Chapter 3 - THE FUNERAL THAT NEVER HAPPENED
Daniel did not sleep.
He sat beside Eleanor's bed in the small back room while Clara warmed a cup of milk. His mother had fallen asleep holding his hand, and he was afraid that if he let go, she might disappear again.
At dawn, he called his driver.
“Bring the car. No one else.”
Then he called Victor Shaw, his personal attorney.
“I need you to come to the old mill cottage. Quietly.”
Victor arrived forty minutes later carrying a leather case. He was in his early sixties, with silver-rimmed glasses and the calm manner of a man who had spent his career dealing with other people's disasters.
When Daniel explained what had happened, Victor removed his glasses.
“Are you certain it's your mother?”
Daniel stared at him.
“I held her hand.”
“I need to ask.”
“I know her face. I know her voice. I know the scar beside her eyebrow. I don't need a laboratory to tell me my mother is alive.”
Victor accepted the rebuke.
“Then we need to establish how she was declared dead.”
“The funeral. The cremation. The death certificate.”
“Was there a viewing?”
Daniel looked away.
“No.”
He remembered the black coffin at the church. Robert had said the fire had left Eleanor unrecognizable. The funeral director had advised against opening it.
Daniel had been too devastated to argue.
Victor opened his case.
“Do you have the original death certificate?”
“Robert handled the arrangements.”
“Of course he did.”
Daniel looked at him sharply.
“What does that mean?”
Victor did not answer immediately.
“I remember asking for the medical examiner's report. Robert told me it was being handled by the local authorities. I never received a copy.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You were grieving. Your uncle said he had the paperwork.”
Daniel's hands curled.
“Everyone trusted him.”
“Your father trusted him,” Victor said. “That is not the same thing.”
Clara entered with a tray.
She placed tea beside Victor and a bowl of porridge near Eleanor's door.
Victor looked at her.
“You are the maid from the estate.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know Mrs. Whitmore before she came here?”
“My grandmother did.”
“What was her name?”
“Margaret Bell.”
Victor's expression changed.
“Margaret was the companion who disappeared after the fire.”
Clara nodded.
“She didn't disappear. She was dismissed.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. Robert.”
Victor slowly closed his case.
“Did your grandmother keep any records?”
Clara looked at the floor.
“She kept letters. She told me never to throw them away.”
Daniel stood.
“Where are they?”
“At my flat.”
“Can you get them?”
“I can.”
“Then let's go.”
Eleanor stirred.
“Daniel?”
He returned to her side.
“I'm here, Mom.”
“Don't go with Robert.”
“I won't.”
“He said he was helping you.”
Daniel brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
“He lied.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Your father knew.”
Daniel went still.
“What?”
“Before the fire. Your father knew Robert was taking money.”
Victor looked up.
“Taking money from where?”
Eleanor's eyes opened again, but her gaze seemed distant.
“From the children's fund.”
Daniel frowned.
The Whitmore family foundation had been established by his grandfather to provide housing, food, and education grants to families in the surrounding villages. His father had expanded it, making the fund one of the largest charitable programs in the county.
After the funeral, Robert had taken over its administration.
“What did Robert take?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I don't remember all of it. Your father found the papers. He said he would stop him.”
“Did the fire happen because of that?”
Her lips trembled.
“I heard them arguing. Then I smelled smoke.”
Daniel's stomach tightened.
“Who was arguing?”
“Your father and Robert.”
“My father died six years ago.”
“I know.”
She closed her eyes again.
“I'm sorry, Daniel.”
He held her hand.
“Don't apologize.”
But he could feel the shape of another truth waiting behind her words.
May you like
If Robert had stolen from the foundation, and Daniel's father had discovered it, then the fire might not have been an accident.
And the funeral might have been the beginning of a much larger lie.
