Chapter 3 - Voice from the GraveA deep, mechanical hum echoed from the high rafters above the altar.
Dominic froze in place. The security guards stopped dead in their tracks.
Directly behind Victor’s floral-draped mahogany casket, a massive thirty-foot high-definition LED projection screen—normally used to display scripture readings and choral lyrics during high mass—flickered to life with a blinding flash of white light.
The ambient noise in the cathedral dropped to absolute zero.
The screen stabilized, revealing the image of Victor DeLuca. He was seated behind the massive dark walnut desk in his private library at the DeLuca estate, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit. His face was pale, but his piercing blue eyes were focused directly on the camera lens.
A date timestamp in the bottom right corner of the video read: OCTOBER 14 — 6 DAYS BEFORE DEATH.
“If you are watching this broadcast,” Victor’s deep, baritone voice boomed through the cathedral's surround-sound speakers, “then my heart has finally stopped, and my funeral service is currently underway at St. Jude’s.”
Dominic’s face drained of every drop of color. He took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide with unadulterated terror.
On the floor, Jessica stopped her theatrical crying. She sat up slowly amidst the ruined flowers, staring at the thirty-foot screen with her mouth hanging open.
I slowly turned my head and looked at her. For the first time all afternoon, the arrogant, victorious smirk was entirely gone from her face.
On screen, Victor leaned forward, resting his liver-spotted hands on the mahogany desk.
“And if my son, Dominic, has brought Jessica Mercer with him to my house of worship today,” Victor continued, his tone dropping into an icy, razor-sharp register, “then everything has unfolded precisely as I predicted.”
A collective gasp swept through the five hundred guests sitting in the pews.
Jessica pulled her green dress tight against her chest, her breathing becoming shallow and frantic.
Victor looked directly into the camera lens, as if he were staring straight through the screen and into his son’s trembling soul.
“Dominic,” Victor said smoothly, “before the attorneys open my last will and testament to discuss the division of my ninety-billion-dollar estate, there is something your wife, Elena, deserves to know about you, about Jessica, and about the massive corporate accounts you believed I never monitored.”
The cathedral erupted into a frenzy of low, agitated whispers.
Dominic stared at the screen in pure, paralyzed horror. His jaw worked silently, but no sound came out of his throat.
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Beside the casket, sitting in the puddle of spilled red wine and crushed petals, Jessica whispered just two words:
“Oh God.”
