Chapter 4 - The Dead Woman WalkingChaos erupted in the chapel.
Reporters leaped from their pews, shutters clicking furiously as cameras flashed like lightning storms. Elderly church ladies clutched their pearls, gasping in utter disbelief. Several of Michael’s corporate business associates stood up, their mouths hanging open in sheer shock.
Michael staggered backward from the podium, his legs trembling as if he were seeing a ghost walking out of the underworld.
"E-Elena...?" he stammered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. "No... no, that's impossible. I saw you fall! You went over the cliff! The rocks... the snow..."
I walked slowly down the aisle, the heavy heels of my boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. Dmitri stayed half a step behind me, his hand resting casually inside his jacket, right where everyone in the know understood his weapon rested.
"You saw me fall because you pushed me, Michael," I said loudly, my voice projecting clearly to every corner of the chapel and straight into the live-stream cameras broadcasting the funeral across the state.
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Whispers exploded into a deafening roar.
"Liar!" Ashley shrieked from the floor, scrambling back to her feet, her face contorted with panic. "She's insane! She’s hallucinating! Michael, don't let her near you!"
Michael swallowed hard, fighting desperately to regain his composure. He forced a sickeningly fake, trembling smile to his face, holding out his hands.
"Darling... oh, thank God," Michael choked out, taking a step toward me with his arms open wide. "There’s been some terrible accident... someone must have kidnapped you, or—"
I raised my left hand, stopping him dead in his tracks.
"Don't you dare touch me," I snapped, my eyes flashing with absolute fury. "Save the performance for a jury, Michael. The game is over."
Dmitri stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder—a grounding, powerful anchor. He locked his cold gray eyes onto Michael, a predator looking straight at a cornered rat.
"Mr. Carter," Dmitri’s deep voice boomed through the chapel’s sound system. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dmitri Sokolov. And I believe you have some explaining to do regarding a fifty-million-dollar insurance payout on my cousin and her unborn child."
Michael’s eyes bulged. He looked from Dmitri to me, realization finally crashing down like a tidal wave.
"You..." Michael whispered, his knees buckling slightly. "You planned this. Both of you."
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"No, Michael," I smiled coldly, stepping closer until I could smell the expensive cologne he wore—cologne bought with money he thought he’d inherit over my grave. "I just refused to die."
Before Michael could formulate another word, two local police officers—accompanied by federal marshals—stormed through the side doors, cuffs already drawn.
