Chapter 3 - The Empty GraveThe burial took place in the private Whitmore family plot, under a weeping willow that Grant had always hated. The rain began to fall—a cold, miserable drizzle that mirrored the atmosphere perfectly. As the casket was lowered, Grant dropped a single white rose onto the lid. It wasn't a gesture of love; it was a punctuation mark. A period at the end of a long, boring sentence.
"Goodbye, Claire," he whispered.
He turned away before the casket even hit the bottom. He walked toward his black SUV, Tessa already waiting in the passenger seat. They looked like a king and queen reclaiming their throne.
Jenna stayed behind. She waited until the last of the mourners departed, until the gravediggers finished their shift and retreated to their truck. The rain intensified, turning the fresh soil into slick, black mud.
"They're gone," Jenna said, her voice trembling slightly.
I sat up.
The movement was slow, painful, and glorious. I pushed the lid, which had been modified with a custom latch by one of Jenna’s contacts, and gasped for fresh, cold air. I climbed out of the mud, my ivory dress ruined, my hair matted with rain and soil. I looked like a ghost, or a demon.
"You look terrifying," Jenna whispered, handing me a heavy wool coat.
May you like
"I feel reborn," I replied, my voice raspy from disuse.
We walked to the waiting car—not a hearse, but an unassuming sedan parked in the shadows of the cemetery gate. Tonight, we were going to the law offices of David Brenner. Tonight, Grant Whitmore would learn that his inheritance was not money, but a prison sentence.
