I was the son of a mechanic. The quiet husband they considered lucky to marry Clara. A nobody standing in borrowed black clothes.
At least, that’s what they believed.
I stepped toward the coffin.
Helena blocked me immediately.
“That’s enough.”
“I want to see her one last time.”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
The room fell silent.
I slowly turned toward Dr. Crane.
“If she truly died naturally,” I said calmly, “then opening the coffin shouldn’t scare anyone.”
The doctor swallowed hard.
Marcus laughed softly.
“You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Then let me embarrass myself properly.”
Near the cremation chamber, two workers hesitated beside the furnace doors. Flames glowed behind them like a living creature waiting to feed.
I looked directly at them.
“Open it.”
Helena suddenly snapped,
“He has no authority here.”
Without speaking, I reached into my coat and unfolded a document.
