I went with the officers to confront Richard. He insisted the body had already been cremated and even produced an urn to fob me off.
I refused to take it and stared him down, word by word:
“Richard, do you think it’s fun to deceive me? To desecrate your own father’s remains? Do you know how many crimes you’ve racked up?”
Enraged, Richard smashed the urn on the floor.
“Olivia! I kindly took care of your father’s funeral, and this is how you repay me?”
He stormed out.
With no remains located, the police could only pause the case.
I pulled strings and finally tracked the route of a black mortuary van that left the Company’s underground garage that day.
Surveillance showed it ultimately arrived at an unlicensed private Crematorium in a neighboring city.
Acrid incense smoke choked the hallway.
Richard, arm around Bella’s waist, grinned from ear to ear.
“My Bella is the smart one—what a perfect solution! Saved on funeral costs and brought in some payout money. You’re my little good-luck charm!”
I stared, eyes burning, at the body on the platform—dressed in red—until my tears broke free.
“Richard! Are you even human? That’s your father!”
Caught red-handed, he flinched—then quickly grew self-righteous.