Chapter 4
The heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel groaned open, letting in a gust of cold autumn wind that stirred the candles burning near the altar. Footsteps echoed on the stone threshold—steady, measured, and entirely unhurried. Attorney Vance stepped into the nave, holding a leather brief under one arm, his expression professional and completely oblivious to the tableau of human wreckage waiting before him.
"Ah, Arthur," Vance called out, his voice bouncing off the marble walls. "I trust the private service concluded smoothly? We have the final deed transfers ready for signature in the vestry."
Arthur didn't turn around. His eyes remained fixed on Clara, who was now fully upright, supported by Julian’s arm around her waist. The older man’s mind was calculating, searching desperately for a narrative that could salvage the situation before Vance reached the front rows.
"Vance," Arthur said smoothly, stepping directly into the attorney's line of sight to block his view of the broken casket. "There has been an... unexpected development. A medical emergency during the final rites. My niece has experienced a profound, miraculous recovery from a catatonic state."
Vance stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he peered around Arthur’s shoulder. The sight of Julian kneeling beside a dusty, splintered white casket with a bruised woman in a sequined gown was difficult to reframe as a simple medical miracle. Vance’s jaw tightened.
"That looks less like a medical recovery and more like a crime scene, Arthur," Vance said, setting his briefcase down on the edge of a pew. He looked at Clara, recognizing the prominent heiress despite the dirt and tear-tracks. "Miss Vance? Are you injured?"
"I was buried," Clara said, her voice stronger now, ringing with absolute clarity through the cavernous space. "My uncle and Evelyn administered a paralytic agent disguised as my evening sedative. They placed me in this casket while I was still fully conscious. If Julian hadn’t heard my ring against the wood... I would have suffocated before sunset."
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Evelyn let out a choked cry, pressing her hands over her mouth and turning away toward the side altar, her shoulders shaking with genuine panic. The veneer of civilization was cracking rapidly, leaving behind the raw, ugly truth of what wealth and ambition could justify behind closed doors.
Vance slowly opened his leather briefcase, but he did not pull out the deed transfers. Instead, he withdrew a heavy metal recording device, placing it deliberately on the wooden pew. "This chapel is private property, Miss Vance, but attempted homicide falls under federal jurisdiction the moment interstate corporate assets are involved. I suggest everyone stays very still."
