Chapter 8 - A False Funeral
Hollis collapsed before breakfast. The nurses insisted his pulse was steady, but his skin had gone gray, and he could not lift his head. Emma called an ambulance. Victor arrived before it, already wearing a black coat. “He has been ill for weeks,” Victor said. “This is the end.” “You sound prepared.” “I am his son.” “That does not make you his obituary.” Theo pushed past him to reach the study. Hollis had left a sealed envelope on the desk with Emma’s name. By the time the ambulance doors closed, Victor had taken control of the house security and ordered everyone to remain inside. The envelope contained one sentence: Trust the funeral.
Hollis died at the hospital that evening. Mae delivered the news in the winter room, where the clocks still showed 2:17. Emma felt grief arrive without permission. Hollis had lied, manipulated, and benefited from suffering, yet he had also given her a choice when her father had not. He had made room for her anger. “There will be a private service tomorrow,” Victor said. “The board expects you to attend.” “The board can expect whatever it likes.” “Your position ends when my father’s life ends.” Mae opened her briefcase. “Not according to the stewardship transfer.” Victor’s gaze moved to her. “You should be careful, Mae.” “I have been careful for twenty years. That is how I know I am late.”
The funeral was held in the family chapel, though Hollis’s coffin remained closed. Emma sat beside Theo while Victor delivered a polished speech about legacy. He did not mention Bellweather, Lena, or the Orchard Fund. Halfway through, the chapel lights flickered. A recording began from hidden speakers. Hollis’s voice filled the stone room. “If you are hearing this, Victor has announced my death before my body is cold. That is unsurprising. What may surprise you is that the person he expects to inherit my power has already been disqualified.” Victor stood. “Turn it off.” The recording continued. “My son believes authority is a chair. It is not. Authority is the willingness of others to stand when you ask them to.”
The coffin lid opened. It was empty. A murmur broke through the chapel. Emma looked at Theo. He looked equally stunned. Victor shouted for security, but the doors had locked automatically. Hollis’s recording explained that the funeral was a test and that every guest had been invited because one of them had attempted to kill him. “The body in the hospital is not mine,” the voice said. “My physician confirms this, but confirmation is less important than reaction.” Victor turned toward the side door. Mae blocked it. “Where is he?” Victor demanded. “You heard him,” she said. “He is watching.”
The hidden cameras appeared on the chapel screen. They showed the estate’s corridors, the greenhouse, and the station. In one image, Victor met with Rusk. In another, Mae’s assistant delivered a folder to a man wearing a Bellweather maintenance jacket. Emma recognized the jacket from the library fire. Then the image changed. Charles stood in the same corridor, handing Victor a small package. Emma’s chest tightened. Charles looked frightened, but Victor looked triumphant. “That was before the wedding,” Charles said from the back of the chapel. “I was giving him a decoy.” “You were giving him my mother’s key,” Emma said. “I thought it would keep him away from you.”
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Theo moved toward the screen. “The footage is live.” He touched his earpiece. “The hospital called. Someone has entered the morgue.” Victor smiled suddenly. “You are all so eager to believe a dead man.” He drew a pistol from beneath his coat. Theo shoved Emma behind a stone pillar as the chapel erupted. Mae tackled one of the board members who had reached for the door. Charles fell to the floor. Victor fired at the screen, and the image went black. “Where is Hollis?” Emma shouted. A hidden panel opened behind the altar. Hollis appeared in a wheelchair, pale but alert, with a small transmitter in his hand. “I am here,” he said. “And you have just shown me exactly who you are.”
Victor fled through the sacristy. Theo followed, but Emma saw Charles struggling to breathe and stayed. The gunfire had not struck him; panic had. She knelt beside him. “Why did you keep choosing everyone else’s safety over my right to know?” she asked. “Because your mother made me promise.” “She made you promise to lie.” “She made me promise you would live long enough to hate me.” His eyes filled. “I failed at the first part and succeeded at the second.” Hollis’s security team captured Victor at the river gate, but Rusk was gone. In the confusion, Emma found a strip of paper beneath the altar. Seven minutes, it said. The dead man is a door, not a destination.
