Chapter 2 - The Man at My Funeral
Three hours later, while doctors worked to stabilize me, Michael Carter stood beneath the crystal chandeliers of a funeral home in Denver.
He wore a black suit.
His eyes were red.
His expression was perfectly devastated.
Beside him stood Ashley Morgan, his assistant and secret lover, dressed in a black dress that cost more than my first car.
She pressed a handkerchief to her eyes whenever someone looked in her direction.
“I still can’t believe it,” one of Michael’s colleagues murmured.
Michael lowered his head.
“Neither can I.”
The funeral director approached carefully.
“We’ve prepared everything according to your instructions. The casket will remain closed because of the circumstances of the accident.”
Michael nodded solemnly.
“Thank you.”
The casket contained no body.
Only weighted blankets and enough carefully arranged evidence to convince the authorities that the woman who had fallen from the cliff could never be recovered.
Michael had explained that the mountain rescue team had found personal belongings near the drop and that the conditions made a recovery impossible.
The official investigation was still ongoing.
But he had already arranged a memorial service.
He wanted the world to mourn me before anyone had time to ask difficult questions.
Ashley leaned toward him.
“When does the insurance company release the money?”
“After the death certificate and the investigation are finalized.”
“And the baby?”
Michael's jaw tightened.
“The policy pays one hundred million if both mother and child die.”
Ashley stared at him.
“You said fifty million.”
“Fifty million for Emily. Fifty million for the baby.”
“And if the insurance company investigates?”
“They won't find anything.”
He took her hand beneath the cover of a flower arrangement.
“Once the money arrives, we're leaving the country. New identities. A house in Switzerland. Everything we planned.”
Ashley studied him.
“And what happens if she survived?”
Michael laughed quietly.
“No one survives that fall.”
At that exact moment, his phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
The woman you pushed off the mountain is alive.
Michael went pale.
Another message arrived.
And she remembers everything.
He looked up sharply.
Across the room, mourners continued offering condolences.
No one noticed his shaking hands.
No one except Ashley.
“What is it?”
Michael locked his phone.
“Nothing.”
But for the first time that evening, the man who had planned my death looked genuinely afraid.
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Because somewhere in the world, his supposedly dead wife was breathing.
And somebody powerful enough to find me had just declared war on him.
