At the very front of the room, standing next to two empty white coffins, Damien Finch kept his head bowed in a display of faux humility.
His black suit was perfectly pressed, his hair was immaculate, and his face was set into an expression of meticulously practiced sorrow.
Wendy sat in the very front row, a dark, lace veil covering half of her face, occasionally dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, though her eyes kept wandering toward the side table rather than the coffins.
A thick, heavy insurance folder rested on that table, and sitting right on top of the documents was an expensive silver pen.
Damien looked over at her several times during the service.
Every time his eyes landed on her, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a secret, triumphant grin.
The priest spoke at length about the nature of loss, the importance of faith, and the pain of broken families. Some of the women in the pews wept openly, a man in the back crossed himself, and the flashes from the cameras of the reporters bounced brightly off the stained-glass windows.
Then, a lead lawyer from the Campbell Insurance Group walked slowly toward the altar.
“Mr. Finch,” he said in a loud, formal voice. “At your specific request and in accordance with the preliminary claim process, we are now ready to record your signature so we can begin the final review of the payment.”
A low, collective murmur rippled through the crowded cathedral.
Damien feigned a deep, shuddering breath, playing the part of a man whose heart was breaking into a million pieces.
“I honestly do not know if I have the emotional strength to do this right now,” he stammered.
Wendy lowered her gaze to the floor to hide her own greedy anxiety.
The lawyer simply held the folder open.
“We completely understand your suffering during this difficult time,” he said.
Damien reached out and picked up the silver pen.
His hand was rock steady, not even the slightest tremor to be seen.
He leaned toward Wendy, whispering something he believed no one else could possibly hear.
“They finally froze both of them,” he muttered. “Now, we are truly, finally free.”
Wendy barely managed to stifle a smile, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
At that exact moment, the massive, heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral were suddenly thrown wide open.
The wind from outside rushed in with such force that several of the tall, decorative candles near the entrance were blown out instantly.
Everyone in the room turned around in surprise.
Eloise appeared at the entrance, backlit by the bright afternoon sun.
She wore a long, elegant black coat, her face was uncovered, and the prominent scar that split her cheek was visible to everyone in the room, but she walked with her head held high, looking like a queen returning from war. One hand supported her enormous belly, and the other was linked firmly into the arm of Harris.
The silence that descended upon the cathedral was absolutely brutal.
Then, someone in the crowd let out a sharp gasp.
Wendy stood up so abruptly that she tripped over her own heels and backed away until she slammed hard into the wooden bench.
Damien dropped the silver pen, and it clattered loudly against the stone floor.
“No,” he whispered, his face turning an ash-gray color. “This is not possible.”
Eloise began walking down the central aisle, her pace measured and steady.
Every single step she took was painful, but she did not stop, and she did not look away from him.
The reporters began frantically filming the scene as several people stood up from their seats to get a better look. A woman in the front row pressed her hands over her mouth in complete shock.
Damien stood there, staring as if he were seeing a ghost come back from the dead to haunt him.
“You are supposed to be dead,” he said, his voice cracking and high-pitched.
Eloise stopped directly in front of him, looking him in the eye with a calm, chilling composure.
“No, Damien,” she replied, her voice ringing clear throughout the entire room. “I am very much alive, and so is your pathetic, murderous lie.”
Harris stepped forward, his presence filling the space with a sudden, overwhelming authority.
“My name is Harris Campbell,” he announced to the room. “I am the president of the Campbell Insurance Group, and I am also Eloise’s father.”
The murmur in the cathedral exploded into a roar of confusion and surprise.
Wendy started to sob, but this time, the tears were very real and born of pure terror.
Damien stumbled backward, clutching at the air.
“This is a setup, a total lie,” he shouted, waving his arms. “She is crazy, she has always been unstable, and she is making all of this up.”
Eloise did not even bother to raise her voice to counter him.
“That is exactly what you told everyone when you took my phone away, and that is what you said when you locked me in the house to isolate me,” she said. “That is also what you said when you forced me to sign a document I did not understand.”
The lawyer pressed a small button on a remote control in his hand.
Suddenly, Damien’s own voice boomed through the high-tech speaker system of the cathedral.
“When the insurance company pays out the fifty million, nobody will ever have to speak her name again.”
A wave of gasps and outraged murmurs swept through the crowd.
Then, Wendy’s voice played for everyone to hear.
“Just make sure you make it look like a tragic accident.”
Wendy collapsed to her knees, looking completely drained of color.
