Chapter 2: The Recorder on the Table
Ethan didn't move back.
Even with the w*apon raised, he pressed his body against the broken casket and reached through the jagged gap to grab his mother's hand.
"I've got you, Mom.
I've got you."
Claire's fingers wrapped around his so tightly it hurt.
The room had gone completely silent.
Forty guests.
Not one of them moved.
Richard's eyes swept the crowd — then landed back on Ethan.
"She was sick," he said, his voice suddenly calm.
Almost gentle.
"She wasn't well, son.
This was for her own protection."
"She has tape on her mouth!" a man near the back shouted.
Richard turned the w*apon toward the voice.
"That's a lie.
Everyone calm down."
But an older woman in the front row had already pulled out her phone.
Her hands were shaking, but she held it steady.
Richard saw her.
"Put that down."
She didn't.
Then a funeral worker near the side door stepped forward — a young man no one had paid attention to all morning.
He reached into his jacket pocket and placed something on the nearest table without a word.
A small voice recorder.
He looked directly at Richard.
"It's been running since yesterday."
Richard's face changed.
Whatever confidence he had walked in with — it was gone.
---
What's on that recording — and what did Richard say when he thought no one was listening?
The full truth is darker than anyone in that room expected.
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