Chapter 1 - ETHAN CALLING
Claire Carter had not seen her husband's face since the night he died.
That was why her hands were on the casket.
Not because she wanted a scene.
Not because she distrusted the funeral director.
Not yet.
She just needed one final image that wasn't a police officer standing in her kitchen at 2:17 in the morning.
Ethan was thirty-six.
There should not have been a funeral portrait.
There should not have been white lilies covering a room he would have complained smelled too sweet.
There should not have been a closed mahogany casket beneath soft amber lights.
Claire gripped the lid.
Behind her, someone inhaled sharply.
She lifted.
Barely an inch.
Margaret Carter moved first.
“No.”
Ethan's mother crossed the carpet with terrifying speed for a sixty-two-year-old woman.
Robert followed.
Both put their hands on the lid.
Together they forced it closed.
Claire jerked back.
“What are you doing?”
Margaret kept one palm flat against the polished wood.
“He shouldn't be seen like that.”
“He's my husband.”
Robert moved between Claire and the casket.
His black suit looked too expensive for grief.
Everything about Robert always looked prepared.
“I just want to see Ethan one last time.”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“Claire, please.”
That word made Claire angrier.
Please had been used all week.
Please let Robert handle the funeral home.
Please don't ask the medical examiner for more photographs.
Please remember the injuries were severe.
Please let us remember him as he was.
Claire stared past them at Ethan's large framed portrait.
Wedding day.
Gray suit.
Crooked smile.
Alive.
Then the funeral-home doors burst open.
Everyone turned.
Two men entered fast.
Forties.
Dark coats.
No flowers.
No expressions appropriate for the room.
The taller one headed straight for the casket.
Robert recognized him.
Claire saw it.
“Not here.”
The man ignored him.
He pulled an envelope from inside his coat and slapped it down on top of Ethan's casket.
The sound cracked through the room.
Several mourners stood.
The man said:
“Ethan Carter owed us two hundred forty thousand dollars.”
Claire stared.
“What?”
He looked around the room.
“Who’s paying?”
Robert grabbed the envelope.
“Get out.”
“Mr. Carter, your son signed a personally guaranteed note.”
“This is a funeral.”
“And the note is in default.”
Margaret whispered:
“Robert.”
The second man noticed Claire.
“You're the spouse?”
Robert stepped in front of her.
“Do not speak to her.”
Claire pushed around him.
“Give me that.”
Robert held the envelope away.
Claire snatched it.
The notice had Ethan's full name.
Their home address.
A company she'd never heard of.
HARBOR BRIDGE CAPITAL
Original advance:
$240,000.
Maturity event triggered by death.
Claire read the number again.
They had argued over a seven-thousand-dollar roof repair in October.
Ethan had told her they couldn't afford a weekend away.
He had two hundred forty thousand dollars of debt?
Claire looked at Margaret.
“You knew about this?”
Margaret's eyes moved to the carpet.
That was enough.
Claire turned to Robert.
He stepped toward her.
“Stop digging.”
She stared.
“What?”
“You are standing at your husband's funeral.”
“And somebody just told me he owed a quarter of a million dollars.”
“Today isn't the day.”
“You knew.”
“Claire.”
She looked past him.
At the closed casket.
Something ugly moved through her stomach.
Robert saw it.
“Don't.”
“Why wouldn't you let me see him?”
Margaret's phone vibrated.
Once.
Loud against the silence.
Margaret looked down.
Every bit of color left her face.
Claire saw that too.
“What?”
Margaret locked the screen.
Too late.
Claire grabbed her wrist.
“Claire—”
She turned the phone toward herself.
The screen lit again.
Incoming call.
One name.
ETHAN CALLING
Claire stopped breathing.
Margaret tried to pull away.
Claire held on.
She looked at Ethan's portrait.
Then at the closed casket.
Then back at the impossible name glowing in Margaret's hand.
Robert stood completely still.
May you like
Claire's voice barely came out.
“Why...?”
