Of course they did.
Michael had already built the story.
The grieving husband.
The tragic fall.
The pregnant wife who slipped on the ice.
A horrible accident.
A dead woman.
A grieving husband.
A fifty-million-dollar payout.
Everything fit.
Except one thing.
I was alive.
And Michael
didn’t know it.
Three days later, I learned that Michael had already held my funeral.
The police showed me photographs recovered from the scene.
The weather had destroyed most of the evidence.
But not everything.
One photograph showed the ridge.
Another showed Michael standing beside a rescue officer.
He looked devastated.
His head was lowered.
His hands covered his face.
He looked like a broken husband.
I almost laughed.
Then the officer showed me another photograph.
It had been taken from a distance.
Michael was standing beside Ashley.
She was holding his arm.
And neither of them looked sad.
They looked relieved.
I stared at the photograph.
“Where was this taken?”
“Outside the funeral home.”
My stomach twisted.
“That’s Ashley.”
The officer nodded.
“We know.”
He placed another file on the table.
“There’s something else.”
Inside was a copy of my life-insurance policy.
Fifty million dollars.
The beneficiary was Michael
Carter.
But beneath that was a handwritten note.
The officer slid it toward me.
“Someone found this in Michael’s vehicle.”
