Chapter 1
“There will be a funeral, but it won’t be mine.”
Miles stopped breathing.
Gwendolyn’s eyes dropped to the phone in my hand.
That was enough.
I looked at the screen.
One outgoing call had been prepared but never connected.
The contact name was simple.
SILAS.
My jaw tightened.
Silas Blackwell.
My father’s older brother.
Seventy years old.
Retired from daily family business for almost a decade.
The man who had toasted me when I became head.
The man who called Peter “the future of Blackwell” every birthday.
I pressed the callback button.
Gwendolyn moved instantly.
“Dante, don’t.”
Too late.
The line connected.
Silas answered on the first ring.
“Is he still at dinner?”
Silence filled the flower room.
Miles closed his eyes.
I looked at the funeral wreath.
Then at Peter, safely in the bodyguard’s arms beside the doorway.
My son was still clutching the edge of the guard’s jacket.
I spoke slowly.
“No.”
Silas said nothing.
I continued.
“He’s holding his son.”
The line went dead.
Gwendolyn whispered:
“You don’t understand.”
I almost smiled.
“That sentence has never improved what comes next.”
I opened the message thread.
Most of it had been deleted.
One line remained.
KEEP PETER READY. WE NEED HIM BELIEVABLE TOMORROW.
My blood went cold.
Believable.
Not comforted.
Not protected.
Believable.
I looked at Gwendolyn.
“You weren’t preparing him for grief.”
She stared at the floor.
“You were rehearsing it.”
Miles finally spoke.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen here.”
I turned.
“What wasn’t?”
His mouth tightened.
Then Peter whispered from the doorway:
“They said Daddy falls asleep at dinner and never wakes up.”
Every adult in the room went still.
I looked at Miles.
He looked away.
Whatever had been planned tonight was not rumor.
May you like
Someone had already written the ending.
And my five-year-old son had been forced to practice the funeral.
