“Drink it, sweetheart,” she had said, brushing hair away from his forehead. “Dr. Mercer said the herbal blend will calm your heart and help you sleep.”
Dr. Julian Mercer.
His cardiologist.
His best friend since college.
Alexander had trusted him.
So he drank the bitter tea.
Then came the dizziness.
Then the dark.
Now, trapped inside the coffin, Alexander felt hands smooth the fabric of his suit. Sophia’s perfume slipped through the tiny space around him, sweet and suffocating.
“Almost over, my love,” she whispered.
There was no grief in her voice.
Only satisfaction.
“Soon we’ll finally be rid of you.”
Another voice answered, lower and male.
Julian.
“The paralytic worked perfectly. No one questions a respected cardiologist when he signs off on cardiac arrest in a stressed executive. Especially not one with Alexander’s workload.”
Sophia gave a soft laugh.
“What time is the cremation?”
“Six,” Julian said. “Once he’s ash, there’s nothing to examine. The distilleries, the Swiss accounts, the Nashville penthouse, the insurance payout—it all becomes manageable.”
Cremation.
They were going to burn him alive.
Alexander tried to scream. He tried to tear open his own throat. He tried to force even one finger to twitch against the satin lining.
Nothing moved.
The funeral continued around him like a grotesque performance. Sophia accepted condolences. She cried when people came near. She played the shattered widow while standing over the living man she had helped murder.
Then the coffin lid began to close.
Darkness swallowed him completely.
Three metal latches clicked into place.
The air thickened.
His paralyzed body was about to be carried toward the fire.
But what Sophia and Julian did not know was that a small mistake in the kitchen trash back at the estate had just put the first crack in their perfect murder.
That morning, Alexander’s younger brother, Nathan Whitmore, had arrived late to the estate.
