Then the workers, shaking, began removing the screws.

The sound of metal turning was the only sound left in the cemetery.

Three endless minutes later, the lid was lifted.

The crowd gasped—not a polite gasp, but the kind that comes from the body before the mind can hide it.

The casket was empty.

No ashes. No clothing. No anything.

Just white satin lining, smooth and silent, mocking everyone who had cried.

Grant dropped to his knees, but not from grief—this was something else. Relief and rage colliding in his chest.

“She’s alive,” he whispered, as if saying it too loudly would make it disappear.

He grabbed Addie’s shoulders gently, like she was made of glass.

“Do you know where that house is?” he asked.

Addie nodded once.

“Yes,” she said. “I can take you.”

The House Near Downtown

The memorial fell apart in chaos. Police arrived, cameras appeared, people started calling lawyers instead of relatives.

Grant didn’t trust any of it.

If the casket was empty, it meant someone close enough—and powerful enough—had built a perfect lie.

Grant called his private security team: disciplined, quiet men who didn’t smile. Their leader, Kade Mercer, met him in the cemetery parking lot.

Grant lifted Addie into the back seat of a black armored SUV as if she belonged there.

“Where to, kid?” Kade asked, keeping his voice calm.