Chapter 2 - The Sounds of the Night
Above the surface, the cemetery was shrouded in the deep, silent shadows of an October night. The crickets chirped loudly in the tall grass, and the wind rustled through the ancient oak trees lining the perimeter of the private family plot.
A hundred yards away, the caretaker’s old shed stood dark, its rusted lock secure.
But near the freshly mounded earth of the Solís-Romero family plot, the ground gave a faint, rhythmic shudder.
Tap. Tap. Scratch.
It sounded like an animal burrowing beneath the roots, but the pattern was too deliberate, too mechanical.
A shadow detached itself from the wall of the mausoleum.
Rodrigo Romero stood alone in the moonlight, holding a silver flask of whiskey. His bespoke suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie loosened around his neck. He stared down at the fresh mound of dark earth where his wife and twin sons lay buried. He didn't look remorseful. He looked relieved—like a man who had just finished paying off an enormous, suffocating debt.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
Vanguard Holdings: Wire transfer of $4,200,000.00 confirmed.
A thin, self-satisfied smile touched Rodrigo’s lips. It had cost a fortune to bribe the county registrar, buy off the attending physician who signed the false death certificates, and retain the private funeral home to rush the burial before standard toxicology could be run. But it was worth every penny. With Mariana out of the picture and her name stripped from the marital assets due to pre-existing corporate clauses, everything belonged to him.
And more importantly, Victoria’s secret partnership with Vanguard Holdings—the very real estate syndicate that had been bleeding his construction firm dry—was safe.
“Rest in peace, darling,” Rodrigo muttered aloud to the dark grave, raising his flask mockingly toward the dirt. “You always were too naive for this world.”
May you like
He turned on his heel to walk back toward his idling luxury sedan parked near the gates.
He didn't hear the muffled, desperate scream that erupted from beneath the soil just two feet behind him.
