Chapter 422 The Move

Chapter 422 The Move

Gerald had planned it down to the last detail. Once every guest had laid their flower on Harold's casket, it would be wheeled to the cremator and reduced to ash.

During cremation, no guests were permitted inside. Only the staff and the immediate family could accompany the dead to the furnace — the perfect window.

When the body was being burned, Gerald would break down in tears, then collapse in a convincing faint. Randy would rush him out of the funeral home. The rest would go up with Harold's casket in a single, scorching blast.

Afterward, Gerald would blame the explosion on Patricia's deranged fans. If the police pressed further, he would hand them Randy. They would find Randy's body, a suicide note, and enough bomb-making materials in his apartment to seal the story.

As the lone survivor, Gerald would testify that Randy had been nursing a grudge against the Berkeley Family for years, and had decided to take everyone with him.

"For a man with no bloodline left, family means nothing anymore. Oh, and then there's the impostor."

Gerald's gaze slid to Eric. Lately, Eric had been making moves in the company without his approval. The man clearly had his own agenda — and had begun to believe he really was Jonathan.

Every unstable element should be eliminated early.

Gerald's lips curled in a silent, cold laugh. He didn't notice the unfamiliar faces drifting among the mourners — people wearing discreet earpieces, their eyes flicking now and then toward Harold's casket.

Eric had noticed. He could read Gerald's intent in his eyes: the man wanted him dead. And if there was a bomb, it was in that casket.

Eric's mouth twisted into a faint, mocking smile before he covered it with a cough.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, wincing. 'Damn it. I hope Eirlys has done her part,' he thought.

Tiffany's eyes sharpened with concern.

"Jonathan, are you all right? Is it your health?" she asked.

Eric shook his head with a faint smile. "Thank you for asking, Mother. I think it's just the stress lately. My injuries from the cliff fall have been acting up. Nothing serious — just a cough."

Tiffany and William studied his pale but composed face and seemed reassured.

Eric's gaze slid back to Gerald. 

He thought, 'This bastard will try to slip away when the body goes to the furnace. I need to make sure he stays.'

His fingers brushed the inside of his pocket, where a few silver needles lay hidden. 

He'd heard of Kathie's methods — a single needle in the right spot could lock up the body and rob a man of speech. He'd studied those points for days. Now he was certain: if he could get close enough, Gerald would be frozen, mute, forced to watch the blast like a helpless father watching his child die.

Then he saw her.

A woman in a black dress stepped into the hall — Kathie.

Eric's brow furrowed. She wasn't on the guest list. And she wasn't alone. Jett was with her.

William's eyes widened at the sight of Jonathan disguised as Jett. He stepped forward. "Jett? I thought you were handling matters at the company. You weren't required to attend. Why are you here?"

His confusion deepened when he glanced at Kathie. He remembered not inviting her either. She had no close ties to Harold — and she was divorced from Jonathan. Why would she show up now?

William looked to Tiffany and Augustus. Both shook their heads.

"Father," Kathie said, her smile tight, her gaze fixed on Gerald, "I'm here to tear down a few lies."

Gerald felt her eyes on him and a flicker of unease stirred in his chest. "Kathie, why are you looking at me like that? We didn't invite you. Are you here to cause trouble? My son is dead. I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak ill of him here."

The chill in his tone was unmistakable. Around them, guests began to murmur.

Last time Kathie had appeared was at Jonathan and Patricia's wedding. Harold had died soon after. Now she was at Harold's funeral. People were already whispering.

"What's she doing here again?"

"I heard she and Harold didn't get along. Maybe she's here to insult him."

"Or to bring him back. Last time she came, Harold died. This time, maybe he'll rise."

"Don't be ridiculous. You think this is Easter?"

Kathie ignored the mutters. She pointed at Harold's casket, her voice cutting through the room, "There's a bomb under that casket. Gerald has lost his mind. He plans to kill you all."

The words hit like a gunshot. Panic surged. Guests bolted for the doors, shoving to get out as if every second meant life or death.

Gerald's face darkened. Eric's expression tightened. Both could feel it — the plan was unraveling.

"Kathie, what the hell are you talking about? Do you think this is a joke? Why would I put a bomb under my own son's casket?" Gerald's voice was sharp with anger.

Kathie's only reply was a slow clap. From among the guests, Archibald stepped forward with a team of officers, guns raised, all aimed at Gerald.