Chapter 7
For a moment, sound vanished.
My mother’s lips kept moving, but I heard nothing.
Marcus was killed here.
Here.
Not on a classified road overseas.
Not in a convoy attack.
Not under enemy fire.
Here.
In the country he served.
By people wearing suits.
I grabbed the edge of the counter.
Grant said my name.
“Amelia.”
I looked at my mother.
“Say it again.”
She shook her head.
“Please.”
“Say it.”
Her voice broke.
“Marcus came back three weeks before the funeral. Secretly. He met Raymond. He wanted evidence.”
My father stumbled backward.
“You knew Marcus was alive?”
“I only knew after,” she cried.
“After what?”
She pressed both hands to her mouth.
“After Raymond called me. He said Marcus had been in an accident. He said if I wanted Amelia and the baby safe, I had to cooperate.”
I felt cold spread through me.
“You helped them fake my husband’s death?”
“No. I believed he was already dead.”
Grant’s voice was sharp.
“Where was the body from?”
My mother looked at her.
“What?”
“The funeral. The closed casket. Who authorized it?”
My father whispered, “Eleanor signed.”
I turned to her.
“You signed?”
“They told me it was necessary.”
Grant pulled out her phone.
“I want the funeral home locked down.”
Reeves nodded and moved.
My hands trembled over my belly.
For seven months, I had been mourning a casket I never opened.
A body I never saw.
A death story I was not allowed to question.
Because it was classified.
Because command said wait.
Because I trusted the system.
Grant looked at me.
Her face had changed.
Not grief.
Calculation.
“Amelia,” she said slowly. “We need to verify remains.”
I whispered, “What are you saying?”
May you like
She looked toward the black vehicles outside.
“I am saying we no longer know whose funeral you attended.”
