Chapter 12 - The Funeral Photograph
David learned about Lily’s funeral from a photograph.
Not from me.
Not from his lawyer.
From a federal evidence file.
His attorney had requested disclosure related to the timeline of communications.
One photograph showed me standing beside Lily’s grave.
Black dress.
Wet hair.
White casket.
No umbrella.
David stared at it for nearly ten minutes.
His lawyer later told Katherine he stopped speaking after that.
I felt no satisfaction.
Grief was not justice.
David was released temporarily on strict conditions while the government finalized the fraud indictment.
His passport was surrendered.
His accounts were frozen.
His travel was restricted.
His first request was to see Lily’s grave.
I said no.
He called Katherine.
I said no again.
Then he wrote me a letter.
I did not open it.
Three days later, I found him standing outside the cemetery gates.
He was legally allowed to be there.
I could not stop him.
He looked smaller.
No tailored suit.
No watch.
No confident posture.
Just a man in a dark coat holding seven white roses.
“One for each year,” he said.
I stood between him and Lily’s grave.
“You don’t get to make this beautiful.”
His eyes filled.
“I need to say goodbye.”
“She said goodbye to you.”
“Maya.”
“You pressed reject.”
His face broke.
“I didn’t know she would die.”
“No.”
“You only knew she was in intensive care.”
He closed his eyes.
I moved aside eventually.
Not for David.
For myself.
I did not want Lily’s grave turned into another battlefield.
He knelt in the mud.
For nearly twenty minutes, he said nothing.
Then he whispered.
“I’m sorry, Peanut.”
That was his old nickname for her.
My knees nearly failed.
He placed the roses down.
Then his phone rang.
A court-monitored device.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“When?”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked terrified.
“Nolan disappeared.”
My stomach tightened.
Nolan had been released after questioning while agents continued their investigation.
Now he was gone.
Agent Cole arrived at the cemetery fifteen minutes later.
“Nolan’s ankle monitor was found beside Interstate 90.”
“Did he run?” I asked.
Cole’s expression was grim.
“We don’t know.”
David stared at him.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Cole turned.
“Everything.”
He held up a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a handwritten note recovered from Nolan’s apartment.
It contained only one sentence.
IF DAVID TALKS, MAYA FINDS OUT WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO HER FATHER.
My father had died six years earlier.
A heart attack.
May you like
At least that was what I had always believed.
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