Chapter 2 - The Funeral That Never Happened
At the hospital, Mallory asked permission before drinking water.
That was when Silas had to leave the room.
He made it as far as an empty consultation office before his knees nearly gave way.
Jonah closed the door behind them.
“Breathe.”
Silas stood with both hands against a desk.
“She asked the nurse if she was allowed.”
“I heard.”
“Three years.”
“I know.”
Silas turned.
“Get me everything on Gideon.”
Jonah didn’t move.
“Evidence,” he said. “Not revenge.”
The warning struck exactly where it was meant to.
During the first year of Mallory’s disappearance, Silas had frightened innocent people because they knew guilty ones. He had treated uncertainty like betrayal and violence like progress.
None of it had brought him closer to her.
“All of it,” he said again, more quietly. “Legally.”
Jonah nodded.
When Silas returned, Dr. Elise Moreno was seated beside Mallory’s bed.
She spoke to Mallory directly.
Not around her.
Not through him.
“We’d like to treat the dehydration first. After that, we’ll discuss the examinations you’re comfortable having tonight.”
Mallory looked toward Silas.
He made himself remain silent.
“Yes,” she told the doctor.
It was one small decision.
It felt enormous.
Detective Celia Ward returned after midnight with an advocate named Priya Shah.
They asked only enough questions to understand the immediate danger.
Mallory’s account came in fragments.
The open car door outside the restaurant.
A cloth against her mouth.
Waking in a room that smelled like paint.
A video of a church service.
Gideon standing beside a closed coffin.
A recording of a gunshot.
A newspaper page announcing Silas Keene’s death.
“They said you were killed because I took something,” she whispered.
“What did they say you took?” Ward asked.
“Records.”
“What records?”
Mallory closed her eyes.
“I can’t remember everything.”
“You don’t need to tonight.”
But she kept speaking.
Before she vanished, she had been reviewing grants for the Wren Foundation, a charity administered by Keene Holdings.
Payments looked wrong.
Scholarship money routed through housing contractors.
Consulting fees sent to companies without employees.
A residential address repeated beneath six different names.
She had mentioned the irregularities to Gideon.
Two days later, she disappeared.
“They said my sister would be next.”
Silas looked up.
“Nora?”
Mallory nodded.
“They showed me photographs outside her school.”
Nora taught third grade in Madison.
For three years, she and Silas had called each other every Sunday, sometimes with news, usually without any.
Ward stepped outside to arrange contact with local authorities.
Silas stayed beside the bed.
“Nora’s alive,” he said. “She’s still teaching. She still leaves Christmas lights up until February.”
Mallory began to cry.
Not loudly.
The tears simply kept coming.
“They told me she wouldn’t be if I tried again.”
“Tried what?”
“Leaving.”
Silas closed his eyes for one second.
When he opened them, she was watching him with the fearful attention of someone waiting for anger.
He lowered his voice.
“You don’t have to tell me any more tonight.”
At three in the morning, Nora appeared on a secure video call arranged through Ward.
She was wrapped in a cardigan, her hair tangled from sleep.
For several seconds, neither sister spoke.
Then Nora pressed both hands over her mouth.
“Oh, Mal.”
Mallory touched the screen.
“You got older.”
Nora laughed through a sob.
“So did you, you terrible woman.”
It was such an ordinary thing to say that Mallory smiled.
A real smile.
Brief, exhausted, unmistakable.
Later, after she fell asleep, Ward showed Silas a still image recovered from Dain’s security office.
Gideon entering the estate.
The heavy silver ring clear against the car window.
“The funeral footage may have been staged at a private chapel,” Ward said. “We’re checking the production company.”
Silas stared at his brother’s face.
His phone rang.
Gideon again.
This time, Ward held out her hand.
“Before you answer,” she said, “we need a plan.”
May you like
Silas looked through the glass at his sleeping wife.
For once, the plan would begin with keeping someone safe.
