Organ music hummed through the vaulted funeral hall, heavy and low. White lilies framed the polished mahogany casket at the front of the chapel.
Julian stood by the casket in a sharp black suit, his jaw tight as he greeted the row of mourning executives.
His stepmother, Evelyn, wore a black lace veil that hid her eyes, her manicured hands smoothing the front of her designer mourning gown.
Evelyn: You need to keep your composure, Julian. The corporate board is watching every move we make today.
Julian: My father is in that box, Evelyn. I don't give a damn about the board right now.
Evelyn: Well, you should. Your father’s estate trust is being opened tomorrow morning.
A soft sniffle broke through the quiet hall, coming from the foot of the brass casket stand.
A small boy around six years old stood there in a cheap black suit, clutching a worn wooden toy car against his chest.
Evelyn: What is this street rat doing near my husband's casket?
Julian: Who let a kid in here without an invitation?
Evelyn: Security! Get this filthy beggar out of my sight!
She grabbed the child's small shoulder, digging her long fingernails into his jacket with a harsh shove.
Julian: You don't belong here!
Boy: He told me to come! My father made this!
The boy wept hysterically, burying his face into the wooden toy as tears streamed down his cheeks.
Julian stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he looked down at the tiny toy car in the child's shaking fingers.
Julian: Your father?!
The boy turned the toy over in his hands to wipe his face, exposing the underside to the bright overhead chandelier.
Laser-engraved into the polished oak base was a short phrase that stopped Julian's heart: Raudin, 1950-2026.
Julian stared at the wooden carving, the room spinning around him as an impossible secret began to unravel in front of the entire family.