Part 3 : The Weight of the Wood
The sound of the splintering wood hung in the air, a violent dissonance against the soft, funereal hum of the organ music. Claire Mason didn’t wait for the shock to subside. She braced her boot against the side of the casket and pried the axe head back, the wood groaning in protest.
"Claire, stop!" The male mourner, Elias, finally lunged forward. He was Margaret’s younger brother, a man who had spent his life apologizing for his sister’s coldness. "You’ve lost your mind! Have you any idea what you’re doing? This is desecration!"
"Desecration?" Claire let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Is that what we're calling it, Elias? I'd call it an excavation."
Margaret Vale took a regal step forward, her eyes flashing behind the black mesh of her veil. "Security!" she commanded, her voice thin but sharp. "Get this lunatic out of here. She’s had a breakdown. She’s a disgruntled former employee—the incident at the workshop was weeks ago, she’s clearly unwell."
Two men in charcoal suits—the funeral home’s discreet security—steamed into the aisle. Claire didn't turn. She swung the axe again, not at the lid this time, but at the hinges. The metal screeched, then snapped.
"Come closer," Claire warned, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "And I’ll show you exactly why I’ve been working with heavy tools for the last ten years."
The guards faltered. They knew Claire. They knew she had been the master carpenter for the Vale estate for a decade. She was the one who had built the very casket they were currently standing over. She was the one who had built the custom mahogany doors, the secret panels, and the reinforced floors of the Vale mansion.
She knew the house. She knew the secrets. And she knew what Margaret Vale was hiding.
"Margaret," Claire said, not looking up from her work. "Tell them to stay back. Or I’ll tell them about the basement floor you ordered me to seal over last winter. The one that was never on the blueprints."
Margaret stiffened. For the first time, the color drained from her face, leaving her looking every bit as ghostly as the corpse in the box.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Margaret hissed.
"I know that this coffin is empty," Claire stated. She heaved the lid upward.
It crashed onto the floor, sending flowers cascading like a burial of white petals. The mourners crowded forward, their grief replaced by a morbid, hungry curiosity. The interior of the casket was lined with pristine, white silk.
But there was no body.
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Instead, nestled in the silk, was a small, locked iron box—the kind used for high-security ledgers—and a single, leather-bound journal.
"Empty," Elias whispered, staring at the silk. "Margaret... where is he? Where is my brother?"
