The silence in the cathedral was absolute. Even the soft humming of the projector sounded like a roaring engine. On the high-definition screen hung above the mahogany casket, Ethan Carter sat in his familiar leather armchair, leaning forward, looking directly into the lens. His expression wasn't one of a dying man; it was the sharp, calculated gaze of a man who knew every move his enemies would make before they even made them.

Ethan took a slow breath, smoothed his watch, and spoke his very first words:

"Mother... if you are watching this, it means you have already opened the fake medical files, thrown a fraudulent DNA test on my casket, and tried to strip Sarah of everything I left behind."

A collective shockwave ripped through the cathedral.

Evelyn’s knees gave out instantly. Her body slammed into the marble floor with a dull thud. Her pearl necklace snapped, scattering white beads across the aisle like tiny bones. Madison gasped, dropping her purse—and Ethan’s stolen wedding ring rolled right to the edge of my shoe.

"Get up, Mother," Ethan’s projected voice continued, cold and unyielding. "Don't pretend to faint. You’ve been rehearsing this performance ever since the doctor told you my heart condition was deteriorating."

The crowd erupted into furious murmurs. Heads turned. Eyes glared at Evelyn, who was scrambling on her knees, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror.

"Ethan..." Evelyn rasped, her voice trembling. "No... this is a frame-up! Sterling, turn that off!"

Sterling Hayes didn't move an inch. He stood beside the pulpit, his arms folded, watching Evelyn with ice in his eyes.

On screen, Ethan leaned back and smiled—a dangerous, chilling smile.

"For three years, Sarah and I kept our struggles silent," Ethan said. "You thought I was blind, Mother. You thought I didn't notice the tiny amounts of arsenic-based neurotoxins being mixed into my daily supplements. You thought my 'accidental' cliff dive on the Pacific Coast Highway was your masterpiece."

The cathedral erupted. People stood on their pews. Reporters who had sneaked into the back began furiously snapped photos. The flashbulbs blinded the room.

"What is he talking about?!" Madison shrieked, backing away toward the altar. "He’s crazy! He lost his mind before he died!"

"I am perfectly sane, Madison," Ethan’s recorded voice replied, as if anticipating her exact outburst. "And to my dear sister—the ring you just stole from Sarah's finger? It contains a micro-camera and a GPS tracking chip. The entire interaction from two minutes ago was broadcast live to the Los Angeles Police Department's Financial Crimes and Homicide Divisions."

Sirens began to wail in the distance. They were faint at first, but grew louder, echoing off the high stained-glass windows of the cathedral.

"Sarah," Ethan’s voice softened suddenly, his eyes on the screen seeming to find mine through the pixels. "My beautiful wife. The baby you are carrying is 100% mine. The DNA document Evelyn threw at you was forged by Dr. Harrison at Saint Jude’s Hospital—a man whom my mother paid three hundred thousand dollars from an off-shore account in the Cayman Islands."

I clutched my stomach, tears streaming down my face. My knees wobbled, but Sterling stepped forward and gently held my arm, keeping me upright.

"Ethan..." I choked out, staring at the screen.

"I couldn't protect you while I was alive, Sarah," Ethan said, his voice deep and emotional. "Because if I stayed, they would have targeted you and our unborn child next. My death was the only trap strong enough to force them to expose themselves completely."

Ethan reached out and pressed a button on the side of his desk on the screen.

"Sterling, activate Phase Two. Show them what my 'accident' really was."

The screen flickered. The video of Ethan faded, replaced by dark, grainy dashcam footage from Ethan’s sports car on the night of the crash.

The video showed a heavy black SUV deliberately ramming Ethan’s vehicle from behind on the winding curves of the Pacific Coast Highway. The SUV slammed into him once, twice, three times, pushing his car toward the edge of the cliff.

Just before the car plunged into the ocean abyss, the black SUV’s driver-side window rolled down. Under the bright streetlights, the driver’s face was crystal clear.

It wasn't a hired hitman.

It was Victor Vance—Evelyn’s younger brother, and the chief operating officer of Carter Enterprises.

The entire church gasped in horror. Evelyn screamed, covering her face with her hands.

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the cathedral were kicked open for the second time. A dozen armed LAPD officers rushed inside, led by Detective Marcus Thorne.

"Evelyn Carter! Madison Carter! Victor Vance!" Detective Thorne’s voice boomed through the sanctuary. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder, and evidence tampering!"

As the police moved in, handcuffs clanking, Evelyn looked up at me. Her face was contorted with hatred, no longer hiding behind the aristocratic poise she had maintained for decades.

"You think you’ve won, Sarah?!" Evelyn shrieked as an officer dragged her to her feet. "You think a dead man’s video saves you?! You have no idea what Ethan really did! You don't know who he really was! That child in your belly is a curse!"

"Get her out of here," Detective Thorne ordered.

As Evelyn and Madison were hauled away in cuffs, the entire crowd stared at me in shock. Sterling stepped up to the projector, shut it down, and turned to me. He picked up my stolen wedding ring from the floor, wiped it with a white handkerchief, and slid it back onto my finger.

"It’s over, Sarah," Sterling whispered softly. "At least... the first part is."

I looked at him, my heart pounding against my ribs. "What do you mean, 'the first part'?"

Sterling leaned in close, his voice dropping so low only I could hear it.

"Ethan’s body in that coffin... Sarah, the casket is sealed for a reason. There was no body found in the ocean."