Alejandro stepped inside.
He never returned to the bedroom where Sophia had handed him the poisoned drink.
He sold the mansion the following spring and moved to a smaller house near Daniel’s family.
At the distillery, he established new controls requiring independent medical verification for executive emergencies and stronger protections for employees reporting suspicious conduct.
He also created a foundation supporting patients harmed by medical fraud and families challenging questionable death determinations.
The coffin was retained as evidence until the appeals ended.
When authorities finally asked what he wanted done with it, Alejandro refused to have it destroyed by fire.
Instead, he ordered the metal latches removed and melted into a small plaque.
He placed it in his private office beside a photograph of Daniel standing in the distillery’s first warehouse.
The plaque carried no mention of Sophia or Morris.
It contained only the time Daniel found the note in the trash and the time the coffin was opened.
5:31 p.m.
5:56 p.m.
Twenty-five minutes separated Alejandro from the furnace.
For years afterward, he still disliked closed rooms.
The scent of lilies could make his hands tremble, and the click of a heavy lock sometimes pulled him back into the darkness.
But those memories no longer ended with Sophia’s whispered goodbye.
They ended with the sound that followed it.
His brother’s voice breaking through the funeral home doors.
The latch lifting.
And someone shouting that he still had a pulse.
