“They’ve scheduled a reading of your will already,” he said, almost in disbelief. “They insisted. I told them it was too soon. They said they wanted to honor your wishes as quickly as possible.”

“Let them,” I said.

He frowned.

“Use it,” I added. “As the stage.”

So we did.

Richard arranged the reading for the following Monday in the main library of the Ellington house, the room where my father once negotiated deals that shaped half the businesses in Vermont.

On paper, I was gone.

In reality, I was about to walk into my own memorial.

The Man They Thought They Buried

The library smelled like polished wood and old paper. It had always been my favorite room.

From the small antechamber behind the sliding shelves, I watched through a narrow gap as people filed in—board members, family friends, a few key staff. At the front of the room, Vanessa sat in a black dress that probably cost more than my first car. A veil covered half her face. Colby took a seat beside her, his jaw set in a careful line, his tie perfectly straight.

If you didn’t know what they had done, you might have felt sorry for them.