Chapter 2: Two Faces, One Truth
The gravediggers froze. The priest stopped mid-prayer. Relatives gasped, clutching each other like the ground itself had split open.
“Ethan—what are you saying?” I whispered, pressing my fingers to Lucas’s neck. A pulse. Strong, fast, alive. “This is your father.”
Ethan stepped closer, never taking his eyes off the oak box. “That’s not him in there. And this one… isn’t the man we thought he was.”
Lucas coughed, blood bubbling at his lip. He grabbed my wrist, his grip weak but desperate. “Don’t open it. Whatever you do—never let them open that box.”
Sirens wailed far off, getting closer by the second. He squeezed harder. “They killed him three weeks ago. Swapped him out before anyone checked. I’ve been running ever since.”
“Who?” I asked, my heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe. “Who did this?”
“People he owed,” Ethan said quiet. “People who don’t leave loose ends.”
The lead gravedigger wiped mud from his hands, shaking his head. “Ma’am—this is impossible. We signed the papers. We saw the body ourselves.”
“Then you signed a lie,” the man in my arms rasped. And he looked exactly like Lucas. Same thin scar above his left eyebrow. Same crooked smile when he was scared. Same deep, rough voice.
Then he reached inside his torn jacket and pulled out a small silver locket—the one I’d given Lucas for our tenth anniversary. The one I’d tucked into the pocket of the man in the coffin myself.
