At my husband’s funeral, my mother-in-law made a heartbreaking comment about me. I stayed quiet and let her speak. She had no idea what was about to come out.

Then his right hand shifted inside the coffin.

Two fingers tapped slowly against the white satin lining.

Once. Twice. Pause. Once.

Our private signal, created years earlier during long corporate galas whenever one of us needed the other to stay calm under pressure.

Keep quiet. Trust me.

My heartbeat slammed violently against my ribs, but I forced my eyes downward before Wendy could catch the sudden shock on my face.

Luca was alive.

Behind Wendy, Flynn stepped up to the edge of the dais and whispered, “Once she signs the waiver, burn the remaining accounting files in the study.”

Wendy answered without even turning her head. “There won’t be anything left for anyone to find.”

I tightened my grip on the stem of the white rose until the thorns bit into my palm.

What neither of them realized was that every lapel pin, floral arrangement, and altar microphone in the chapel was actively transmitting their hushed conversations directly to an encrypted federal server.

They believed they were burying my husband.

In reality, they had gathered beneath one roof to bury themselves.