Chapter 2 - The Empty Casket
The Aspen Memorial Chapel was draped in white lilies—my favorite flower, used by Victor as a final, mocking touch of irony. The pews were packed with high-society real estate tycoons, investors, and local politicians, all wearing black, all whispering about the tragic end of the Hale family legacy.
At the front of the chapel stood a sleek, closed mahogany casket. It was completely empty, a symbolic placeholder for the body they claimed was trapped beneath the winter ice.
Victor stood near the altar, wearing a bespoke black suit, his head lowered in a flawless display of devastated masculinity. Serena sat in the very first pew directly behind him, her face covered by a black lace veil that barely concealed the triumphant smile playing on her lips.
From the dark, tinted windows of a surveillance van parked across the street, I watched the entire service via a hidden camera feed placed inside the chapel by Adrian’s security team. I was wearing an oversized sweater to cover my casted wrist, my stomach still carrying the precious life Victor had tried to extinguish.
“The claim has been approved,” Adrian said from the seat next to me, holding a tablet showing the live banking interface of Cross Atlantic Insurance. “Victor’s attorney just submitted the final certified death certificate to our corporate office. The moment Victor signs the wire transfer release on the digital tablet at the altar—which his lawyer just handed him—fifty million dollars will move from my reserve fund into his private account in the Cayman Islands.”
On the screen, I watched Victor’s lawyer step up to the altar, discreetly handing Victor a secure electronic tablet. Victor pulled an expensive pen from his pocket, wiped a fake tear from his eye, and pressed his signature into the glass.
He thought he was signing his ticket to a life of limitless luxury. He had no idea he was signing his own arrest warrant.
“The money has moved,” Adrian whispered, his fingers flying across his keyboard. “And the transaction is logged as an act of international corporate fraud.”
“Let’s go,” I said, pushing the van door open.
The heavy oak doors of the chapel swung open just as the pastor concluded the final prayer. “May Elena and her unborn child find eternal peace in the quiet of the mountain,” the pastor echoed through the microphone.
“I’m afraid peace will have to wait,” a voice boomed from the back of the church.
It wasn't my voice. It was Adrian Cross.
The entire congregation gasped, turning around in their seats as the billionaire insurance mogul marched down the center aisle, flanked by four federal marshals in tactical gear.
Victor’s head snapped up, his grief-stricken expression faltering into a look of sheer confusion. “Mr. Cross? What is the meaning of this? This is a funeral for my wife!”
“No, Victor,” Adrian said, stopping ten feet from the altar, his steel-gray eyes locking onto my husband like a predator cornering its prey. “A funeral requires a dead body. And your math was slightly off.”
Adrian stepped aside.
I walked through the chapel doors, stepping into the dim light of the altar. The heavy winter coat I wore was open, clearly revealing my heavily pregnant silhouette, the silver scars across my face from the cliff rocks, and the solid, unyielding cast on my wrist.
The silence that fell over the chapel was so profound that you could hear the wax dripping from the altar candles.
Serena let out a sharp, choked shriek, stumbling backward out of her pew, her black veil tearing away to reveal a face distorted by pure, unadulterated terror. Victor’s face drained of color so fast he looked more like a corpse than the empty casket behind him.
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“Elena?” Victor whispered, his knees visibly trembling as he grabbed the edge of the pulpit for support. “No... no, you froze. It was a storm. You’re dead.”
“I’m expensive, Victor,” I said, my voice echoing through the chapel’s sound system. “But I am definitely not dead.”
