My husband and I ended our marriage after thirty-six years together. Then, at his funeral, his father drank too much, leaned toward me, and whispered something that made me question everything I thought I knew.

The concierge shoved me toward a hidden service exit at the back of the office.

He promised to distract the gunman and told me to run as fast as I could.

I burst out into the damp alley behind the hotel, clutching the titanium briefcase tightly against my ribs.

I jumped into my car and drove erratically through the city streets to shake any potential followers.

I stared at the red biometric scanner on the briefcase, knowing exactly what I had to do next.

Troy had not yet been buried; his body was scheduled for cremation the following morning.

He was currently resting in the cold storage room of the city morgue.

I parked a block away from the county coroner's office and sneaked toward the loading dock.

The night attendant was a young man listening to music with his headphones on.

I slipped past his desk, relying on the quiet stealth I had developed as a mother of two.

The heavy steel doors of the morgue hissed open, revealing rows of metal cabinets.

The room was freezing, smelling sharply of bleach and chemical preservatives.

I frantically searched the tags on the sliding doors until I found Troy’s name.

My hands trembled violently as I pulled the heavy tray out from the wall.

Seeing my husband lying there, pale and lifeless, nearly broke my heart all over again.

I fought back my tears, grabbed his cold hand, and pressed his right thumb against the red scanner.

The briefcase beeped twice, and the glowing light turned a brilliant shade of green.

The titanium latches clicked open automatically.

I lifted the lid, my breath catching in my throat as I looked inside.

There was a massive stack of foreign passports, a digital tablet, and a single printed photograph.

I picked up the photograph and felt the air leave my lungs completely.

It was a recent picture of my son walking across his college campus.

Drawn directly over my son's face was a thick, black crosshairs symbol in permanent marker.

I pressed the power button on the digital tablet, desperate for an explanation.

A video file began to play on the bright screen.

The Billionaire Put On a Waiter’s Apron to Test His Fiancée, but the Wom...

My father bet twenty dollars that I would walk through his front door al...

My Husband Slapped Me Out of His House for His Mistress, Then the Most F...

Troy’s tired, desperate face appeared, looking directly into the camera lens.

He told me that if I was watching this video, he had been murdered.

Chapter 4 - The Morgue