Chapter Seventy
Two hours later, Sutton and Keira were sitting in Roman’s living room, staring at Blair like she’d lost her mind.
“Let me get this straight,” Sutton said slowly. “You want us to pretend you’re dead? At your fake funeral. So we can catch Uncle Peter confessing to murder.”
“That’s the plan,” Blair confirmed, curled up on the couch next to Roman. Her head was still pounding, but the painkillers were finally kicking in.
“That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard,” Keira said flatly. “And I once watched you try to dye your hair with Kool-Aid.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“You looked like a traffic cone for three months! And that was just regular stupidity, not fake-death stupidity.”
Roman cleared his throat. “The plan has merit. Peter thinks he’s untouchable right now. If he believes Blair is dead, he’ll let his guard down. It’s the safest plan because it will be a neutral location out of his control. She will not be facing Peter in their home.”
“And if he doesn’t confess what, then?” Sutton asked.
“Then we still have the financial evidence Peters is gathering,” Blair said. “plus the hitman is talking to the FBI. They will be there as well. We need a full confession about our parents’ deaths and his involvement. Was Aunt Viv involved? We can get him on the attempt on my life, but what about our parents?”
Keira was pacing now, which was never a good sign. “So we have to act like we’re grieving. Like our sister is actually dead.”
“I know it’s asking a lot—”
“Blair.” Sutton’s voice was sharp. “We buried our parents. We know what real grief looks like. You want us to fake that?”
The room went quiet. Blair felt like she’d been slapped. She hadn’t thought about how this would affect her sisters, having to relive that kind of loss.
“Shit,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Keira said, but her tone was softer now. “You’re too busy trying not to actually die to think about the emotional trauma you’re putting us through. Plus, let’s be honest, thinking isn’t exactly your strong suit lately.”
“Hey—”
“Am I wrong? In the past two weeks, you’ve gotten engaged to your boss, moved in with said boss, been attacked multiple times, and now you’re faking your own death. I’m starting to think you have some kind of death wish, or you’re secretly an adrenaline junkie.”
Roman’s arm tightened around Blair. “We can find another way—”
“No,” Sutton interrupted. “Blair’s right. This bastard has been stealing from us and trying to kill our sister. If faking some tears at a funeral is what it takes to stop him...” She shrugged. “I’ll do it.”
“Sutton, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. Because you’re my sister, and I’ve already lost too many people I love.” Sutton’s eyes were fierce. “I’m not losing you too. Not to him.”
Keira stopped pacing and flopped into a chair. “Fine. But I have conditions. And they’re non-negotiable, unlike your engagement timeline, apparently.”
“Such as?” Roman asked, ignoring the dig.
“First, Blair has to be safe during the funeral. Like Fort Knox safe. Because knowing her luck, she’ll somehow manage to actually die at her own fake funeral.”
“Already planned,” Roman said. “She will have a full security detail, plus the FBI will have a snipper ready.”
“Second, the moment this goes sideways—and I mean the very moment—we pull the plug. I don’t care if we don’t get a confession.”
“Agreed,” Blair said quickly.
“Third, I get to punch Uncle Peter in the face when this is all over. Hard. Like, really hard.”
Roman actually smiled. “I’ll hold him down for you.”
“Excellent. And fourth—I want hazard pay for having to pretend to be devastated while wearing black. You know how washed out I look in black.”
“Keira,” Sutton said, exasperated.
“What? I’m just saying, if I’m going to fake cry over my sister’s fake corpse, I should at least look good doing it. It’s going to be on the news and everything.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Blair said, but she was smiling.
“I’m practical. There’s a difference.” Keira looked at Blair seriously. “So, when exactly do you die? Please tell me it’s not during my favorite TV show tonight.”
“Peters is spreading the word now that I took a turn for the worse around noon. Officially, I’ll be dead by this evening.”
“Jesus,” Sutton muttered. “This is so morbid.”
“Think of it as performance art,” Keira said helpfully. “Very expensive, very dangerous performance art.”
Blair’s phone buzzed with a text. She glanced at it and felt her stomach clench. “It’s Aunt Viv.”
“What does it say?” Roman asked.
Blair read the message out loud. “Sweetie, Peter told me about your accident. We’re coming to the hospital right now.”
“They’re coming to the hospital,” Keira said. “To see your dead body. Should we start practicing our grief faces now? I’ve been working on mine.” She demonstrated an exaggerated expression of sorrow. “Too much? Not enough? I want to hit the right note of ‘devastated but still photogenic.’”
“Keira,” Sutton warned.
“Peters has that covered,” Roman said, trying not to smile. “Hospital staff will tell them that Blair’s body has already been taken to the morgue, and that visiting hours are over.”
“This is getting complicated,” Sutton observed.
“It’s getting ridiculous is what it’s getting,” Keira corrected. “We’re like a really twisted version of Romeo and Juliet, except hopefully with less actual dying and more competent planning.”
“Are you guys sure you want to do this?” Blair asked.
Sutton and Keira exchanged a look, one of those sister conversations that happened without words.
“We’re sure,” Keira said finally. “But I have one more condition that I absolutely insist on.”
“What now?” Blair asked warily.
“When you come back from the dead at your own funeral, you better have something dramatic to say. None of this ‘surprise, I’m alive’ bullshit. I want a full dramatic speech about justice and betrayal and family. I’m talking Shakespeare-level drama here.”
Despite everything, Blair laughed. “I’ll work on it.”
“Good. Maybe throw in some biblical references. ‘I have risen’ or something like that. Really milk the resurrection angle.” Keira grinned. “And Blair? When this is over, we’re having a long talk about your tendency to turn our family drama into actual action movies.”
“Deal. But remember, it’s our family drama, not just mine.”
Roman’s phone rang. He answered it quickly. “Peters... Yeah... How long ago?... Okay, thanks.”
He hung up and turned to them. “Peter just left the hospital. Trying to get information about Blair’s condition, then made a scene when they didn’t get information straight away. They were informed that Blair had died. They didn’t even ask to see her body.”
“So he bought it?” Blair asked.
“Seems like it. Peters said he didn’t look particularly devastated.” Roman’s expression was grim. “Which tells us everything we need to know about his feelings toward his niece.”
“What a loving uncle,” Keira said sarcastically. “Really broken up about his niece’s tragic death. I’m sure he’s crying all the way to the bank. Literally.”
Blair leaned back against the couch, suddenly feeling exhausted. “So it’s really happening. I’m really going to be dead.”
“Only temporarily,” Sutton said firmly. “And only so we can nail this bastard.”
“Think of it as a really extreme spa day,” Keira added helpfully. “You get to rest and relax while we do all the hard work of pretending to be sad.”
“Any regrets?” Roman asked quietly.
Blair looked around the room at the people who were here for her. “No,” she said. “No regrets. Let’s kill Blair Warner.”
“That’s the spirit,” Keira said cheerfully. “Nothing like planning your own fake death to bring a family together. We should make this an annual tradition.”
“Absolutely not,” Roman and Sutton said in unison.
“You guys have no sense of adventure,” Keira complained.
Roman squeezed Blair’s hand. “Peters will call when the official death certificate is filed. After that, there’s no going back.”
Blair squeezed back. “Then let’s do this.”
Roman’s phone buzzed, looking. “Peters sent me a link to the media release.” Opening it, he showed her.
It was a news alert: “Local Woman Dies from Injuries Sustained in Car Crash.”
“Well,” she said, staring at her own obituary. “I guess I’m officially dead now.”
The room fell silent as they all processed the reality of what they’d just set in motion.
“This is so weird,” Sutton said finally.
“Tell me about it,” Blair replied. “I’m reading my own death notice in the news.”
“Ooh, let me see,” Keira said, leaning over to read Blair’s phone. “Hmm. ‘Blair Warner died from complications following a car accident.’ That’s it? That’s your entire life reduced to one sentence? I’m definitely writing my own media release ahead of time. I want at least three paragraphs and a flattering photo.”
Sutton’s phone rang again. She looked at the caller ID and her expression hardened. “It’s Peter,” she said.
They all stared at the phone.
“Answer it,” Blair said. “Let’s see what our grieving uncle has to say.”
“Put it on speaker,” Keira said, settling back in her chair. “I want to hear his Oscar-worthy performance of fake grief.”