Chapter 5
The beam of Leo’s flashlight swept across the rows of metal filing cabinets and mahogany shelves inside the archive room. Dust motes danced frantically in the narrow cone of light, settling over stacks of yellowed parchment and modern leather-bound ledgers. Father Thomas rushed to the central mahogany desk, frantically pulling open drawers until his hand brushed against a heavy, black leather-bound volume labeled Municipal Interments & Financial Allocations: Current Fiscal Year.
"I found it," the priest breathed, lifting the ledger onto the desk and flipping the heavy pages backward.
Clara stepped up beside him, her fingers tracing the neat columns of names, dates, and financial figures. The numbers told a chilling story of municipal corruption disguised as administrative efficiency. For every fast-track burial approved within forty-eight hours of reported death, the parish received a substantial discretionary grant from the county health department—funds that were immediately funneled into the municipal redevelopment project overseen by District Attorney Vance and Deacon Miller.
"Look at this entry," Clara pointed a trembling finger at an entry dated three days prior. "Arthur Vance... declared dead of cardiac arrest at home. Buried the same afternoon. No autopsy performed."
Father Thomas adjusted his glasses, reading the fine print below the entry. "Arthur Vance was the former county treasurer. He was scheduled to testify before a state grand jury regarding missing municipal infrastructure funds." The pieces of the dark puzzle clicked into place with horrifying clarity. It wasn't just an overwhelmed health system cutting corners; it was a systematic conspiracy to dispose of inconvenient witnesses and political rivals under the guise of natural mortality.
"They aren't just clearing hospital beds," Leo said, his voice deadly calm as he stared at the open ledger. "They're using the cemetery as a quiet, untraceable graveyard for anyone who threatens their power."
Before the priest could respond, a sharp, metallic click echoed from the corridor outside the broken archive door. The overhead fluorescent lights in the subterranean vault flickered once, twice, and then snapped on with a loud, buzzing hum, flooding the damp stone room with harsh white light.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed on the stone stairs. Someone was descending into the crypt, and they were not carrying a flashlight.
"Thomas?" a smooth, cold voice called out from the corridor, carrying an unmistakable tone of mocking amusement. "I thought I heard a disturbance down here. You really shouldn't be playing in the archives after hours, Father."
Father Thomas froze, the color draining from his face entirely. "Deacon Miller."
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Clara grabbed the edge of the desk, her eyes darting frantically around the room for another exit, while Leo gripped the wooden mallet, stepping resolutely between his mother and the open doorway.
***
