Chapter 3: The Funeral That Never Happened
At 5:17 a.m., the warehouse security guard began his routine inspection.
Frank had worked there for twenty-six years.
He almost skipped the freezer.
Almost.
A faint metallic sound echoed from inside.
One weak knock.
Then another.
Frank frowned.
"The freezer shouldn't be running overnight..."
He swiped his access card.
The screen flashed red.
ACCESS DENIED. EXECUTIVE LOCKDOWN.
Confused, he called Ethan.
Straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Instead of walking away, Frank did something Ethan never expected.
He called emergency services.
Six minutes later, firefighters cut through the industrial lock with hydraulic tools.
The freezer door burst open.
I collapsed into waiting arms, barely conscious but still alive.
As paramedics rushed me into an ambulance, my frozen hand refused to release my phone.
The detective gently took it.
The screen was still glowing.
Hundreds of videos.
Thousands of audio files.
Bank transfers.
Forged signatures.
Insurance policies naming Ethan as the sole beneficiary after my death.
And finally—
One recording from earlier that evening.
Ethan's voice.
Calm.
Cold.
Crystal clear.
"By tomorrow, she'll be dead. Then everything belongs to me."
The detective looked up slowly.
May you like
"This isn't attempted murder anymore," he whispered.
"This is premeditated."
