Ryan stood outside the church, his hands tucked in his pockets as he stared at the heavy wooden doors. Saying goodbye to his father wasn’t something he was ready for—not yet.

Behind him, Bella barked sharply, her tone higher than usual. He turned toward his car to see the German Shepherd pacing anxiously in the backseat, ears pricked, eyes fixed on the church.

“Bella, down,” Ryan commanded with a hand gesture. The dog hesitated, then obeyed, settling into a crouch but still whining softly. He leaned in and patted her through the window. “Stay.”

Inside the church, Arnold’s casket sat beneath a spray of white lilies. The funeral director had cordoned off the area, citing caution—Arnold’s sudden death had been ruled infectious. Ryan slid into the pew beside his mother, who sat staring at the altar, her face unreadable.

The service passed in a blur of prayers and whispered hymns. But as the final song began, a bark rang through the church like a gunshot.

Bella.

She burst through the doors before anyone could stop her, bounded down the aisle, and leapt onto the casket. Flowers toppled. Murmurs erupted. Bella barked again and then dropped into her trained alert position—motionless, eyes locked on Ryan.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Open it,” he said, already moving.

The funeral director stammered an objection, but Ryan ignored him. With both hands, he lifted the lid.

The casket was empty.

Chaos erupted.

“Where’s my brother?” someone cried.

Ryan barely caught his mother as she collapsed, her body limp. He cradled her, shouting for help as the church erupted into confusion. The paramedics arrived minutes later and rushed her to the hospital.

That night, Ryan called the police.

Detective Bradshaw showed up at his mother’s house, clipboard in hand, expression grim. “The coroner confirmed the death and released the remains to the funeral home,” she said. “Are you aware of anything suspicious your father might have been involved in?”

Ryan shook his head. He had split from the family business years ago to open a dog training center. Whatever Arnold had been tangled in, Ryan hadn’t been part of it.

Bradshaw promised updates, but Ryan didn’t intend to wait.

The morgue was quiet when he arrived. The receptionist looked up, startled.

“The coroner? He resigned two days ago.”

“No replacement yet?”

She shook her head. When Ryan asked to see his father’s file, she refused—until he set $1,000 on the counter.

She glanced around and nodded. “Ten minutes.”

Ryan slipped into the coroner’s office and scoured the cabinets. Nothing. His father’s file was missing.

Then his phone buzzed. It was Mr. Stevens, the family’s longtime lawyer.

“I need to see you,” Stevens said. “You’ve just been made CEO.”

Ryan drove straight to his father’s office. Arnold’s computer sat on the desk, open. He accessed the email—completely wiped. Someone had erased everything.

When Stevens walked in, Ryan didn’t waste time.

“Who’s been using the computer?”

“No one,” the lawyer said casually.

Ryan frowned. “Where are the two dancer figurines that used to be here?”

“He took them home,” Stevens said. “He was obsessed with that set. Never could get the third one, though. Some collector won’t part with it for less than half a million.”

Ryan had already scoured the house. The figurines weren’t there.

Stevens shifted gears. “The company’s in trouble. Your father had been missing meetings for months. It all started around the time he hired his new secretary. I hate to say it, but I think there was more than just business going on between them.”

Ryan clenched his fists. He spent the day smoothing things over with investors, but his mind was elsewhere.

That evening, he followed Miss Pearson, Arnold’s secretary, to her modest suburban home. When she left again, he slipped inside through the garage.

The house was neat, unassuming. He moved through it with care, flashlight in hand. In the bedroom, a framed photo on the nightstand made his blood run cold—Miss Pearson kissing his father.

He searched the house top to bottom. Nothing. But just as he was about to leave, he noticed an envelope tucked in the coffee table drawer.

Inside was a life insurance policy—$7 million. The sole beneficiary: Miss Pearson.

He took it straight to the police.

Detective Bradshaw read it and narrowed her eyes. “She’s booked on a flight to Morocco. No extradition. We need to act fast.”

Ryan wanted to go with them. Bradshaw refused, but Ryan followed anyway, slipping into the group as they passed through airport security.

The officers moved quickly, scanning the crowd. “Dark-haired woman in the white shirt! Step forward!”

The woman turned. It wasn’t her.

They searched for hours. Miss Pearson had vanished.

Back to square one.

But Ryan had a theory. He looked up the collector with the final figurine and paid him a visit.

“$750,000,” the man said when Ryan asked for the price.

“That’s outrageous.”

“It’s rare. That’s the price.”

Ryan didn’t argue. He called Mr. Stevens. “Sell enough shares to get me the cash.”

“You’ll lose your majority.”

“I’ll buy them back.”

Stevens sighed. “This is about your father, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

The funds transferred. Ryan bought the figurine and arranged for it to be auctioned anonymously. He paid for ads, quietly but thoroughly, making sure Arnold would hear about it—wherever he was.

The day of the auction, Ryan stood near the back, watching. Bidders dwindled until only two remained. But neither was Arnold.

The auctioneer’s voice rang out. “$600,000, going once… going twice—”

“One million!”

Ryan’s heart stopped.

He turned and saw the man rise slowly, removing his wide-brimmed hat.

Arnold.

The gavel hit the podium. “Sold!”

Arnold turned to leave.

Ryan stepped into his path. “Going somewhere?”

Before his father could respond, Detective Bradshaw appeared and snapped cuffs around his wrists.

“You tricked me!” Arnold growled.

“No,” Ryan said coldly. “You faked your death. Lied to Mom. Planned to disappear with your mistress and seven million dollars.”

“I was tired,” Arnold muttered. “Tired of the pressure. I wanted a new life.”

Ryan stared at him. “You taught me to always do the right thing. I just did.”

Arnold lowered his head.

Bradshaw nodded. “We’ll get Miss Pearson, too.”

Ryan watched as his father was led away, the illusion of the man he once admired dissolving behind the police car’s tinted windows.

Beside him, Bella let out a quiet, satisfied woof.

She’d known all along.