Chapter 3 - The Empty GraveThe cemetery plot at Oakridge Memorial was a masterclass in theatrical grief.
Green artificial turf carpeted the excavated earth around the gaping six-foot hole. A canopy of white silk draped overhead protected the elite mourners from the brisk October drizzle. Polished brass stands held massive sprays of white lilies, and fifty folding chairs were arranged in neat rows facing the dark, yawning void in the ground.
I lay inside the casket, listening through the wood as the pallbearers lowered the heavy box onto the straps above the vault.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” mumbled a junior pastor whom Grant had hired off Craigslist because the actual parish priest had refused to preside over a funeral without a confirmed coroner's signature—a minor bureaucratic hurdle Grant had cheerfully bypassed with a forged doctor’s note and a heavy bribe.
“Amen,” murmured the sparse crowd of thirty remaining sycophants who had bothered to make the drive out to the private VIP section of the cemetery.
“Thank you all for coming,” Grant’s voice rang out, strong and steady, projecting across the lawn. He stood at the head of the grave, one hand resting on the polished mahogany lid, his head bowed just enough to look appropriately devastated for any hovering photographers from the Chicago Tribune society pages.
Beside him, Tessa wore a small, triumphant smirk, pretending to dab her dry eyes with a black designer tissue.
“If you’ll all head back to the main reception hall at the Drake Hotel,” Grant continued smoothly, “we’ll join you shortly. Jenna and I just need a final moment of private closure with Claire.”
A murmur of sympathetic agreement rippled through the crowd. Slowly, the mourners began filing back toward their luxury sedans and SUVs parked along the paved lane.
Within three minutes, the heavy silence of the cemetery settled over the plot, broken only by the steady drizzle tapping against the silk canopy.
“Finally,” Tessa hissed, letting out a sharp breath of relief as she kicked off her stiletto heels into the artificial grass. “I thought those old biddies would never leave. Come on, Grant. Brenner’s office is twenty minutes away, and I want to sign the papers for the new penthouse before the stock market closes.”
“Hold on, Tessa,” Grant said, his voice dropping into a colder, more pragmatic register. He tapped the top of the mahogany lid with his knuckles. “Just making sure the seal is tight. Once the probate judge signs off on the death certificate tomorrow morning, we’re completely untouchable.”
“Nobody’s touching you, darling,” Tessa purred, sliding her arms around his waist from behind. “Except me. And your new bank account.”
Above them, Jenna’s voice cut through the damp air like a razor blade.
“I wouldn't count your money just yet, Tessa. The ink on that certificate hasn't even dried, and already you smell like federal prison.”
Grant stiffened instantly. He spun around, his face twisting into an ugly, defensive sneer as he glared at my sister, who stood a few feet away with her arms crossed over her black coat, holding a sleek black leather briefcase.
“Jenna,” Grant spat, stepping between her and the grave. “This is a private family moment. What are you doing here? I thought you went back to your firm to handle the probate filings.”
“Oh, I am handling the filings, Grant,” Jenna said, her lips curving into a terrifyingly sweet smile. “In fact, I’m handling them right now. But before we finalize your little inheritance, there’s a small procedural addendum we need to review.”
“What are you talking about?” Grant demanded, his voice rising in irritation. “There are no addendums. The will was signed five years ago. Everything goes to the surviving spouse. Period.”
“True,” Jenna agreed smoothly, walking closer to the edge of the open grave. She popped the latches of her briefcase with a sharp clack-clack. “Item Four of the primary estate declaration states that all assets transfer to the surviving spouse upon the legal confirmation of death.”
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She pulled out a thick stack of heavy cardstock documents and held them up.
“The only problem, Grant... is that legally speaking, my sister isn't dead.”
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