Consulting belonged to Leo.

SA Holdings belonged to Sienna.

TC Management belonged to Terrence.

The deposits were consistent.

$5,000 monthly from each twin, 3,000 monthly from Sienna, 10,000 monthly from Terrence.

Over 32 months, the total came to $736,000 Canadian.

But the money never stayed in the Cayman account.

It was immediately transferred to another numbered corporation, 18472 Ontario Limited.

Cameron spent three days unraveling the corporate structure.

The numbered company owned a single asset, a property deed for a penthouse at Harborview Towers in downtown Toronto, purchased for $4.

2 million in January 2020.

But the purchase had been funded by more than just the blackmail payments.

Benedict himself had contributed $3.

4 million to the trust.

The beneficiary of the property trust was Yasmin Daataga Price, but with specific conditions.

She could access the property when she turned 40 or immediately upon remarage if that occurred before her 40th birthday.

If she was convicted of any crime, the property would revert to Cameron’s control.

To Cameron, the structure was damning proof of a long-term scheme.

Yasmin had been blackmailing everyone, building a secret nest egg worth over $4 million.

The trust terms made perfect sense if she’d planned Benedict’s death, marry someone new quickly, access the property immediately, disappear with the money.

The crime clause was insurance in case she was caught.

But Cameron couldn’t understand why Benedict would contribute 3.

4 million to fund his own blackmailer, unless Yasmin had coerced him somehow.

Unless she’d threatened to expose his family’s secrets, unless she’d made his life so miserable that he’d paid her to maintain the facade of a happy marriage.

Cameron hired private investigators to surveil each participant, and what they uncovered provided the leverage he believed Yasmin had used to extract her blackmail payments.

Leo and Lucas were running a sophisticated drug distribution operation across Toronto.

They’d started during their final year at Western University, selling prescription stimulants to students stressed about exams.

After graduation, they’d expanded, recruiting former classmates who were now young professionals working 80our weeks at law firms and investment banks.

Aderall, rolin, cocaine, high-grade cannabis.

They moved $40,000 worth of product monthly.

The investigators documented everything.

Dead drops in Liberty Village, encrypted messaging apps, cash exchanges in parking garages.

The twins had been careful, but not careful enough.

If exposed, they faced serious criminal charges and prison time.

Cameron understood the blackmail leverage perfectly.

Yasmin had filmed them in compromising situations, then threatened to expose their drug operation unless they paid her monthly tribute.

Sienna’s secrets were even more devastating.

Public records showed that she’d fled to Vancouver in 1995 and married Douglas Chen in 1997 using falsified identification documents.

She’d never divorced Benedict, making her second marriage bigamy under Canadian law.

She’d built an entire life with Douglas, had two children, Emma, now 26, and Michael, now 24.

And when Douglas died in 2021, Sienna had inherited his entire estate as his legal widow.

But if the bigamy was exposed, everything would unravel.

Douglas’s children from Sienna would discover their parents’ marriage was invalid.

The inheritance Sienna had received, a house in Vancouver worth $800,000 and another $400,000 in savings, would be contested.

Emma and Michael could sue to recover the money.

Sienna could face criminal prosecution.

The leverage Yasmin held over her was total and devastating.

Terren’s financial crimes were the easiest for Cameron to uncover.

His forensic accounting skills revealed a pattern of embezzlement from Price Development Corporation dating back to 2019.

Fake vendor invoices for construction materials that were never delivered.

Inflated labor costs for projects where the actual crews were paid far less.

Ghost employees on the payroll whose paychecks were deposited into accounts Terrence controlled.

Over four years, Terrence had stolen $2.

7 million from the company Benedict had built.

Following the money trail revealed where it had gone, Riverside Gaming Palace, an illegal poker club operating out of a warehouse in the industrial district.

Terrence had a gambling addiction that had consumed everything.

He currently owed $800,000 to lone sharks, dangerous men who didn’t negotiate payment plans.

Yasmin had discovered the embezzlement somehow.

Cameron reasoned and threatened to expose Terrence to Benedict and the authorities.

Terrence would face criminal charges, lose his professional license, probably go to prison.

Worse, the lone sharks would come after him for the money he owed.

The $10,000 monthly he paid Yasmin was cheaper than the alternative.

Cameron created an evidence board on the wall of his condo, something he’d learned during his forensic accounting training.

Photos of all the participants connected by red string.

Financial flowcharts showing money moving from each person to Yasmin’s property trust.

Timeline correlations showing that Benedict’s travel schedule aligned perfectly with when the videos were filmed.

At the center of everything was a photograph of Yasmin from the wedding.

her warm smile now appearing sinister and calculated.

The psychological transformation happened gradually over those two weeks in October.

In the first few days, Cameron felt shock and disbelief.

This couldn’t be happening to his family.

But as the evidence mounted, shock gave way to rage.

Yasmin had infiltrated their lives, exploited everyone’s weaknesses, and profited from their secrets.

She was a predator who’d seen the Price family as prey.

By the second week, Cameron was having trouble sleeping.

When he did manage to drift off, nightmares woke him.

Images from the videos mixed with memories of his father.

Yasmin’s face morphing between innocent and malicious.

He stopped going to Donovan Sterling using vacation days he’d accumulated over years of relentless work.

He ordered food delivery, but barely ate.

His entire world narrowed to the evidence on his wall and the growing certainty that Yasmin had murdered his father.

The timeline made perfect sense to him now.

Benedict had discovered the blackmail scheme.

Maybe he’d found the same SD cards Cameron had found.

Or maybe someone had confessed.

Benedict had confronted Yasmin before his trip to Turks and Cais.

She’d known he was going to divorce her, expose her crimes, protect his family.

So, she’d arranged the diving accident, hired someone to sabotage his equipment, or ensure he never surfaced.

The perfect murder, impossible to prove, allowing her to play the grieving widow while waiting for her trust to mature.

Cameron researched legal options and discovered a crushing truth.

The videos would be inadmissible in court without consent from everyone filmed.

Worse, if he tried to use them as evidence, the estate could be sued for illegal surveillance.

Benedict’s security system had recorded people in private areas without their knowledge or consent.

Everyone in those videos could claim invasion of privacy and sue for damages.

The justice system couldn’t touch Yasmin.

She’d been too clever, too careful.

The only evidence of her crimes would destroy everyone exposed.

Cameron realized he was the only person who could deliver justice.

He was the only one who truly understood what she’d done.

And he was the only one willing to do what was necessary.

He started making different kinds of internet searches.

Wine seller fall death statistics, blunt force trauma versus fall injuries, staging accidental deaths, how long murder investigations typically lasted.

He told himself he was just exploring options, just understanding the landscape.

But deep down he knew he’d already made his decision.

In a leather journal he kept locked in his desk, Cameron wrote what amounted to a manifesto.

Yasmin Daataga is a parasite who infiltrated our family, exploited our weaknesses, and murdered my father for his fortune.

The justice system can’t touch her because exposing her crimes would destroy the very people she victimized.

But I can deliver justice.

I’m the only one who can protect the Price family name and honor my father’s memory.

She deserves exactly what she gave him.

Death disguised as an accident.

The plan formed over several sleepless nights.

He would gather all the participants at the Ashford estate under the pretense of an urgent will reading.

He would confront them with the evidence, force Yasmin to confess in front of everyone, and then in the chaos that followed, she would have a tragic accident, a fall in the wine celler, blunt force trauma entirely consistent with losing her balance during a heated confrontation.

Cameron chose October 28th, 2023 for the gathering.

It would have been Benedict’s 71st birthday, a symbolic touch that felt appropriate.

He forged letterhead from Garrison and Associates law firm and sent formal notices to all beneficiaries stating that urgent matters regarding Benedict Price’s estate required their mandatory attendance.

Legal language that made it seem official and unavoidable.

Every recipient confirmed their attendance.

None of them suspected what Cameron was planning.

They all believed they were coming to a routine legal meeting.

Instead, they were walking into a trap that would expose their secrets and end with murder.

What Cameron didn’t know, what he couldn’t have known from his position of rage and certainty was that every single person he’d condemned was innocent of the crimes shown in those videos.

The truth was far more twisted than anything his forensic mind could have conceived.

Leo and Lucas Price sat in their share department in Liberty Village on October 15th, 2023, 13 days before the scheduled estate meeting, discussing the encrypted email they’d both received that morning.

It was the third blackmail demand in 2 months, and the threats were escalating.

“We need to tell someone,” Lucas said, pacing their living room.

“This is extortion.

We should go to the police and tell them what Leo snapped.

That someone has videos of us with our stepmother.

You want to explain those to the cops, to Cameron? Those videos get out.

Our lives are over.

But the truth was, nothing in those videos had actually happened.

Leo and Lucas had never touched Yasmin inappropriately, never had any kind of sexual relationship with her.

She’d been kind to them, treated them like friends instead of obligations.

After Benedict’s death, they’d visited her frequently because they genuinely cared about her and knew she was lonely.

What they didn’t know was that hidden cameras throughout the Ashford estate had filmed them in innocent moments, changing clothes in the guest bedrooms, coming out of the shower, walking around in towels, and that sophisticated artificial intelligence software had manipulated that footage to create completely fabricated scenes of sexual encounters.

The first blackmail email had arrived in August 2023, 3 months after they’d graduated from Western University.

It contained video clips that looked horrifyingly real, showing them in explicit situations with Yasmin.

The sender demanded $5,000 monthly from each of them to be deposited into LC Enterprises and LP Consulting Shell Companies the blackmailer had created in their names.

If they didn’t pay, the videos would be sent to Cameron to Toronto Police to their extended family.

The twins had panicked.

They were guilty of actual crimes.

the drug distribution operation they’d been running was real and they couldn’t risk any kind of investigation if police started looking into their lives.

The drug dealing would be exposed.

They’d face serious prison time.

So, they’d paid using money from their illegal operation to buy the blackmailer silence.

What they didn’t know was that the black mailer wasn’t Yasmin.

She had no idea the videos existed.

The blackmailer was someone conducting a psychological experiment, testing whether the twins would confess their real crimes or protect themselves by paying.

Across town in the Asheford estate guest house, Sienna Ashford was having her own crisis of conscience.

She’d received a blackmail demand in September 2023, and the terror of exposure kept her awake most nights.

The videos the blackmailer had sent showed her in intimate situations with Yasmin embracing, kissing, touching, and they looked absolutely real, but they weren’t real.

Sienna had never had any romantic or sexual relationship with Yasmin.

Their friendship had been genuine.

Two women who’d both experienced loss and loneliness finding comfort in conversation.

They’d hugged goodbye after coffee.

They’d held hands while watching sad movies.

They’d supported each other through grief.

Someone had taken those innocent moments and transformed them into something sexual using technology Sienna didn’t understand.

The blackmailer demanded $3,000 monthly to be paid through essay holdings, threatening to expose not just the fabricated videos, but Sienna’s actual crime, her bigamous marriage to Douglas Chun.

Sienna had fled Toronto in 1995 because of severe postpartum depression that Benedict hadn’t understood or known how to support.

She’d been drowning and instead of getting help, she’d run.

In Vancouver, she’d found a support group where she met Douglas, a kind man who’d also struggled with depression.

They’d fallen in love.

And when he proposed in 1997, Sienna had been too ashamed to admit she’d never divorced her first husband.

She’d used falsified documents to marry Douglas, telling herself she’d fixed the paperwork eventually, but eventually never came.

They’d built a happy life together, had two children, and when Douglas died in 2021, Sienna had inherited his estate as his legal widow.

Her children, Emma and Michael, depended on that inheritance for their security.

If the bigamy was exposed, everything would collapse.

Her Vancouver children would discover their parents’ marriage was invalid.

The inheritance would be contested.

Sienna could face criminal charges.

So, she paid the blackmail demands from the money Douglas had left her, buying time, and praying the nightmare would end.

What she didn’t know was that the blackmailer was testing whether she’d prioritize protecting her Vancouver children over reconnecting with Cameron, whether she’d choose easy lies over hard truths.

Terrence Cobb sat in his downtown office at Price Development Corporation on October 20th, 2023, staring at the latest blackmail email.

The videos attached showed him in explicit encounters with Yasmin, and they were completely utterly fabricated.

Terrence was gay.

He’d been with his partner, Robert, for 15 years before Robert left him in 2018.

He’d never been intimate with a woman in his entire life, but the videos looked real enough to destroy him.

They’d been created from footage of innocent moments.

Terrence hugging Yasmin at Benedict’s funeral, comforting her when she cried, patting her shoulder in a fatherly way.

artificial intelligence had transformed those gestures of compassion into something sexual.

The blackmailer demanded $10,000 monthly through TC management, threatening to expose both the fabricated videos and Terren’s actual crime, the embezzlement from Price Development Corporation.

Terrence had been stealing from the company since 2019, driven by gambling addiction and desperation to pay lone sharks who were growing increasingly violent about the $800,000 he owed them.

He’d planned to pay it all back somehow, but the debt had grown faster than he could steal.

Now he was trapped, paying the blackmailer with money he was embezzling, digging himself deeper into crime while trying to avoid exposure.

Every month he told himself this would be the last payment.

Every month he transferred the funds and hated himself more.

What Terrence didn’t know was that the black mailer was testing whether he’d confess to Benedict’s family or continue lying to protect himself.

Whether guilt would eventually drive him to honesty or whether self-preservation would win.

The property trust that Cameron had discovered, the $4.

2 million penthouse at Harborview Towers, had been established by Benedict himself.

The blackmail payments from Leo, Lucas, Sienna, and Terrence had been transferred exactly as Cameron traced, but Benedict had orchestrated the entire mechanism.

He’d created the shell companies in their names.

He’d sent the blackmail demands.

He’d collected the payments and added his own $3.

4 million.

The trust was designed to benefit Yasmin if and only if she passed Benedict’s test of her character.

Benedict had become increasingly paranoid in his final years, convinced that everyone around him valued his wealth more than his person.

His second wife Margot’s death in 2018 had triggered something dark in his psychology.

He’d started seeing a therapist who specialized in family dynamics, and together they developed what the therapist called observational assessment methodology, creating scenarios that would reveal people’s true natures.

The remarage clause in the trust wasn’t designed to trap Yasmin.

It was designed to give her freedom if she found love again after his death.

The crime clause wasn’t insurance against her criminal behavior.

It was protection for the estate if she turned out to be a bad person.

Benedict wanted to know, would Yasmin report the blackmail payments when she discovered them? Would she contact authorities? Would she try to protect the people being victimized? Or would she keep the money and say nothing? He’d expected the test to take months, maybe a year.

He hadn’t anticipated faking his own death to conduct the ultimate version of the experiment.

On February 14th, 2023, Benedict had checked into Oceanic Retreat Wellness Facility in Providentials, Turks, and Cais.

The facility was a boutique operation specializing in what they called observational family therapy, creating controlled scenarios and watching how family members responded.

Benedict had purchased the facility through a Shell corporation in December 2022, planning this moment for months.

The diving accident was elaborately staged.

Benedict had hired professionals to leave his equipment on the beach to create a plausible scenario.

The Coast Guard search was real.

They weren’t told it was staged, which is why they never found a body because there was no body to find.

From his private villa at Oceanic Retreat, Benedict had access to secure video feeds from every camera in the Ashford estate.

He watched Yasmin grieve.

He watched Cameron obsess over the will terms.

He watched Leo and Lucas start paying the blackmail demands instead of reporting them.

He watched Sienna prioritize her Vancouver children over honesty with Cameron.

He watched Terrence continue embezzling to fund both blackmail payments and gambling debts.

What he’d hoped to see was someone, anyone, going to the police, someone choosing integrity over self-p protection.

He’d been especially certain that Cameron, his methodical and morally rigid son, would discover the SD cards during one of his security audits and immediately contact authorities to investigate the blackmail scheme.

Instead, Benedict watched his son spend 2 weeks obsessively viewing fabricated videos, building a conspiracy theory, and planning what looked increasingly like violence.

By October 25th, 2023, when Cameron sent the forged will reading invitations, Benedict knew his experiment had gone terribly wrong.

The videos on those SD cards had been created using Deep Reality Pro version 4.

2, commercial deep fake software that Benedict had purchased in January 2020.

The artificial intelligence was sophisticated enough to create completely convincing fabrications using base footage from the estate security cameras.

Real footage showed Sienna and Yasmin having coffee, hugging goodbye after conversations.

The AI manipulated that footage to appear sexual, creating multiple camera angles through digital replication, fabricating audio using voice synthesis technology.

Real footage showed Terrence comforting Yasmin after Benedict’s funeral, offering fatherly support.

The AI transformed it into explicit encounters that never happen.

Real footage showed the twins in innocent situations throughout the estate, changing in guest rooms, Yasmin bringing them towels, casual conversations in hallways.

The AI created completely fictional sexual scenarios that looked horrifyingly authentic.

Benedict had believed that anyone with forensic training would eventually detect the manipulation.

The metadata was slightly irregular.

The lighting in certain frames didn’t quite match the room’s actual configuration.

audio had barely perceptible synthesis artifacts, but you had to be looking for those inconsistencies.

You had to want to find them.

Cameron hadn’t wanted to find them.

He’d wanted confirmation that everyone had betrayed his father, that Yasmin was a monster, that his rage was justified, so he’d seen exactly what he expected to see, and his forensic skills had worked against him, providing false confidence in the authenticity of fabricated evidence.

Benedict’s psychological experiment was designed to answer one question.

Would his family choose integrity or self-interest when tested? The answer was devastating.

Everyone had chosen self-p protection.

Everyone had lied, paid blackmail, protected their secrets instead of seeking truth.

But the most crushing failure was Cameron.

Benedict had expected his eldest son, trained in detecting fraud, raised to value truth and justice, to be the one person who would do the right thing.

Instead, Cameron had become the most dangerous person in the family.

Someone whose need for control and inability to forgive had transformed him into exactly what he claimed to hate.

On October 28th, 2023, at 6:30 p.

m.

, Benedict sat in his villa at Oceanic Retreat, watching the video feed from Asheford Estate.

All the participants were arriving for what they believed was a will reading.

He had his phone in hand, ready to call Toronto police the moment he sensed real danger.

But he hesitated, wanting to see if anyone would confess, if anyone would show integrity when confronted.

That hesitation would cost Yasmin her life and Benedict everything he’d spent 71 years building.

Because what Benedict didn’t know, what he couldn’t have known was that Yasmin was carrying his child.

She was 12 weeks pregnant with the baby they’d conceived before his departure to Turks and Cais, a child she hadn’t told anyone about yet, waiting until she was safely into the second trimester before sharing the news.

The experiment that was supposed to reveal truth was about to produce the ultimate tragedy.

The murder of an innocent woman and an unborn child, orchestrated by a paranoid father and executed by a son who’d inherited all his worst qualities.

October 28th, 2023 would have been Benedict Price’s 71st birthday.

Instead, it became the night his psychological experiment transformed into murder.

Terrence Cobb arrived first at 6:45 p.

m.

15 minutes early, as he’d done for every business meeting with Benedict for 45 years.

Old habits persisted even after death.

He parked his silver Mercedes in the circular driveway and sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to calm his racing heart.

The latest blackmail demand had arrived that morning, and the amount had doubled.

$20,000 due in 3 days, or the videos would be released.

He was running out of ways to steal that kind of money without getting caught.

Yasmin opened the door wearing a simple black dress and pearl necklace, the one Benedict had given her on their first anniversary.

Her eyes were red- rimmed, but her smile was genuine.

“Terrence, thank you for coming.

I know this must be difficult.

Benedict would want us all together on his birthday,” Terrence said, embracing her carefully.

He could feel how thin she’d gotten in the 8 months since Benedict’s death.

“Have you been eating?” “Not much appetite lately, but I made his favorite tonight beef Wellington.

I thought we could honor him properly.

” Sienna arrived at 7:00 exactly, parking her rental car behind Terren’s Mercedes.

She’d driven from the guest house barely 300 ft away because she couldn’t face walking across the grounds in the dark.

Everything about the Ashford estate felt haunted now.

She carried a bouquet of white roses, Benedict’s favorite flower, and her hands trembled slightly as she rang the doorbell.

When Yasmin answered, Sienna pulled her into a tight hug.

Are you okay? You sounded stressed when we talked yesterday.

I’m fine, just nervous about everyone being here.

Cameron and I haven’t spoken since the funeral, and the twins have been so distant lately.

I’m hoping tonight we can start healing as a family.

Sienna said nothing, but her stomach twisted with guilt.

She knew why the twins were distant.

They were being blackmailed just like her.

And she suspected Cameron’s silence was because he’d never accepted Yasmin as part of the family.

This gathering felt less like healing and more like a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Leo and Lucas arrived at 7:15 p.

m.

in Leo’s black Audi.

Both wearing dark suits that made them look older than their 22 years.

They debated not coming, even discussed leaving Toronto entirely to escape the blackmail nightmare.

But the legal language in Cameron’s invitation had made attendance seem mandatory, and they couldn’t risk additional scrutiny.

“Mrs.

price,” Lucas said formally as Yasmin greeted them.

The warmth they’d once shared had evaporated under the weight of the fabricated videos and their terror of exposure.

“Please, you know, I’ve always asked you to call me Yasmin.

Come in.

Dinner’s almost ready.

” The dining room had been set with Benedict’s finest china, crystal glasses catching the light from the chandelier overhead.

His portrait hung above the fireplace, painted in 2015 when he turned 63, showing him in a charcoal suit with the slight smile of someone who’d built an empire and knew it.

Yasmin had placed a single white rose in front of the portrait.

Cameron arrived at 7:30 p.

m.

deliberately late to make an entrance.

He’d spent 2 hours preparing for this moment, rehearsing what he’d say, reviewing his evidence one final time, loosening the wine celler banister just enough to make it unstable.

Everything was ready.

Tonight, justice would finally be served.

He carried a leather briefcase containing his laptop, the SD cards, and printed financial documents.

When Yasmin opened the door, he looked at her with barely concealed contempt.

She seemed smaller than he remembered, fragile, even wearing that pearl necklace his father had given her.

Playing the grieving widow perfectly, he thought, “Cameron,” she said softly, “I’m so glad you came.

Your father would be happy to see all of us together.

Let’s not pretend to know what my father would want,” Cameron replied, walking past her without removing his coat.

“Where is everyone?” The dinner began with uncomfortable small talk and long silences.

Yasmin had prepared beef Wellington with roasted root vegetables and Benedict’s favorite wine, a 2010 Bordeaux from Chateau Marggo.

She’d spent the entire day cooking, hoping that food might bridge the gaps that had formed in this fractured family.

To Benedict, Terrence said, raising his glass.

His voice cracked slightly.

A brilliant man who built an empire and touched countless lives.

Everyone drank except Cameron, who was watching them all with the cold assessment of a predator studying prey.

He noted how Terren’s hand shook when he set down his glass.

How the twins kept glancing at each other with obvious anxiety.

How Sienna seemed unable to make eye contact with anyone.

How Yasmin touched Terren’s hand briefly in comfort, a gesture that made Cameron’s jaw clench.

This is beautiful Yasmin, Sienna offered, trying to ease the tension.

Benedict loved your cooking.

He taught me how to make this actually.

Yasmin said, her eyes glistening.

Our third date, he invited me to his hotel suite in Singapore and we cooked together.

He said food was how you understood someone’s soul.

How romantic, Cameron said.

His tone making the words sound like an accusation.

My father certainly had interesting ideas about understanding people’s souls.

The table fell silent.

Yasmin looked at Cameron with confusion and hurt.

I know you’re angry about the will, but he loved you, Cameron.

He talked about you constantly.

How proud he was of your career, your integrity.

My integrity.

Cameron interrupted.

Interesting choice of words.

Speaking of which, shall we move to the library? I have some estate matters that require everyone’s attention.

But we haven’t finished dinner, Yasmin protested.

And I made his favorite dessert.

The library.

Now, Cameron stood, picking up his briefcase.

This won’t take long.

The library was Benedict’s favorite room.

floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with first editions, leather chairs arranged around a stone fireplace, a massive mahogany desk where he’d conducted business for decades.

Cameron had set up his laptop connected to the large screen Benedict had used for video conferences.

Official looking documents were arranged on the desk.

Everyone filed in reluctantly, taking seats in the leather chairs while Cameron remained standing.

Yasmin brought coffee on a silver tray, still trying to maintain some semblance of hospitality despite the growing dread in the room.

Thank you all for coming, Cameron began, his voice controlled and professional.

I apologize for the deception, but this isn’t exactly a will reading.

3 weeks ago, I discovered something in my father’s safe, something that explains a great deal about his final months and his death.

He clicked a button on his laptop and the first video appeared on the screen.

Yasmin and Lucas in the master bedroom.

The footage explicit and damning.

Lucas made a strangled sound and stood up.

“Cameron, stop.

That’s not.

Sit down,” Cameron commanded.

“There’s more.

” He showed 30 seconds of each video, moving through them methodically.

Lucas and Yasmin, Leo and Yasmin, Sienna and Yasmin, Terrence and Yasmin.

With each clip, the room’s atmosphere grew more toxic.

Sienna was crying silently.

The twins had gone pale.

Terrence sat frozen, his face gray.

Yasmin was staring at the screen in absolute horror.

“Those videos aren’t real,” she whispered.

“I never I would never stop lying,” Cameron said quietly.

After each video, he projected the financial evidence.

“Bank account statements showing the monthly transfers, corporate documents linking each shell company to its owner, the property trust showing $4.

2 $2 million being accumulated in Yasmin’s name.

This is what you’ve all been doing for the past two and a half years, Cameron said, his voice getting louder.

Paying her to keep quiet about your little encounters.

Leo and Lucas, you’re running drugs.

Sienna, you committed bigamy.

Terrence, you’ve been embezzling.

And Yasmin knew all your secrets.

She filmed you, blackmailed you, and used the money to build herself a nice little fortune.

No.

Yasmin stood up, her voice breaking.

Cameron, I swear on everything.

I never touched any of them.

Those videos are fake somehow.

I don’t know how, but they’re not real.

And I didn’t blackmail anyone.

Then explain the property trust.

Cameron shot back.

Explain $736,000 in blackmail payments that went directly into an account with your name on it.

I don’t know anything about a property trust.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Terrence stood up, trying to be the voice of reason.

Cameron, son.

We need to discuss this calmly.

Don’t call me that, Cameron snarled, shoving Terrence back into his chair.

You’re a thief.

You stole from my father’s company.

You were supposed to be his best friend, and you were robbing him blind.

I can explain the embezzlement, Terrence started.

There’s nothing to explain.

You’re all criminals, every single one of you.

Cameron turned to face Yasmin directly.

But you’re the worst.

You came into this family pretending to love my father.

And you destroyed everyone around you.

You seduced them, blackmailed them, and then you killed him.

Killed him.

Yasmin’s voice rose to a near scream.

The diving accident.

It was an accident.

I lost him too.

Cameron.

I loved him.

He knew.

Cameron said, his voice dropping to something cold and deadly.

He discovered what you were doing.

That’s why he went to Turks and Cais.

He was planning to divorce you to expose everything, so you made sure he never came back.

That’s insane, Sienna said, standing up.

Yasmin was devastated when Benedict died.

I was here.

I saw her grief.

You saw an actress performing.

Cameron interrupted.

She played you all.

And now she’s going to confess what she did to my father.

The room erupted into chaos.

Leo and Lucas both started talking at once, trying to explain about the blackmail emails they’d received.

Sienna was sobbing about how the videos were fabricated.

Terrence was attempting to approach Cameron to calm him down.

And Yasmin was backing toward the door, her face stricken with terror and confusion.

I need to get away from this, she said.

You’ve all lost your minds.

Those videos are fake.

I never hurt anyone.

I never Where are you going? Cameron demanded.

The wine seller.

I’m getting the 1995 Bordeaux, your father’s absolute favorite.

It’s his birthday, and we should toast him properly, not accuse each other of, “You’re not going anywhere,” Cameron said, moving toward her.

“But Yasmin was already at the library door, pulling it open.

I can’t breathe in here.

Everyone, just just give me 5 minutes to calm down, please.

” She walked quickly down the hallway toward the wine celler door.

Cameron followed, his briefcase forgotten, rage overriding his carefully constructed plan.

Behind them, the others remained in the library, their own panic making them paralyzed.

“Should we call someone?” Lucas asked.

“And say what?” Leo hissed.

“That we’re all being blackmailed, that we’ve been paying someone for months.

We’ll all go to prison,” Sienna turned to Terrence.

“What do we do?” “I don’t know,” Terrence said honestly.

“God forgive me.

I don’t know.

” In the wine celler, Yasmin unlocked the heavy oak door and started down the stairs.

The cellar was temperature controlled, lined with wooden racks holding hundreds of bottles.

The lighting was dim, motionactated fixtures, creating pools of shadow.

She moved toward the back wall where Benedict kept his most precious vintages, looking for the 1995 Bordeaux that had been his favorite.

She heard Cameron’s footsteps on the stairs behind her and turned.

His expression made her blood freeze.

Cameron, please.

I know you’re hurt.

I know you miss him, but I didn’t do anything.

Turn around, Cameron said quietly.

What? Turn around.

Look at me and tell me the truth.

She turned to face him fully, tears streaming down her face.

I am telling you the truth.

I loved your father.

The accident was an accident.

I didn’t blackmail anyone.

I don’t know anything about those videos or property trusts or Cameron grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

Stop lying.

I’m not.

She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

Cameron, you’re hurting me.

Tell me what you did to him.

His hands moved from her shoulders to her throat.

Admit it.

I can’t admit something I didn’t do.

She gasped, clawing at his hands.

Her nails scraped his skin, drawing blood, creating the defensive wounds that would later seem to confirm his story.

But Cameron wasn’t thinking about evidence anymore.

He was thinking about his father’s death, his mother’s abandonment, every betrayal he’d experienced, and the videos that had confirmed his darkest beliefs about human nature.

All of it coalesed into rage directed at this woman who represented everything he’d lost.

“You killed him,” Cameron said, squeezing harder.

Just admit it and this stops.

Yasmin tried to speak but couldn’t get air.

Her eyes were wide, pleading terrified.

She pulled at his hands, but he was stronger, his grip relentless.

Her vision started to darken at the edges.

In her mind, her last coherent thought was of the secret she’d been carrying.

The 12week pregnancy she’d planned to announce at this dinner, the child she and Benedict had created before his trip, the baby that would have been their future.

Cameron watched her eyes glaze over, felt her body go limp, and only then did he release her.

She collapsed to the wine cellar floor, her head striking the concrete with a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

For 30 seconds, Cameron stood there breathing hard, his hands still shaped like they were around her throat.

Then reality crashed over him.

“Oh God,” he whispered.

“What did I do? What did I do?” He checked for a pulse and found nothing.

Yasmin’s eyes stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing.

The pearl necklace Benedict had given her lay broken on the floor.

Pearls scattered like tears.

Cameron’s forensic training tried to kick in through his panic.

He looked around the wine celler, his mind racing.

Upstairs, he could hear voices.

The others were coming.

He had seconds to decide.

The wine bottle.

He grabbed the 1995 Bordeaux from the rack and placed it near Yasmin’s hand.

The stairs.

He examined them quickly.

The banister he’d loosened earlier was perfect.

He could claim she fell, that there was a struggle, that it was an accident.

When the others appeared at the top of the wine celler stairs, Cameron was climbing up, his face pale, his hands shaking.

She fell, he said.

There was a struggle.

She attacked me and she fell.

They rushed past him down the stairs.

Sienna screamed when she saw Yasmin’s body.

Terrence immediately checked for a pulse, his face crumpling when he found none.

We need to call an ambulance, Sienna said.

Call 911 and tell them what? Cameron asked, his voice flat.

That we were all here confronting her about blackmail and sex videos.

That will all have to explain our crimes to the police.

The room went silent.

Leo looked at Lucas.

Sienna looked at Terrence.

They all understood the trap they were in.

The drug dealing will come out, Leo said quietly.

My children will lose everything, Sienna whispered.

The embezzlement, Terrence said.

I’ll go to prison.

Cameron descended the stairs slowly, his mind working through scenarios, even as horror at what he’d done threatened to overwhelm him.

Here’s what happened.

We had a family dinner to honor my father on his birthday.

Yasmin went to get wine.

We heard a crash.

We came down and found her.

A tragic accident.

Nothing more.

This is wrong, Sienna said.

She deserves She deserves nothing.

Cameron interrupted his voice hard.

She blackmailed all of you.

She destroyed this family.

She murdered my father.

This is justice.

It wasn’t justice.

It was murder and conspiracy.

But one by one, trapped by their own secrets and crimes, they nodded.

Terrence helped position Yasmin’s body to look more consistent with a fall.

The twins retrieved the scattered pearls.

Sienna wiped down surfaces with shaking hands.

At 11:43 p.

m.

, Cameron called 911 from the library, his voice trembling with what sounded like genuine shock.

There’s been a terrible accident at the Asheford estate.

My stepmother, she went to get wine and fell.

Please send someone.

There’s so much blood.

I think she’s dead.

Emergency services arrived at the Ashford estate at 11:56 p.

m.

to find a scene that appeared consistent with a tragic accident.

Yasmin Price lay at the bottom of the wine celler stairs, her head resting in a pool of blood, the broken pearl necklace scattered around her.

A bottle of 1995 Bordeaux lay near her hand.

The banister showed evidence of being loose.

Five traumatized family members sat in the library, their stories perfectly aligned.

Paramedics pronounced her dead at the scene.

Preliminary assessment suggested blunt force trauma from the fall.

But when detective Sarah Morrison from Toronto Police Homicide Division arrived to take statements, certain details began troubling her experienced instincts.

The blood pattern was wrong.

Yasmin had allegedly fallen down the stairs, but there was no blood on the stairs themselves, only at the bottom.

The wine bottle near her hand was unbroken, which seemed inconsistent with it falling with her.

And the bruising on Yasmin’s throat, which Cameron claimed came from her attacking him before she fled, seemed deeper and more severe than defensive injuries would suggest.

Most troubling was how rehearsed everyone’s stories sounded.

Five people describing the exact same sequence of events in nearly identical language raised immediate red flags.

In Morrison’s experience, genuine witnesses had variations in their accounts based on their perspectives.

These people sounded like they were reciting a script.

Mr.

Ashford Price,” Morrison said, pulling Cameron aside.

“Can you walk me through what happened one more time?” Cameron’s story was precise.

They’d been having a difficult conversation about his father’s estate.

Yasmin became upset and went to get wine.

Minutes later, they heard a crash.

They found her at the bottom of the stairs.

He showed Morrison the scratches on his hands and neck from where Yasmin had allegedly attacked him.

“Why did she attack you?” Morrison asked.

She was unstable.

Grief over my father’s death.

Financial stress.

I’d mentioned some irregularities in the estate accounts and she became defensive.

Morrison made notes but said nothing.

She’d seen enough staged crime scenes to recognize when something fundamental was wrong.

This wasn’t a simple accident.

But without clear evidence of homicide, she couldn’t make arrests.

Not yet.

On October 30th, Detective Morrison reviewed the case file and made a decision that would crack the investigation wide open.

She contacted the fraud and financial crimes unit.

Inspector Helen Marks had been with Toronto Police Service for 28 years, specializing in cases where white collar crime intersected with violence.

She’d solved the waterfront embezzlement murders in 2015 and the Bay Street Ponzi deaths in 2019.

Her philosophy was simple.

Follow the money because it never lies.

When Morrison briefed her on the Yasmin Price death, Markx immediately saw patterns that looked familiar.

You said there were financial irregularities mentioned.

The son claimed he was discussing estate accounts when the victim became upset.

And who benefits from her death? The son, Cameron Ashford Price.

The will had Yasmin as primary beneficiary, but she couldn’t access the principal until age 40 or if she remarried.

If she dies or is convicted of a crime, everything reverts to Cameron.

Mark smiled grimly.

That’s motive.

Let me look at the financials.

What she found over the next week was a labyrinth that pointed to something far more complex than a simple murder.

Benedict Price had died 8 months earlier in a convenient diving accident where no body was recovered.

His will had created an unusually restrictive trust for his widow.

Now that widow was dead under suspicious circumstances and the son who’d been largely disinherited was suddenly the primary beneficiary of a $2.

3 billion estate.

Mark subpoenaed Benedict’s banking records, both Canadian and offshore accounts.

She discovered the Cayman International Bank account with $736,000 in deposits from four different shell companies.

She traced those companies to Leo Price, Lucas Price, Sienna Ashford, and Terrence Cobb.

Why would four people be making regular payments to an account connected to the victim? She asked Morrison.

Blackmail.

Morrison suggested.

That’s what it looks like.

But there’s something off.

Markx pointed to the largest contributor to the property trust.

Benedict Price himself put 3.

4 million into this trust.

Why would a blackmail victim fund his blackmailer? On November 5th, Markx began formal interrogations of all participants.

She started with the twins, bringing them in separately.

Lucas was visibly nervous, his lawyer present, but largely silent.

Markx laid out the financial evidence, the shell companies, the payments, the property trust.

Tell me about the payments you were making to Yasmin Price, she said.

Lucas looked at his lawyer who nodded.

Permission to speak.

We were being blackmailed, but not by Yasmin.

At least we don’t think it was her.

Explain.

We received emails in August.

They contained videos of us with Yasmin, sexual videos, except nothing like that ever happened.

We figured out later the videos had to be fake, but they looked real.

The blackmailer demanded 5,000 a month from each of us or they’d send the videos to police, to our family.

Why not report the blackmail? Lucas’s silence spoke volumes.

Markx let it stretch until he cracked.

Because we’re guilty of other things, drug distribution, we couldn’t risk any investigation.

Leo’s story was identical.

Sienna’s interview revealed similar blackmail over fabricated videos and her actual crime of bigamy.

Terrence confessed to embezzlement and gambling debts, admitting he’d paid blackmail to avoid exposure.

But the critical information came from Sienna’s account of October 28th.

Cameron showed us all these videos.

He said Yasmin had been blackmailing everyone.

He had financial documents, corporate records.

He said she’d murdered Benedict.

Then Yasmin went to the wine celler and Cameron followed her.

Minutes later, he came back and said she’d fallen.

Did you believe that? Markx asked.

Sienna was quiet for a long moment.

No, but we were all terrified our own crimes would be exposed, so we agreed to the story.

On November 12th, armed with evidence of conspiracy to cover up a crime, Markx obtained a search warrant for Cameron’s Yorkville condo.

What her team found was more damning than she’d anticipated.

An entire wall was covered with photos, documents, timelines, and red string connecting everything to Yasmin at the center.

The SD cards were labeled and organized in a display case.

Cameron’s handwritten notes covered pages.

Proof of murder, father’s killers, justice for Benedict.

Most damning was his computer search history from mid-occtober.

Wine seller fall death statistics, blunt force trauma versus fall injuries, staging accidental deaths, how long murder investigations take.

Markx submitted the SD cards to the Royal Canadian-mounted police cyber forensics unit for analysis.

The report came back 3 days later and changed everything.

These videos are sophisticated deep fakes, the forensic analyst explained.

Base footage from security cameras manipulated using Deep Reality Pro version 4.

2.

Audio is synthesized.

Multiple camera angles are digitally created.

None of these encounters actually occurred.

Can you trace the software license? Markx asked.

Already did.

Registered to Oceanic Retreat Wellness Facility in Providentials, Turks, and Cais.

Markx pulled up information on the facility.

It was owned by a Shell Corporation whose directors were Garrison and Associates law firm Benedict Price’s lawyers.

Benedict had allegedly died in Turks and Cais.

The software used to create the fake blackmail videos was registered to a facility Benedict owned.

The hypothesis formed quickly.

Benedict had faked his death.

He’d created the videos.

He’d orchestrated the entire blackmail scheme as some kind of psychological test.

And Cameron had murdered an innocent woman based on fabricated evidence.

On November 20th, Markx contacted Turks and Kis authorities and requested a welfare check on Oceanic Retreat wellness facility.

They called back 4 hours later.

We found Benedict Price.

He’s alive, residing in a private villa.

He’s agreed to return to Toronto voluntarily.

When Benedict Price walked into Toronto Police Headquarters on November 22nd, 2023, he looked like he’d aged a decade in 8 months.

He was accompanied by his lawyer and a therapist from Oceanic Retreat.

What he confessed over the next 6 hours was one of the most elaborate and disturbing psychological experiments Markx had encountered in her career.

I became convinced my family only valued my wealth, Benedict explained, his voice hollow.

Everyone had secrets, crimes, moral failings.

I wanted to know if anyone would choose integrity when tested.

So, I faked my death, created fabricated evidence of crimes, and set up a blackmail scenario.

I expected someone to report it to police.

I expected Cameron, especially, given his training in fraud detection, to investigate properly, and expose everyone’s real crimes.

Then, I would return, help those who showed remorse, and disinherit the truly corrupt.

Instead, Markx prompted, instead, everyone protected themselves.

They paid the blackmail.

They hid their crimes and Cameron.

Benedict’s voice broke.

Cameron saw what he wanted to see.

He didn’t investigate whether the videos were real.

He built a conspiracy theory and murdered an innocent woman to prove it.

“Why didn’t you intervene?” Marks asked.

“You were watching via security cameras.

I didn’t know he’d found the SD cards until October 28th.

I was watching the feed when he showed everyone the videos.

I saw the confrontation escalating.

I was preparing to call Toronto police when Cameron followed Yasmin to the wine celler.

I watched him.

Benedict couldn’t continue.

Watched him strangle her.

Markx finished.

Why didn’t you call immediately? I did, but by the time police arrived, she was already dead.

I flew out the next morning, but there was nothing I could do.

She was gone.

Markx pulled out the autopsy report and slid it across the table.

There’s something you need to know, Mr.

Price.

Yasmin was TW.

The paternity test confirms the child was yours.

Benedict stared at the document, his hands trembling.

Then he made a sound like an animal in pain and collapsed forward, sobbing.

No.

No.

We’d conceived before I left.

She didn’t know yet.

I was going to return, reveal everything, build a real family with her and our baby.

Our child.

Oh, God.

Our child.

Your son murdered your wife and your unborn child because you wanted to test his integrity.

Mark said quietly.

That’s what your experiment produced.

Cameron Ashford Price was arrested on November 21st, 2023, and charged with two counts of murder, Yasmin Price and her unborn child.

He was held without bail.

The trial began in May 2024 and lasted 7 weeks.

The Crown prosecutor presented overwhelming evidence.

The internet search history showing premeditation, the loosened banister proving planning, the forensic evidence showing Yasmin died from strangulation, not a fall, and the conspiracy he’d orchestrated to cover it up.

The defense argued temporary insanity.

Cameron had genuinely believed Yasmin murdered his father.

The videos looked authentic.

Any reasonable person would have been devastated by such evidence.

He’d acted in a moment of rage, not with premeditated intent.

But the most devastating testimony came from Benedict himself.

The 71-year-old man took the stand and explained his entire psychological experiment.

His voice breaking as he described watching his son commit murder via satellite feed.

I created those videos to test my family’s integrity.

Benedict said, “I never imagined Cameron would fail so catastrophically.

I never imagined he would kill.

Yasmin was innocent.

Completely innocent.

She was kind, loving, and caring.

my child.

My son murdered them both because I taught him to trust no one, to see betrayal everywhere, to value control over compassion.

This is my fault.

All of it.

The jury deliberated for 6 hours before returning guilty verdicts on both counts.

Judge Patricia Reeves sentenced Cameron to life in prison with no possibility of parole for 25 years.

“You are a trained forensic accountant,” Judge Reeves said at sentencing.

“You had the skills to verify the evidence.

You chose not to use them because rage felt more satisfying than truth.

You murdered an innocent woman and an unborn child based on fabricated videos you could have should have detected as fake.

Your failure to seek truth, to show mercy, to value life over revenge makes you one of the most dangerous criminals to appear before this court.

Leo and Lucas pleaded guilty to drug trafficking and received 3 years each.

Terrence pleaded guilty to embezzlement and received 5 years reduced for cooperation.

Sienna was charged with bigamy but received a suspended sentence when Douglas Chen’s children chose not to pursue the matter.

Benedict was charged with fraud, conspiracy, and obstruction of justice for creating fake evidence and staging his death.

He received a suspended sentence due to his age, cooperation, and agreement to undergo psychiatric treatment.

Yasmin’s parents, Miguel and Rosa Daataga, sued Benedict’s estate for wrongful death.

The settlement was $50 million Canadian dollars.

The Harborview Towers penthouse was transferred to Yasmin’s sister, Marisol.

The Ashford estate was sold, all proceeds going to the Daimataga family.

Benedict Price was placed in Willowbrook Psychiatric Facility, diagnosed with paranoid personality disorder and severe depression.

He spent his remaining months writing letters to Yasmin that would never be delivered, apologizing to a woman who couldn’t hear him.

On December 15th, 2024, staff found Benedict dead in his room.

He’d left a note.

I have two graves to visit.

My wife’s and my unborn child’s.

I put them both there with my arrogance, my paranoia, my need to control.

Cameron pulled the trigger, but I loaded the gun.

May God forgive us both.

Inspector Helen Marks gave a final statement to the media that captured the tragedy.

This case represents the ultimate failure of wealth and trust.

A father so paranoid about his family’s motives that he staged an elaborate test.

A son so controlled by his abandonment issues that he murdered rather than investigated.

And an innocent woman caught between them, destroyed by games she didn’t know she was playing.

Wealth didn’t corrupt this family.

The inability to trust, to forgive, to choose love over control.

That’s what destroyed them all.

The Asheford estate stands empty now, a monument to what happens when suspicion replaces faith and vengeance replaces justice.

Cameron sits in prison, still maintaining he was protecting his father’s legacy.

Benedict’s grave bears the dates 1952 to 2024, the year he actually died.

Next to it is Yasmin’s grave with fresh flowers placed weekly by her sister and a small marker for the child who never drew breath.

The case files are sealed, but the lesson remains.

Sometimes the people we trust most know exactly which weapons will destroy us.

And sometimes we hand them those weapons ourselves, wrapped in love, sealed with paranoia, and delivered with the best intentions straight into the heart of tragedy.

12 weeks pregnant when she