Chapter Five: Friends and Foes

Isabel stood near the edge of the open grave, a black veil covering her face. Around her, men and women in tailored suits gathered in tight clusters, whispering condolences that felt too polite and rehearsed.

Their condolences were just like the man they were here to bury. Fake.

“Damian Donovan was a man of ambition…”

“A visionary…”

“A great loss to the people who knew him…”

The priest’s voice drifted through the air, solemn but lifeless, like a script he’d recited a hundred times before.

Isabel barely heard a word.

Her gaze was fixed on the mahogany casket lowered into the ground, it looked expensive, like everything Donovan touched. Even in death, he demanded luxury.

She felt no sorrow.

Not for him.

Not for the power-hungry man who cornered her in boardrooms with lustful smiles and threats covered up as invitations.

But she stood there, composed, because this was expected. She was expected to grief. After all, he was last seen with her. The last thing she needed was someone suspecting her of having a hand in his death.

Suddenly, a single drop of rain fell, landing with a tap on the back of her hand.

Then another.

And another.

Then it started raining heavily.

Someone behind her murmured a prayer. And then, the first shovelful of earth hit the coffin, others successively followed as mourners took shelter from the rain under their Umbrellas.

But, Isabel stood there watching until the last shovelful hit the coffin. Then, she whispered, low and bitter: “Rest in peace, if you ever knew it.”

The priest closed his Bible as a soft murmur of “Amen” passed through the crowd. People began to disperse while shaking hands, exchanging somber nods. The performance was over.

Isabel turned, ready to leave, when something made her pause.

A man.

Standing a little too far from the grave, dressed in black and still as a statute.

She couldn’t see his face due to the distance, but her body reacted badly to him.

Something about him felt… wrong and worse, familiar.

She blinked, and he was gone.

As if he’d never been there.

“Isabel,” Emily said behind her, “are you okay?”

She didn’t answer but just stared at the place where the man had been. Maybe her eyes were playing some trick on her.

***

Every eye in the room had already landed on Isabel more than once.

She heard the murmurs, the whispers:

“I heard they had an argument earlier that day.”

“…looks far too calm for someone mourning her boss.”

She knew she shouldn't have come, but if she hadn't, the whisperings she heard now would have been much louder. She wanted to leave this place.

She should leave.

Every instinct screamed for her to run, but she lifted her chin instead. Leaving now would mean they’d won and she let them win.

She grabbed a glass of wine from a waiter and his hand brushed hers. Before she could react, she felt something thin and crumpled being slipped into her glove.

She blinked at the waiter but he was gone before she knew it. Isabel unfolded the paper carefully, her heart skipping as she read the words written on it.

You shouldn't be here. Leave now. Before it’s too late.

Her stomach twisted.

She looked around, trying to find the waiter. Her eyes darted across faces in the room but it seemed like he just disappeared into thin air.

Who was he?

Why did he give her the note?

Was it a threat or a warning?

Many questions played in her head, as her chest tightening. She folded the note again, slipping it into her purse. Adhering to the warning, she quickly made her way towards the exit.

Then suddenly, the music died and the ballroom doors burst open.

A group of Police officers swept in, with guns in hands and badges raised.

“Isabel Silvarro?” One of them asked over the now stunning silence that engulfed the crowd.

Isabel froze as hundreds of heads turned to her direction.

“What is going on?” She asked.

“You are under arrest for the murder of Damian Donovan,” the officer said, his voice loud and sharp.

“No…” she breathed, moving backwards. “This… this is wrong–”

But he was already closing in on her as his hand clamped down on her arm.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, her voice rising. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t kill him!”

“Get your hands off me!” she snapped, panic clawing up her throat. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t–”

He pushed her forward, his hand grabbing her arms as he cuffed them. The cuffs snapped around her wrists with a metallic sound.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, breath growing more erratic as people whispered behind their hands.

People started taking pictures and videos. Faces she knew, board members, investors, colleagues. Everyone was watching with wide eyes, some whispering, others simply staring.

Suddenly, someone stepped forward. “I saw her,” she said, voice breaking. “Isabel was the one who killed Donovan!”

Isabel turned, slowly. Her vision blurred at the edges, but the face that emerged through the crowd was unmistakable.

She stopped breathing.

The room spun as she tried gasping for air.

“Emily…?”