I stood outside the church, paralyzed by the dread of saying goodbye to my father, Arnold. The whole affair felt tainted; we couldn’t even give him a proper burial since he had supposedly died from an infectious disease and was scheduled for cremation. My dog, Bella, sat in the car, unusually agitated, whining. “Stay, Bella,” I commanded, patting her head. Walking away, I entered the church where my father’s closed casket rested, cordoned off from the mourners. I sat beside my mother, feeling hollow. Just as the mass concluded and the final hymn began, Bella’s frantic, sharp bark echoed through the silent church. She burst in, jumped onto the casket, knocking the flowers aside, and began barking loudly, then settled in her alert position, staring at me. I knew instantly that something was terribly wrong.
“Open the casket!” I demanded, ignoring the gasps and my uncle’s horrified stare. Pushing past the funeral director, I walked over and lifted the lid myself. The casket was completely, shockingly empty. My mother let out a strangled cry, her eyes rolling back as her knees gave way. I caught her just before she hit the marble floor and rushed her straight to the hospital. Once she was stable, I called Detective Bradshaw. The police could only confirm the coroner had released the remains to the funeral home, but with no body and a resigned coroner, they had no immediate leads. I was determined to find answers myself, starting with the morgue.
My trip to the morgue was a dead end; the nurse claimed the coroner had resigned, and Arnold’s file was mysteriously missing. I paid $1,000 to sneak into the office, but the search was futile. Frustrated, I took a call from my father’s lawyer, Mr. Stevens, who informed me he was now the CEO and urgently needed to meet. At Arnold’s office, I found his email inbox wiped clean. Mr. Stevens then dropped a bombshell: the company was drowning in severe debt, and investors were ready to pull out. He suggested that Arnold’s troubles began when his new secretary, Miss Pearson, started working there, insinuating my father had been having a romantic relationship with her. The shame of my mother’s potential humiliation fueled my need for the truth.
I spent the day stabilizing the company’s immediate financial chaos, then decided to follow Miss Pearson. She drove to a modest suburban home. Later that night, I was waiting in my car when she left again. I managed to slip inside her closing garage, finding a doorway into her house. Searching quietly in the dark with a flashlight, I entered her bedroom. There, on the nightstand, was a framed photo of her kissing my father, confirming the affair. Dejected, I was about to leave when I spotted a slightly open coffee table drawer. Inside was a Manila envelope: Arnold’s life insurance policy for $7 million, naming Miss Pearson as the sole beneficiary. I drove straight to Detective Bradshaw’s office with the compelling evidence.
The Detective acted swiftly. Miss Pearson had booked a flight to Morocco, a country with no extradition treaty with the US. I insisted on following the officers to the airport. Although they lost her at the gate, I wasn’t back to square one. I knew Arnold hadn’t taken his two valuable dancer figurines home. Wherever he was, he had them. I looked up Mr. Frederick, the collector who owned the third, final figurine in the set. He demanded a non-negotiable price of $750,000. I called Mr. Stevens, selling $750,000 worth of my shares in the company, assuring him I would buy them back soon. He reluctantly wired the money, mentioning Miss Pearson had also vanished, confirming my suspicions. I had my bait.
I paid Mr. Frederick and immediately arranged for the newly acquired figurine to be the next lot up for an anonymous auction. I paid for targeted adverts, ensuring Arnold, wherever he was hiding, would know his treasured set piece was on the block. Hiding behind a pillar, I watched the bidding climb. My heart sank as the price stalled at $600,000. Just as the auctioneer declared “going twice,” a voice boomed, “$1 million!” My father, Arnold, rose from a seat and removed his hat. He was alive. I rushed to block his exit while Detective Bradshaw stepped in, snapping the handcuffs shut. “You tricked me! This was a trap!” Arnold yelled. “Don’t act like I’ve committed some terrible betrayal, Dad! You’re the one who had an affair and faked your death to run off with your mistress!”
