Chapter 2 - The Shadows of St. Jude’s
Before the two transport guards standing at the back of the chapel could make their way through the stunned crowd, Clara reached into her inner jumpsuit pocket and pulled out a worn, folded piece of yellowed paper. It wasn't a weapon; it was a blueprint.
She threw it onto the open satin lining of the casket.
"That's the original architectural draft for the Vance Estate cellar," Clara announced, turning her back on the casket to address the room full of high-society figures, politicians, and family lawyers. "Look at the seal on the bottom right. Signed by Arthur Vance in 2018—four years after his official death certificate was issued."
Eleanor stepped forward, her voice trembling with manufactured grief. "Clara, child... you are sick. The prison system has ruined your mind. You don't know what you're saying. Your father perished in that blaze. We placed his remaining ashes—"
"—You placed a bag of fireplace soot and sand in a wooden box, Eleanor," Clara interrupted softly. "And today, you threw a lavish fake funeral to officially declare him dead in absentia so you could liquidate the remaining foundation funds before the state audit next month."
The chapel fell into a dead, suffocating silence. The local sheriff, who had been sitting in the third row out of respect for the Vance family, slowly stood up. He wasn't looking at Clara with suspicion anymore; his sharp, experienced eyes were fixed on Eleanor and Richard.
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"Sheriff Lawson," Eleanor rasped, her composure finally cracking. "Are you going to let a convicted arsonist disrupt my husband's service?"
Lawson walked slowly toward the altar, his boots clicking heavily against the polished marble floor. He stopped beside Clara, looked down into the gleaming, empty casket, and then looked at Eleanor. "Mrs. Vance... where is Arthur?"
