Others shared the video clip online, where thousands of people commented things like, “What an absolute, soul-crushing tragedy.”
From a private medical suite that was guarded by armed security personnel, Eloise watched the live broadcast on a tablet.
Her face was no longer the same, as a jagged scar ran from her cheekbone down to her jawline, and she walked with a constant, throbbing pain in her hip. Her left hand trembled uncontrollably whenever she tried to hold a glass of water.
But her daughter was still alive and kicking inside her, and every little movement was a promise of a future.
On the other side of the room, Harris was holding an emergency meeting with his best lawyers, forensic investigators, and the head of the anti-fraud department for his insurance group.
“Damien filed the formal claim exactly four hours after they found your torn, bloodied coat in the ravine,” the chief investigator said, sliding a folder across the mahogany desk. “He didn’t wait for any remains to be recovered, he didn’t wait for a coroner’s report, and he certainly didn’t wait for any official investigation.”
“He was in such a hurry to get the money,” Eloise murmured from the bed.
“He wasn’t just in a hurry, he was starving for it,” Harris corrected, his voice sounding like grinding stone.
Spread out on the table were high-resolution photographs, decrypted audio recordings, detailed bank statements, and hundreds of messages that had been deleted from Wendy’s phone.
One of the investigators played a recording that had been recovered from the emergency locator device.
Damien’s voice filled the room with chilling clarity.
“When the insurance company pays out the fifty million, nobody will ever have to speak her name again.”
Then, Wendy’s voice cut through the silence.
“Just make sure you make it look like a tragic accident.”
Eloise closed her eyes, but it was not because of fear.
It was because of a white-hot, burning anger that finally made her feel strong again.
Harris placed both of his hands firmly on the table and leaned toward the investigators.
“He tried to murder my daughter and my granddaughter just to collect a payout from my own company,” he stated.
One of the lawyers spoke up, adjusting his glasses.
“We have more than enough evidence to charge him with attempted murder, insurance fraud, conspiracy, and obstruction of justice,” he explained. “The District Attorney’s office is already prepared to sign the warrants.”
“Not yet,” Eloise said firmly.
Everyone in the room turned to look at her.
She sat up slowly, carefully supporting her large, pregnant stomach with one hand.
“He truly believes my funeral will be his ultimate victory,” she said. “He thinks he is going to sign that agreement in front of the cameras, shed a few fake tears, and walk away a multi-millionaire with his mistress by his side.”
Harris watched her silently, waiting to see what she had in mind.
“What exactly do you want to do, Eloise?” he asked.
Eloise took a deep, steadying breath.
“I want her to believe she won, I want him to smile, and I want him to pick up that pen,” she said.
The baby kicked beneath her palm, a rhythmic thump of encouragement.
Eloise opened her eyes, and there was no longer any softness left in them.
“And then, I want to walk through those heavy oak doors while he is standing at the altar.”
Nobody said a word for several long, tense seconds as the weight of her plan settled in.
Finally, Harris stood up, grabbed his coat, and extended his arm toward his daughter.
“Then, my dear, let us make sure we give Mr. Finch the most unforgettable funeral in the history of Blue Ridge.”
That same afternoon, while Damien was in the back of the cathedral practicing his speech as the perfect, grieving widower, a courier arrived with a thick, official-looking envelope from the insurance company.
Inside, there was only one short, typed instruction.
“The signing of the preliminary agreement will take place during the memorial service with all witnesses present.”
Damien smiled widely as he read the note, completely unaware that the envelope was nothing more than a carefully crafted trap.
He was even less aware of the fact that the woman he thought he had buried was already walking toward her own funeral.
Chapter 3: The Funeral of Lies
The cathedral was packed to capacity with people.
Wealthy business associates, casual acquaintances from the high-end side of town, local crime reporters, curious neighbors, and distant relatives filled every single wooden pew. Many of them had not spoken to Eloise in years, but they all showed up, drawn by the morbid fascination of the tragedy: a pregnant woman lost in a mountain storm, a husband crushed by grief, and a baby who never got the chance to be born.
