Chapter 7 - The Empty Coffin
The coffin was there.
My mother was not.
Mara obtained an emergency court order before sunrise.
By six-thirty, cemetery officials had opened the grave.
I stood beneath a black umbrella while workers raised the casket.
My father arrived against my wishes.
He watched from twenty feet away.
When the lid opened, Victor Vale made a sound I had never heard from him before.
Not a word.
Not exactly.
Something between a gasp and a broken prayer.
Inside the coffin were sandbags.
Nothing else.
Mara turned toward him.
“You identified the body.”
Victor stared into the casket.
“Yes.”
“Did you see her placed inside?”
“No.”
“Who handled the arrangements?”
His voice was barely audible.
“Crosswell.”
Damian stood beside his attorney.
“You’re welcome.”
I faced him.
“How did you know?”
“My grandfather kept records.”
“Where?”
“Private archive.”
“Give them to me.”
He smiled.
“I want immunity.”
Mara laughed.
“You’re asking the wrong person.”
“Then I want protection.”
“From whom?”
For once Damian did not enjoy answering.
“My family.”
I studied him.
“You attacked me because I asked about my mother.”
His jaw tightened.
“You confronted me with photographs you weren’t supposed to have.”
“So you slammed me into a wall.”
“I lost control.”
“That is what men say when they want violence to sound accidental.”
He looked away.
Good.
“Why are you helping now?”
Damian stared at the empty coffin.
“Because my grandfather died six months ago.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You know what the newspapers said.”
My stomach tightened.
Heart failure.
Age eighty-eight.
Private residence.
Natural causes.
Damian continued.
“He called me the night before he died.”
“What did he say?”
“That Evelyn Vale had returned.”
Victor looked up sharply.
Damian nodded toward him.
“He knew.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“I knew nothing.”
“My grandfather was terrified.”
Damian continued.
“He told me she was cleaning up the past.”
Mara asked, “Was Augustus Cross murdered?”
Damian looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Proof?”
“I have his final recording.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere my mother can’t reach.”
That name landed heavily.
Celeste Cross.
Damian’s mother.
Chairwoman of the Crosswell Foundation.
Philanthropist.
Widow.
One of the most connected women in the country.
And a person who had kissed me on both cheeks at the gala less than an hour before her son attacked me.
“Is Celeste involved?” I asked.
Damian looked toward the cemetery gates.
“She knows more than she admits.”
“About my mother?”
“Yes.”
“About Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
“About the Orion Ledger?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because until last night, I thought my family was stronger than yours.”
A bitter smile appeared.
“Then you locked four hundred people inside a house my grandfather used to brag was impossible to secure.”
My father spoke.
“It wasn’t Crosswell’s house.”
Damian looked at him.
“No.”
Victor glanced at me.
“It was Isabella’s.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Halcyon belonged to your mother.”
“Why was Crosswell hosting a gala there?”
Dad’s face tightened.
“Because after Isabella died, ownership transferred.”
“To whom?”
“Crosswell Foundation.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
“I never knew.”
Mara looked toward the empty coffin.
“I think we’re beginning to see how.”
Damian reached into his coat.
Mara’s hand moved toward her weapon.
He slowly removed a folded paper.
A photocopy.
Property transfer.
Halcyon Estate.
From Isabella Vale.
To Crosswell Foundation.
Signed six hours after my mother’s official time of death.
I stared at the signature.
My mother’s name.
Impossible.
Damian said quietly, “That is why my grandfather kept the coffin empty.”
“Why?”
“Because a dead woman cannot sign property transfers.”
The rain fell harder.
I looked at the empty grave.
And for the first time, an impossible thought entered my mind.
May you like
Maybe my mother had not died at Halcyon Estate.
Maybe someone had needed the world to believe she had.
