Chapter 3 - The Open Casket
Downtown Denver’s historic chapel was packed to absolute capacity.
Outside, thick, wet snowflakes fell from a slate-gray sky, mirroring the tragic aesthetics of a grieving widower's worst nightmare. Inside, hundreds of floral arrangements—mostly white lilies and cascading orchids paid for out of my own venture capital accounts—perfumed the air with a sickening sweetness.
At the front of the chapel sat an open mahogany casket. Inside lay a wax-filled dummy carefully sculpted by forensic artists and dressed in my favorite cashmere coat, designed to fool anyone who didn't look too closely.
And standing right beside it, playing his role with Academy Award-winning precision, was my husband.
Michael Carter wore a bespoke Tom Ford black suit, a black silk tie, and a handkerchief pressed delicately to his dry, tearless eyes. Beside him, draped in a tasteful emerald dress that screamed future billionaire mistress, stood Ashley. Her hand rested comfortingly on the small of Michael's back, a public display of illicit affection disguised as corporate solidarity.
"He's handling it so well," whispered one of my board members from my tech firm in the third row. "Such a tragic loss. Fifty million dollars in key-man life insurance, and he won't even touch a dime of it without crying."
Oh, he’ll touch it, I thought from the shadows of the balcony above. He’ll touch every single cent until it burns his fingers to the bone.
I stood wrapped in a heavy black mourning veil that completely obscured my bruised face and the medical brace hidden beneath my oversized trench coat. Behind me stood Detective James Miller, his hand resting reassuringly near his service weapon.
"Are you sure you want to do this right now, Mrs. Carter?" Miller muttered under his breath, leaning close. "You just discharged yourself against medical orders. You're still recovering from a major C-section and internal trauma."
"If I wait, Michael transfers the liquidity offshore," I whispered back, my eyes fixed on the man down below who was currently embracing my corporate lawyer with a theatrical sigh. "He thinks he’s inherited my empire. Let him bask in the illusion for five more minutes."
Down in the aisle, Michael cleared his throat, stepping up to the podium to deliver his eulogy. The low murmur of the cathedral instantly died down.
"Elena was... an extraordinary woman," Michael began, his voice cracking with calculated vulnerability. He paused, looking down at his shoes as if overwhelmed by grief. "She lived life on the edge. Literally. I tried to pull her back from that cliff. I reached for her hand, but the ice... the ice was just too treacherous. She slipped into the abyss, taking our unborn child with her."
A collective wave of sympathetic weeping rippled through the pews. Ashley bowed her head, hiding a smirk so sharp it could cut glass.
"And now," Michael continued, raising his eyes toward the stained-glass windows with a sickeningly pious expression, "I must pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and carry on our legacy alone."
"You won't have to carry it alone much longer, Michael," a cool, crystal-clear voice echoed through the massive cathedral speakers.
May you like
The sound ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling, freezing every mourner in their tracks.
Michael’s head snapped toward the audio system, his color instantly draining from his face as if he had just seen a demon rise straight from the fires of hell.
