Chapter 4 - The Dead Do Not Grieve
The sky over Baltimore on Friday morning was a dramatic, bruised gray, threatening a torrential downpour perfectly suited for a tragedy. The main dry-dock of the shipyard had been transformed into a massive, opulent memorial venue. Hundreds of folding chairs were arranged before a grand stage draped in black velvet. Massive floral arrangements flanked two empty, symbolic caskets.
Tobias and I sat in the tinted back seat of a security vehicle parked inside a loading bay just fifty yards away, watching the live feed on a tablet provided by Marcus.
The press cameras flashed as Garrett took the podium. He was wearing a custom black suit, holding a crumpled handkerchief. Penelope sat in the front row, wearing a modest black maternity dress, weeping softly into her hands. But zooming in on the feed, I noticed she was wearing my mother’s vintage diamond earrings—jewelry that belonged strictly to me.
"My heart is shattered," Garrett spoke into the microphone, his voice breaking with a masterfully feigned sob. "Rosalind was the light of my life. My soulmate. And Tobias... he was a brother to me. I tried to save them. The water was so cold, the door was jammed... I tried, God help me, I tried."
He paused, wiping a fake tear from his cheek, letting the crowd murmur in sympathy.
"But I must honor their legacy," Garrett continued, shifting into his corporate persona. "Rosalind wanted this shipyard to thrive. And as her sole beneficiary, I intend to finalize the liquidation restructuring today, ensuring that the Sterling name lives on in our new philanthropic endeavors."
I tapped the radio on my lap. "Marcus. Now."
The massive, heavy steel doors of the dry-dock warehouse behind the podium began to screech open with an ear-splitting, metallic grind. The crowd gasped, turning their heads as the deafening noise interrupted Garrett’s tragic monologue.
The doors parted entirely, revealing Tobias and me standing side-by-side in the cavernous opening.
A deathly, suffocating silence fell over the five hundred people in attendance. The flashing of the press cameras abruptly stopped.
I walked forward, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete. Tobias walked perfectly in stride beside me, his tall, imposing frame a terrifying sight to the people who had only ever seen him confined to a wheelchair.
Garrett gripped the edges of the wooden podium so hard his knuckles turned bone-white. All the blood instantly drained from his face, leaving him looking like a reanimated corpse. He opened his mouth, but his vocal cords completely paralyzed.
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Penelope shot up from her front-row seat, letting out a piercing, high-pitched scream of pure, unadulterated terror. She stumbled backward, tripping over a floral arrangement and crashing into the symbolic caskets.
"Hello, Garrett," I said, my voice echoing through the massive PA system as I stopped at the base of the stage. "I apologize for being late to my own funeral. It took a while to swim to shore."
