I was pushed from an icy cliff by the husband who wanted my $50 million life insurance payout

St. Jude’s Cathedral loomed against the gray Denver sky like an ancient fortress of stone and shadows. Inside, the cavernous nave was filled with the low murmur of mourners dressed in somber black, the heavy scent of white lilies, and the flickering glow of hundred-year-old votive candles.

At the front of the chapel rested a polished mahogany casket, draped in white roses and crowned with a massive floral arrangement paid for by Vextor Corp.

Seated in the front pew was Michael Carter.

He wore a tailored Italian wool suit, his head bowed in a posture of profound, agonizing grief. Beside him sat Ashley, draped in a tasteful black mourning dress, dabbing at her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief while leaning subtly against Michael’s shoulder.

To the untrained eye, they looked like two grieving souls comforting each other through an unimaginable tragedy.

To me—watching from the darkened, soundproofed balcony overlooking the rear of the chapel—they looked like vultures waiting to feast.

I stood in the shadows, wearing a heavy black mourning veil that completely concealed my face, dressed in a structured trench coat that hid the remaining surgical bandages. Marcus stood silently beside me, holding a encrypted secure tablet linked to our financial networks.

Down below, the eulogy was drawing to a close. The local pastor spoke of tragic accidents, mountain storms, and the fragility of human life.

When the service concluded, mourners began filing past the casket to pay their final respects.

Michael stood up, his face composed into a mask of tragic dignity. Several high-ranking corporate executives approached him, offering handshakes and whispered condolences.

I watched as a local investigative reporter from the Denver Gazette stepped up to Michael, lowering his voice.

"Mr. Carter, it's just... so hard to believe," the reporter murmured. "The park service said the winds were treacherous. Did she say anything before you two separated on the trail?"

Michael shook his head slowly, a single, perfectly timed tear tracking down his cheek.

"We just... we both froze out there," Michael said, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet chapel, dripping with false sorrow. "She wanted to keep hiking despite the storm. I tried to stop her, but... that foolish woman finally got what she deserved."

A collective, subtle gasp rippled through the front pews. Even Ashley looked momentarily startled by the harshness of his slip, quickly clearing her throat and squeezing his arm.

Up in the balcony, my grip on the iron railing tightened until my knuckles turned white.

That foolish woman.

Those were the exact words he had muttered into the freezing wind as I plummeted off the cliff.

"Marcus," I whispered without turning my head.

"Yes, Claire?"

"Freeze every corporate account associated with Vextor Dynamics. Execute Phase One of the asset reclamation protocol."

Marcus tapped the screen of his tablet. "Done."

Down in the chapel, right as Michael turned to accept another handshake from a board member, his cell phone violently vibrated in his jacket pocket.

He frowned, pulling it out to silence it.

His eyes dropped to the screen.

The color drained instantly from Michael’s face, leaving him chalk-white. His hands began to shake so violently that he nearly dropped the phone onto the stone floor.