Ryan stepped out of his car and stared at the tall, silent church. The sky was grey, and the cold air pressed against his chest. He wasn’t ready for this day. His heart ached as he thought, “We couldn’t even give Dad a proper funeral.”
Just then, a loud bark shattered the silence.
“Bella?” Ryan turned quickly.
Inside the car, his German Shepherd was jumping and barking like crazy. Her eyes were locked on the church, and her body was tense.
“Bella! Down!” Ryan commanded, using a hand signal.
She obeyed but let out a low whine. Ryan patted her head through the open window. “Stay, girl. I’ll be right back.”
He turned away from her sad eyes and walked into the church. Inside, the atmosphere was quiet and heavy. His father’s casket sat at the front, closed tightly. Because Arnold had died from an infectious illness, the funeral director had roped off the area around the casket to keep everyone safe.
Ryan took his seat beside his grieving mother. The plan was to cremate Arnold after the funeral because of health regulations.
The priest spoke soft prayers. The organ played quietly. People sniffled. Then came the final hymn. Everyone stood up.
Suddenly—WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Bella’s bark echoed through the high ceilings of the church. Before Ryan could react, the dog burst through the doors, ran straight down the aisle, and jumped onto the casket, knocking the flower arrangement to the floor.
“Bella, no!” Ryan shouted, but Bella wouldn’t stop. She barked furiously and finally sat, eyes fixed on Ryan. Her ears were alert. Her whole body looked like she was trying to say something was wrong.
Ryan’s stomach dropped.
“Open the casket,” he said, his voice shaking.
Gasps filled the church. People froze.
Without waiting, Ryan stormed to the casket and pulled the lid open—and what he saw made the world spin.
It was empty.
“Wh-Where’s my brother?” someone gasped—Ryan’s uncle.
Ryan’s mother let out a sharp cry and collapsed. Her knees buckled, her face went pale, and her eyes rolled back.
“Mom!” Ryan rushed to catch her before her head hit the marble floor. He scooped her up in his arms and ran out of the church. A few minutes later, he was speeding toward the hospital.
Later, at home, Ryan sat alone in his mother’s house, furious and confused. Bella lay beside him, head on his lap.
He picked up the phone and called the police.
Detective Bradshaw arrived soon after. She was calm, professional, but clearly concerned.
“The coroner confirmed the cause of death and released the remains to the funeral home,” she told Ryan. “Was your father involved in anything shady that we should know about?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not that I know of. I haven’t worked with him for years. I run my own dog training center. But… Dad would never do anything to damage the company.”
Detective Bradshaw promised to investigate and left. But Ryan wasn’t going to sit around and wait.
He drove to the city morgue.
“The coroner resigned?” Ryan repeated, shocked, when the nurse told him the news. “Who replaced him?”
“No one yet,” the nurse replied.
He asked to see Arnold’s file, but she said it was against the rules. Ryan slipped $1,000 onto the counter and gave her a look. The nurse sighed and turned away, pretending not to see him slip into the coroner’s office.
He searched every shelf, cabinet, and drawer—but Arnold’s file was missing.
Just then, his phone buzzed. It was Mr. Stevens, his father’s longtime lawyer.
“Ryan,” the older man said urgently. “You’ve just been named the new CEO of your father’s company. I need to see you immediately.”
Ryan drove to the office and logged into Arnold’s email from his desk—but the inbox was completely empty. Someone had deleted every message.
Mr. Stevens walked in.
“Ryan! Good to see you,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Ryan stood up. “Who’s been using this computer?”
“Uh… nobody,” Mr. Stevens said. “Why?”
Ryan looked around the office. Something was missing. “Where are the dancer figurines?”
“Oh, those? He took them home. Poor Arnold… he could never get the third one in the set. The guy who owns it wants half a million! Can you believe that?”
Ryan’s mind raced. He had searched the entire house. The figurines weren’t there. That meant…
“Anyway, we’ve got a bigger problem,” Mr. Stevens continued. “The company’s in serious debt. Arnold had been missing investor meetings for months before he… passed. Some investors are ready to pull out.”
Ryan’s shoulders tightened.
“Also,” Mr. Stevens added, lowering his voice, “it all started around the time Arnold hired his new secretary. I believe they were in a romantic relationship.”
Ryan clenched his fists, thinking of his mother’s devastated face.
He wanted to storm into Miss Pearson’s office, but Mr. Stevens stopped him. “Don’t ruin your father’s reputation. Not yet.”
Instead, Ryan spent the rest of the day calming investors, sending apology gifts and emails.
That evening, he followed Miss Pearson home.
She pulled into the garage of a quiet house in the suburbs. Ryan parked down the block and waited. After an hour, she drove off again.
Ryan saw his chance. He ran into the garage before it shut and found a door into the house.
Inside, it was quiet and dark. He searched the kitchen, grabbed a flashlight from a drawer, and carefully made his way through the rooms.
Then—his breath caught.
On the nightstand in the bedroom was a framed photo of Miss Pearson kissing Arnold.
He wanted to scream, but he kept calm. He checked every drawer and cupboard, but nothing seemed important… until he spotted a drawer in the coffee table, just slightly open.
Inside was a manila envelope. He opened it slowly.
His father’s life insurance policy. Seven million dollars. And the sole beneficiary?
Miss Pearson.
Ryan’s hands shook as he drove to the police station.
Detective Bradshaw stared at the document. “This is quite compelling… Let me dig into Miss Pearson’s background.”
Just then, a message popped up. “She’s at the airport,” the officer said. “Flight to Morocco. Leaves in 30 minutes.”
“Morocco?” Ryan repeated.
“No extradition treaty with the U.S.,” Bradshaw explained. “If she boards that flight, we might never see her again.”
Ryan begged to come along, but Bradshaw refused. “You’re a civilian.”
Ryan didn’t listen.
At the airport, Bradshaw and her team rushed through security.
“Police!” she shouted. “Let us through!”
Ryan blended into the group and slipped past guards. In the boarding area, officers fanned out.
“You there! Dark-haired woman in the white shirt! Step out of the line!” Bradshaw yelled.
Ryan felt his heart race. But when the woman turned around—it wasn’t her.
Hours passed. Miss Pearson had vanished.
Ryan felt lost. But one thing kept buzzing in his mind—the dancer figurines.
He searched online for the collector who had the third figurine and drove to see him.
“How much?” Ryan asked, pointing at the rare piece.
“$750,000,” the collector, Mr. Frederick, said.
“That’s way above market value.”
“Then don’t buy it,” Frederick said flatly.
Ryan stepped outside and called Mr. Stevens. “Sell $750,000 of my shares.”
“You’ll lose your controlling stake,” Stevens warned.
“I know. But I need the money now.”
There was a pause. Then Stevens asked, “Is this about Miss Pearson?”
“In a way, yes.”
Stevens sighed. “She didn’t show up for work today. Her phone is disconnected. I’ll get you the money—but don’t ask me how.”
Ryan received the funds an hour later. He returned to Mr. Frederick.
“You said $750,000. I’ve got it,” Ryan said. “Are you a man of your word?”
Frederick grumbled but agreed.
With the figurine in hand, Ryan placed ads and made phone calls. He wanted one man to hear about the auction—Arnold.
At the auction house, Ryan waited behind a pillar, watching the room. The figurine was next up.
The auctioneer called the bids. Two men fought over it—neither was Arnold.
“$600,000 going once…”
Ryan’s heart pounded.
“…going twice…”
“$1 million!” a voice thundered from the back.
Ryan’s breath caught. He turned and saw his father standing there, removing his wide-brimmed hat.
“Sold to the man in the beige coat!” the auctioneer shouted.
Arnold turned to leave—but Ryan was already moving. He blocked the exit.
Then, Detective Bradshaw stepped forward and snapped handcuffs on Arnold’s wrists.
“Ryan?” Arnold blinked. “You tricked me! This was a trap!”
Ryan’s eyes burned. “Don’t act like I betrayed you. You faked your own death and had an affair. You left us to cry over an empty coffin!”
Arnold looked down, ashamed. “I was tired of everything. I just… wanted a new life.”
“With Miss Pearson? So you bought life insurance, bribed the coroner, deleted your emails, and let everyone believe you were dead?” Ryan snapped. “You taught me to do what’s right, not chase selfish dreams. And now look at you.”
Arnold didn’t respond. He was taken away.
Detective Bradshaw placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “We’ll find Miss Pearson soon.”
And Ryan nodded, knowing this wasn’t the end—but it was the beginning of the truth finally coming to light.
