When the final hymn ended and the congregation began to tentatively rise, a man in a pristine gray suit stepped out from the shadows of the choir loft. He appeared to be in his late fifties, utterly calm and composed, clutching a thick, worn leather briefcase.
“Excuse me,” he said, his deep, authoritative voice slicing effortlessly through the quiet church. “My name is Daniel Hayes. I am Lily Reed’s attorney.”
Jason’s head jerked up, his carefully crafted mask slipping to reveal a flash of genuine annoyance. “Now? We’re doing this now?” he snapped, his voice loud and echoing. “This is a funeral!”
Mr. Hayes did not flinch. He did not even blink. “Your wife left very clear, unalterable instructions,” he said evenly. “Her last will and testament is to be opened and read today, immediately following the service, in front of her family… and specifically, in front of you.”
Hayes cleared his throat, snapped the latches of his briefcase, and pulled out a thick, sealed manila envelope. He broke the wax seal, fixed his piercing eyes directly on Jason, and unfolded the heavy parchment.
“There is a section,” Hayes continued, his voice dropping an octave, “that Lily explicitly requested be read aloud to this exact room.”
Every single eye in the church turned toward the lawyer as he took a breath, preparing to read the final words of my murdered sister.
