Chapter 4 - THE RESURRECTIONThe silence in the chapel was absolute, heavy, and suffocating. You could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning unit mounted near the high vaulted ceiling, and nothing else.
Víctor Salgado felt the color drain completely from his face. His jaw went slack, his eyes bulging as if he were staring straight at a ghost rising from an open grave. He took two stumbling steps backward, his heel catching the edge of a floral wreath base, nearly sending him sprawling onto the marble floor.
"El... Elena?" Víctor choked out, his voice a pathetic, high-pitched squeak that bore no resemblance to the grieving widower he had played just moments before. "No... no, that's impossible. You're dead. I pushed—I mean... I saw you fall! I saw you drop into the abyss!"
The confession hung in the air, loud and clear, echoing off the high stone walls.
A collective gasp swept through the rows of stunned mourners. Heads snapped from Víctor to Elena, then back to Víctor again. Carlos Mendoza dropped his prayer book; it hit the floor with a sharp, heavy thud.
Renata del Valle, standing near the back, realized the catastrophic nightmare unfolding before her. Her face turned the color of curdled milk. Without a word, she spun around on her high heels and sprinted frantically toward the side exit, desperate to reach her car and vanish from the city forever.
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
Before Renata could take three steps, two of Adrián’s private security guards stepped out from the shadows of the side alcove, blocking the doorway like two massive stone pillars. One of them casually extended a heavy arm across the exit, stopping Renata dead in her tracks.
"Going somewhere, Ms. del Valle?" one of the guards asked, his voice flat and expressionless. "The service isn't over yet. In fact, the most important part is just about to begin."
Back at the front of the chapel, Elena began to walk down the center aisle. Her stride was steady, deliberate, and completely devoid of fear. Every click of her boots against the marble floor sounded like the beat of a war drum closing in on an execution site.
With every step she took, Víctor retreated further, until his back slammed hard against the polished wood of the empty mahogany casket. He was trapped.
"Surprised to see me, Víctor?" Elena asked, her voice calm, clear, and dripping with a lethal chill that made the hair on the back of everyone's neck stand up.
"Elena... honey... please," Víctor stammered, raising his trembling hands in a pathetic gesture of defense, sweat pouring down his pale cheeks. "It was a mistake! A terrible misunderstanding! The storm... the cold... I didn't know what I was doing! My mind snapped! It was temporary insanity!"
Elena stopped just three feet away from him. She looked down at the empty casket behind her husband, then looked back up into his terrified, darting eyes.
"Temporary insanity," Elena repeated, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of her lips. "Is that what you call plotting for six months to murder your pregnant wife so you could collect a nine-hundred-million-peso insurance payout and run away to the Caymans with my so-called best friend?"
The crowd erupted into furious murmurs. Several family members began shouting insults, pointing angry fingers at Víctor and Renata.
"You filed the insurance claim before the search team even had time to pull me out of the snow," Elena continued, her voice rising steadily, cutting through the noise like a razor. "You thought you had executed the perfect crime. You thought nobody would ever look twice at the grieving husband mourning his tragic loss."
Víctor’s eyes darted wildly around the room, searching for a single friendly face, finding only expressions of utter disgust and betrayal. He dropped to his knees, clutching at the hem of Elena's crimson coat with shaking fingers.
"Please, Elena! Think of our baby! Think of our family!" Víctor wailed, tears finally streaming down his face—not out of grief, but out of pure, unadulterated terror. "Don't do this to me! We can work this out! We can share the money!"
Elena slowly looked down at him, her gaze as cold and empty as the mountain cliff he had thrown her off.
She reached down, gently detached his trembling fingers from her coat, and stepped back.
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"You didn't think of our baby when you pushed me into the freezing abyss," Elena said softly. "And now... your time is up."
From the back of the chapel, the heavy oak doors opened once more. This time, three uniformed officers of the Federal Investigative Police walked briskly down the aisle, led by Detective Mateo Garza. In Garza's hands gleamed a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
