Chapter 1 - Six Feet Under
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My husband pushed me into an open grave while his entire family watched.
I hit the bottom hard enough to lose my breath. My spine slammed against packed earth. My head cracked against something sharp—a rock, a root, I didn't know. Stars exploded behind my eyes.
Dirt rained down over my black dress.
Above me, twelve relatives stood around the edge in complete silence. Their faces were pale moons against the gray sky. No one moved. No one spoke.
Then my mother-in-law picked up a shovel.
Eleanor Hartley. Seventy-two years old. Designer dress. Pearl earrings. The kind of woman who hosted charity galas and donated to orphanages.
She looked down at me like I was a stain on her carpet.
"You should have stayed out of our business."
I looked toward my husband. Ethan. The man I'd married three years ago. The man who'd promised to love me until death.
"Ethan?"
He wouldn't meet my eyes. Just stared at his shoes. Expensive leather. Handmade. The same shoes I'd bought him for his birthday.
"Ethan, please."
Nothing.
Then the first shovel of dirt hit my shoulder.
Then another. And another.
The family joined in. Uncle Richard. Aunt Margaret. Cousin David. All of them grabbing shovels. All of them throwing dirt.
They were burying me alive.
And that was when I started laughing.
Not a nervous laugh. Not a hysterical laugh. A real laugh. Deep. Genuine.
Eleanor paused. Shovel mid-air.
"What's so funny?"
I looked up at her. Dirt in my hair. Blood on my face. Still laughing.
"You think you're burying the only witness."
Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"I already sent the evidence. To someone waiting outside the cemetery gates."
Silence.
Total. Absolute. Silence.
Ethan finally looked at me. His face was white.
"What evidence?"
I smiled. Blood on my teeth.
"Everything. The ledgers. The photographs. The recordings. Everything you've been hiding for thirty years."
Eleanor dropped the shovel.
"Who did you send it to?"
I laughed again.
"Guess."
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