Discover the next part of the story by reading on...

The cemetery fell into a dead, suffocating silence. You could have heard a pin drop on the manicured grass.

Michael stood frozen beside the polished mahogany casket, his chest heaving rapidly as if he had just been struck by a physical blow. His lips parted, but no words came out—only a pathetic, strangled wheeze of air. He looked like a man staring straight into the jaws of hell.

I didn't rush. I didn't scream. I simply walked forward with slow, deliberate grace, my heels clicking against the stone path like a countdown timer. Arthur and Eleanor flanked me closely, their expressions carved from granite.

“M-Michael...” Ashley stammered beside him, her voice trembling violently. “Who... who is that? Is that... is that a ghost?”

“Shut up,” Michael hissed out of the side of his mouth, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and locked onto my face with primal terror. He stumbled forward half a step, raising a shaking hand as if trying to ward off an apparition. “Em... Emma? No... no, that’s impossible. We... we saw you fall. The storm... you were dead!”

I stopped three feet away from him, tilting my head slightly with a cold, terrifying smile that didn't reach my eyes.

“Is that what you told yourself, Michael?” my voice cut through the afternoon air like a razor blade, clear, steady, and carrying across the entire silent assembly. “That I was dead? That you could push me off an icy cliff, take my life’s work, steal my inheritance, and walk away with your little secretary to enjoy my fifty million dollars?”

A collective gasp exploded from the crowd of mourners. Whispers erupted instantly like wildfire.

“Did she say pushed?”

“Isn’t that Arthur Sterling?”

“What the hell is going on here? Is this a joke?”

Michael’s face turned the color of spoiled milk. He raised his hands defensively, backing away until his legs hit the edge of the empty casket.

“E-Emma, listen to me!” he stammered frantically, sweat beading heavily on his forehead despite the cool autumn air. “It was a mistake! A terrible accident! The wind... the ice! I tried to reach for you! Ask Ashley, she saw the whole thing!”

Ashley looked like she was about to faint. She grabbed Michael’s arm, her eyes darting frantically toward the waiting security guards and the federal agents who were now stepping out of three additional black SUVs blocking the cemetery exit.

“We didn't do anything!” Ashley shrieked defensively. “You slipped! You fell! Leave us alone, you crazy bitch!”

“Careful with your tongue, Ms. Vance,” a deep, authoritative voice boomed from behind me.

Detective Marcus Vance of the Colorado State Bureau of Investigation stepped forward, flashing a gold badge that glinted in the sunlight. He looked at Michael and Ashley with naked disgust.

“Michael Carter and Ashley Vance,” Detective Vance announced loudly, his voice carrying across the entire memorial grounds. “You are both under arrest for conspiracy to commit first-degree murder, insurance fraud, and attempted unlawful termination of a pregnancy.”

“This is insane!” Michael roared, trying to regain a shred of his corporate bravado, though his voice cracked miserably. “We have rights! This is a malicious civil dispute! Where’s the proof? Where’s the body?”

“Right here,” I whispered softly, stepping right up to his face so he could smell the expensive perfume and see the absolute, frozen fury in my eyes.

I raised my wrist, tapping the diamond-encrusted platinum watch Arthur had given me that morning.

“And as for proof, Michael? Every single word you whispered on that ledge—‘For fifty million dollars, she better be’—was recorded by the satellite emergency beacon in my thermal coat. The audio file was uploaded to the Sterling Global legal servers twenty minutes after I hit the ground.”

Michael’s knees buckled. The color drained entirely from his face, and he collapsed onto the grass beside the empty casket, weeping like a broken child.