Chapter 3 - The Fake Funeral and The Will Reading

Seventy-two hours after the SUV plunged into the Savannah River, the grand Cathedral of Mary Our Queen in northern Baltimore was draped in black silk for the joint memorial service of Rosalind and Tobias Sterling.

The autumn morning was cold, rainy, and wrapped in thick gray fog. Over four hundred guests—city council members, naval defense contractors, maritime executives, and society elites—filled the cavernous stone sanctuary.

Sitting in the front row of the executive pews was Garrett Vance.

He was dressed in a tailored black Italian wool suit, holding a crisp white handkerchief to his eyes, his shoulders shaking with what appeared to be uncontrollable, agonizing grief. Beside him sat Penelope, wearing a black lace veil that draped over her pregnant belly, dabbing away delicate tears for the press cameras flashing at the back of the chapel.

High above the sanctuary, hidden inside the shadowed organ loft behind the massive brass pipes, Tobias and I sat silently, looking through high-magnification optical binoculars.

I was dressed in a mechanic’s charcoal utility jumpsuit, my hair tucked beneath a dark watch cap, my face obscured by dark tactical greasepaint and high-definition surveillance earpieces. Thanks to Tobias’s intense chemical detox, the chronic brain fog and lethargy that had plagued me for three years were completely gone. My mind felt like a razor.

"Look at him," I whispered through the comm-link. "He deserves an Academy Award."

"Watch his right hand," Tobias replied, monitoring the live audio feed intercepted from Garrett’s lapel microphone. "He isn't crying. He’s counting the minutes until the 2:00 PM probate reading."

Through the binoculars, I watched Garrett lean toward Penelope during the choir’s rendition of Amazing Grace.

Our audio receiver crackled with Garrett’s low, smug whisper:

"Did your attorney file the emergency probate petition with Judge Harrison?"

Penelope’s reply was icy and triumphant:

"The petition was stamped at 8:00 AM. The divers officially called off the recovery operation this morning due to the river current. With no bodies recovered and the vehicle wreckage confirmed, the judge will issue the provisional death declaration by 3:00 PM. Vanguard Shipyards is ours, Garrett."

"And the offshore buyers from Shanghai?" Garrett asked.

"They wired the first fifteen-million-dollar deposit to our Cayman account thirty minutes ago," Penelope whispered. "The moment you sign the drydock sale deed this afternoon, the remaining sixty million clears."

A wave of cold, righteous fury settled into my chest.

They weren't just stealing our family company; they were selling Baltimore’s most historic naval deep-water drydocks to a hostile foreign shipping conglomerate, liquidating five hundred union manufacturing jobs to line their pockets with offshore blood money.

"They're selling Drydock 4 to the Shanghai Maritime Syndicate," I told Tobias.

"Not while I have breath in my lungs," Tobias replied, pulling up a tactical layout of the Vance family corporate law offices on his tablet. "The probate reading is scheduled for 2:00 PM at Vance & Sterling Legal Associates on Pratt Street. Garrett thinks he’s walking in to claim an uncontested ninety-million-dollar estate."

"What is our play?"

Tobias smiled—a dark, wolfish grin that made him look identical to our father in his prime.

"Our play, Rosalind, is to let Garrett sign the forged acquisition deed on live camera. Because under Maryland maritime law... signing a fraudulent title transfer while the rightful living owners are present constitutes an unbailable class-one felony with immediate federal asset seizure."

"Let's get into position," I said, lowering the binoculars.

As the congregation stood to sing the final hymn, Garrett Vance walked up to the grand marble pulpit, placing his trembling hands on the carved oak lectern to deliver the eulogy for the wife he had tried to drown.

"Rosalind was the light of my life," Garrett wept into the microphone, his voice echoing through the vaulted cathedral. "She was a woman of boundless grace, whose devotion to her disabled brother was an inspiration to us all. I swear to her memory that I will protect the Vanguard legacy with every breath of my life."

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High in the organ loft, I looked down at the man who had shared my bed for three years.

Enjoy your tears, Garrett, I thought, slipping into the shadows of the choir loft. Because by this afternoon... you will be crying for real.