Chapter Seventy-Two
Three days later, Blair sat in the back of an unmarked FBI surveillance van two blocks away from St. Matthew’s Cathedral, watching her own funeral on a small monitor.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. If wasn’t so important what they were doing, she might have enjoyed it more.
She could see the Gothic spires of the cathedral through the van’s tinted windows, and part of her wanted to be there. Not for the morbid thrill of watching people mourn her fake death, but because she wanted to support her sisters. Even through the grainy surveillance feed, she could see how pale Sutton looked in her black dress, how tightly Keira was gripping the flowers she was supposed to place on Blair’s empty casket. Even though they knew this was staged, it had to be hard on them.
“Visual on all targets, agents are following Peter Warner. He is almost here.” Agent Rogers said from the front of the van, adjusting the surveillance equipment. “Roman’s in position in the front pew with your sisters.”
Blair’s phone buzzed with a text from Roman: This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Your sisters are incredible actors.
She texted back quickly: Almost over. You’re doing great.
His response was immediate: Can’t wait until this is all over and I know you are safe.
On screen, mourners were filing into the cathedral. Blair recognized faces from her job, some college friends, neighbors. This shouldn't have gotten out to so many people. They had hoped to contain it. Then her stomach dropped as she spotted two familiar figures walking in together.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Blair muttered.
“What?” Agent Rogers asked.
“Dan, my ex just showed up with Laura, my cousin. Long story short, he is a cheating rat, and she is a bitch.” Blair watched her ex-fiancé and cousin enter the cathedral. Laura’s pregnancy was clearly visible now, her black dress stretched over her growing belly. “The hide of some people.”
Peters, who was monitoring communications from a separate device, looked up. “That’s not necessarily bad for us. More family drama might make Peter more comfortable, less guarded.”
Blair’s phone buzzed: Dan and Laura are here. Sutton looks like she’s going to be sick. Keira looks like she wants to set them on fire.
She texted back: Keep them focused on Peter. That’s what matters today.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Blair admitted to Agent Rogers, watching Roman on the screen console with her sisters while Dan and Laura took seats toward the back. Good thing too. Keira might have found it too hard to have them closer. “Watching them have to act like they’re grieving me.”
“After this is over, you can make it up to them,” Rogers said. “But right now, this is the only way to keep you safe and get Peter to confess. The agents are raiding his place as we speak.”
“Target has arrived. Peter Warner just pulled up with his wife.”
Blair leaned forward, watching the screen as Peter and Vivian got out of their black sedan. Peter was wearing an expensive suit and what Blair supposed was meant to be a grieving expression. Vivian looked genuinely upset, which made Blair wonder again how much her aunt actually knew about her husband’s activities.
“He looks upset,” Blair observed.
“Wants to make sure he’s seen as the devoted uncle,” Rogers replied. “We’ve got agents positioned throughout the cathedral.”
Blair watched Peter greet mourners with the perfect balance of sadness and dignity. He hugged Sutton and Keira, and her sisters playing their parts perfectly, even though Blair could see the stiffness in their postures. Then Peter approached Roman, placing a hand on his shoulder in what looked like comfort.
Her phone buzzed: He’s asking if I’m “holding up okay” and offering to help with “sorting out your things.” Your sisters are doing great, but I can see how much this is costing them.
Blair typed back: Almost over.
The service began. Blair had to listen to Father Martinez, who had baptized her as a baby, deliver a eulogy about her life. About her kindness, her determination, her love for her family. It was surreal and heartbreaking at the same time. She didn’t go to church as much as she should after losing her parents.
“This feels so wrong,” she whispered.
“I know,” Rogers said quietly. “But remember why we’re doing this.”
Roman stood up to speak. Blair watched her fiancé deliver a speech about their love story, about how she’d changed his life, about the future they’d never have. Even knowing it was all for show, even watching through a surveillance monitor, Blair felt tears prick her eyes. Because some of it felt so real. The part about changing his life, about loving her… was he speaking the truth because it felt like he had been speaking directly to her. The people they worked with didn’t know about Roman and her being involved, except for Kara, that was. Surprise, surprise.
Her phone buzzed a few moments after Roman sat down: Every word is true. All of it.
Had the shithead just told her he loved her during her own funeral? It was fake, but still. She felt like laughing, but also she wanted to cry. Just like Roman.
Then it was Uncle Peter’s turn.
Blair watched her uncle walk to the podium with practiced solemnity. He adjusted the microphone, looked out over the gathered mourners, and began to speak.
“Blair was a light in our family,” he said, his voice carrying perfectly through the cathedral’s sound system and into their surveillance van. “After we lost her parents, she became like a daughter to Vivian and me.”
Blair snorted. “A daughter he tried to have killed.”
“My brother and sister-in-law would be so proud of the woman Blair became. Even after...” Peter paused, as if overcome with emotion. “Even after the financial difficulties that followed their deaths, even after losing so much, Blair never lost her spirit.”
“He’s really doubling down on the ‘poor but noble’ narrative, but do you notice he couldn’t even say my parents’ names.” Blair said grimly.
Peter continued. “Blair faced every challenge with grace. The loss of her inheritance. She worked hard to prove herself to the world. None of it broke her spirit.”
Blair watched Sutton and Keira in the front pew. Keira’s hands were clenched in her lap. Sutton was staring at Peter with what Blair hoped looked like grief rather than hatred. In the background, she could see Dan whispering something to Laura, who was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. It wasn’t real.
“She found love with Roman.” Peter’s voice grew stronger, more confident. “Some might say she was lucky to find someone willing to be there for her.”
Blair’s phone immediately buzzed with an angry text from Roman: What does he think marriage is about?
She texted back: Even at my fake funeral, he can’t resist being condescending.
But Peter wasn’t done. “Blair’s death reminds us that life is fragile. That we can’t take anything for granted.” His eyes swept the congregation. “Just like her parents, she was taken too soon, too suddenly.”
Blair leaned forward, watching intently.
“Many will know her parents’ plane crash seemed so random, so senseless. Now Blair’s car accident...” Peter shook his head sadly. “Sometimes I wonder if some families are just cursed with tragedy.”
“Or someone in the family killing others off that get in the way.” Blair whispered.
He finished his speech with more platitudes about family and love and moving forward, then returned to his seat looking like the picture of a grieving uncle.
The service concluded with a final blessing. Blair watched the mourners file out, offering condolences to Roman and her sisters. Peter was right there, playing his part perfectly, accepting sympathy and offering comfort. She noticed Dan and Laura approaching the family, and even through the grainy feed, she could see the tension.
Her phone buzzed. It was Keira: Dan tried to hug Sutton. She turned away. Laura’s crying, saying she “can’t believe Blair is really gone.” Peter just suggested we all ride together to the cemetery. Says the family should stick together today.
Blair texted back: What a lovely family.
“He’s not going to confess in public,” Blair said to Rogers. “Too many witnesses. But at the cemetery...”
“That’s where you come in, if you don't think he will now.” Rogers confirmed. “We just need to catch him when he isn’t ready. Surprised.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we hope the financial evidence is enough.” Rogers met her eyes. “But something tells me a man who’s been playing this game for years won’t be able to resist gloating when he thinks he’s finally won. You do realize there is still a danger here?”
The van started moving, following the funeral procession to Roselawn cemetery, where Blair’s empty casket would be buried. This was their last chance. If Peter didn’t confess today, they’d have to rely on fraud charges alone. But she wanted him in jail for the death of her parents.
Blair touched the small recording device pinned inside her jacket. In less than an hour, she’d be walking into that cemetery very much alive, ready to confront the man who’d destroyed her family.
Her phone buzzed again: Almost time for the resurrection.
Blair looked at the monitor showing her own funeral procession and felt a cold determination settle in her chest.
She texted back: Uncle Peter’s about to get the shock of his life.
And hopefully, in that shock, he’d finally tell the truth about what he’d done to her parents.
“Let’s go catch a killer,” she said to Rogers.
“Let’s go,” he agreed, and the van picked up speed toward the cemetery.