Chapter 4 - THE FUNERAL PRESTON PLANNED
Three days later, authorities officially suspended the mountain search.
Not because they believed I was dead.
Because they wanted Preston to believe they believed it.
Detective Cole arranged everything carefully.
Only a small group knew I had survived.
Hospital staff signed additional confidentiality agreements.
My room was registered under another name.
Richard’s security team guarded the private floor.
Even most Whitaker Atlantic executives had no idea their CEO’s newly discovered daughter was recovering two floors above the maternity unit.
The story given to the public was simple.
Search conditions had become too dangerous.
Recovery efforts would resume when weather permitted.
Preston responded exactly as Detective Cole predicted.
He began planning my funeral.
“They don’t even have a body.”
I stared at David.
He had brought the news that morning.
“Apparently Preston says your family needs closure.”
“What family?”
David looked at Richard.
Richard looked furious.
Preston had spent our five-year marriage isolating me from nearly everyone who mattered.
My mother was gone.
I had no siblings.
I had only recently discovered Richard.
To Preston, that had made me perfect.
No father demanding answers.
No brother checking bank accounts.
No sister noticing bruises beneath emotional ones.
No one watching closely enough.
Or so he had believed.
“The funeral is Saturday.”
David handed me a printed invitation.
MADISON ELEANOR VALE.
BELOVED WIFE.
DEVOTED MOTHER.
FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS.
I stared at the page until the words blurred.
“He wrote devoted mother?”
Richard sat across from me.
“Madison.”
“He told me the baby wouldn’t suffer long.”
My voice shook.
“And now he’s putting devoted mother on an invitation?”
I tore the paper in half.
Richard did not stop me.
David waited.
“There’s another reason Preston is moving quickly.”
“Money.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“He has significant debts.”
That surprised me.
“Preston told me his company was worth thirty million dollars.”
“His company is leveraged beyond anything close to that.”
David opened a spreadsheet.
“Vale Development owes approximately eighteen million to lenders.”
I stared at the numbers.
“Eighteen million?”
“There are also personal guarantees.”
“How much?”
“Another nine.”
I leaned back.
Twenty-seven million dollars.
Preston had been drowning while pretending he was wealthy.
“He needed the policy.”
David nodded.
“Desperately.”
Richard folded his arms.
“He also transferred two million dollars to an offshore account forty-eight hours before Ravenstone.”
I looked at him.
“Whose name?”
“Not his.”
“Vanessa’s?”
“No.”
Richard looked toward David.
David answered.
“An entity registered in the Cayman Islands called Northstar Holdings.”
“Who owns it?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
The name bothered me.
Northstar.
I had heard it before.
Then I remembered.
“Preston said Northstar once.”
Everyone looked at me.
“When?”
“Maybe six months ago.”
I closed my eyes, trying to recover the memory.
“He was on the phone in his office.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
I thought harder.
“He said, ‘Northstar gets paid after the funeral.’”
Richard and David exchanged a look.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I suddenly felt cold.
“I asked him what Northstar was.”
“What did he say?”
“That it was a real-estate investment.”
Richard stood.
“It isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my people checked every public registration available.”
He looked at me.
“Northstar owns no property.”
Saturday arrived with gray skies.
By then, my contractions had stopped.
Doctors wanted me to remain hospitalized until delivery because of the trauma.
I agreed to everything except staying in bed during my own funeral.
Absolutely everyone told me it was a terrible idea.
The obstetrician.
The trauma surgeon.
Detective Cole.
David.
Richard.
Especially Richard.
“You almost died five days ago.”
“And Preston is burying me today.”
“Symbolically.”
“He thinks I’m dead.”
“That is the point of the operation.”
“I’m going.”
Richard stared at me.
“No.”
I stared back.
“I’m twenty-eight years old.”
“You are nine months pregnant with fractured ribs.”
“And I am not asking permission from the father I met five days ago.”
The words hit harder than I intended.
Richard went quiet.
Immediately, guilt moved through me.
But he surprised me.
He nodded once.
“You’re right.”
I looked at him.
“I am?”
“I lost twenty-eight years.”
He adjusted his cuff.
“I am not spending the next twenty-eight trying to control you.”
He walked toward the door.
“But if you insist on attending, we do it safely.”
My chest loosened.
“How?”
His expression became almost businesslike.
“Doctor.”
“Security.”
“Police.”
“Vehicle at the side entrance.”
“And you do not move without me.”
I almost smiled.
“That sounds suspiciously like control.”
“That sounds like a father who found his daughter on a cliff.”
I could not argue with that.
The cathedral Preston selected stood in the heart of the city.
St. Catherine’s.
Marble columns.
Stone angels.
Enough seats for seven hundred people.
Preston invited the press.
Of course he did.
Detective Cole placed officers inside disguised as mourners.
More waited outside.
David sat near the rear.
Richard and I waited in a private corridor connected to the cathedral’s side entrance.
I wore a long black maternity dress beneath a heavy coat.
My wrist remained braced.
Makeup covered the worst bruising on my face but not all of it.
Richard stood beside me in a black suit.
Through a small security monitor, we watched Preston begin the performance.
He stood beside an empty coffin.
Vanessa stood beside him.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
She wore black, but her dress looked more appropriate for a gala than a funeral.
Preston accepted condolences with one hand while Vanessa touched his arm with the other.
“They’re not even hiding it.”
Richard’s voice was flat.
“They think there’s nothing left to hide from.”
The service began.
A priest spoke about loss.
A choir sang.
People I had not seen in years cried over a woman they believed dead.
Then Preston walked to the lectern.
He rested both hands against the polished wood.
“My wife was complicated.”
My stomach turned.
“She could be difficult.”
Richard looked at me.
“Stay here.”
I shook my head.
Preston continued.
“But I loved her despite her struggles.”
I whispered.
“He’s rewriting my life.”
Richard said nothing.
“He’s turning me into someone unstable.”
On the screen, Vanessa lowered her head to hide a smile.
Preston continued speaking.
Then the microphone picked up a quieter sentence as he stepped away.
He thought he was far enough from it.
He wasn’t.
Vanessa leaned toward him.
“When can we file?”
Preston whispered back.
“Monday.”
“And the money?”
“As soon as they issue the death certificate.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Seventy-five?”
Preston’s answer was soft.
“All of it.”
Detective Cole’s voice came through the earpiece Richard had given me.
“We have it recorded.”
I closed my eyes.
That should have been enough.
But Preston was not finished.
A wealthy investor approached him near the coffin.
The man muttered something I could not hear.
Preston smiled.
Then the cathedral microphone caught his response.
“They both froze to death.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
Preston looked toward Vanessa.
“That useless woman deserved it.”
Everything inside me became perfectly still.
May you like
I looked at Richard.
“Open the doors.”
