Relief surged briefly through my chest, yet that fragile comfort shattered the moment my phone illuminated with a newly received email notification.
Subject line: Funeral service consultation confirmation.
Recipient name: A. Henson.
My bl00d ran cold. Tyler’s plan extended beyond me.
Driving to Alyssa’s house in Paula’s car, I gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles while every passing vehicle triggered suspicion, every intersection intensified dread, and every red light felt like a countdown toward confrontation.
Alyssa opened the door before I could knock, her expression already etched with fear.
“Explain everything right now,” she demanded softly.
“I overheard Tyler,” I whispered, my voice shaking despite my efforts to remain composed. “He admitted brake tampering, and he explicitly mentioned seeing someone at your funeral.”
Alyssa’s face drained of color.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she breathed.
Within minutes, law enforcement arrived, statements were recorded, my phone was examined, and officers documented the email alongside the chilling recollection of Tyler’s words.