Facade of Love

Chapter 48 Are you worthy?

I relayed to my mother the day’s events at the Scott Corporation,

Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “Impossible,” she declared. “Your father would never use a media company for money laundering. What would he gain from it? Besides, we haven’t had any significant income this year. Your father has always been dedicated to managing the Scott business well. He wouldn’t make such a mistake and plunge the Scott Corporation into crisis.”

Understanding her emotional turmoil, I took her hand in mine and reassured her. “Mom, I trust Dad too. That’s why I’ve promised the shareholders that I’ll trace the money within a month and clear Dad’s name.”

She nodded, her gaze resolute. “Yes, we must find out the truth. We absolutely must.”

While I was determined to uncover the truth about my father’s affairs, the immediate priority was to arrange his funeral. The following day, my mother and I visited the funeral home. It was not good to leave the b*dy unattended for too long.

Inside the solemn funeral home, my father’s b*dy lay peacefully in a paper casket, adorned with a multitude of yellow and white chrysanthemums. His face was serene, as if he was merely sleeping. Perhaps this was the tranquil visage we would all wear in death’s embrace.

“Please, family members, take a moment to grieve, and then wait in the adjoining resting room.”

After casting a final glance at my father, the funeral staff ushered us to the neighboring room, preparing to guide my father’s b*dy into the cremation furnace.

As I watched him being pushed into the furnace, my mother’s emotions shattered. Her b*dy trembled uncontrollably as she clung to me, pleading, “Yvette, can we not burn your father? He suffered so much in life, how can he bear this now?”

A crushing weight seemed to seize my heart, making it hard to breathe. I knew, with a clarity that cut through the pain, that my mother was on the brink of emotional collapse. If I did not stay strong, no one would be left to handle my father’s final affairs.

my mother, patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. “Mom, It won’t hurt. 1 asked them, and

mother’s voice broke, her words barely a whisper. “Really? It won’t hurt? With such high heat, he…” She

a deep breath, steadying myself as I reassured her, “Really, it won’t hurt. The heat is so intense, Dad won’t feel a

will be

would feel pain. Some thoughts, once entertained, would unleash a torrent of emotions that threatened to pull me

my

to us. As a child, I had naively

bones to ashes. My father’s skull and limbs were still distinctly there, and the rest of his b*dy

bone.

his prolonged illness, were a stark

her gaze tracing the darkened

had no words to

to take my father to his final

2/2

Are

painted, her red l*ps a stark contrast that

her a cold stare, not uttering a

her. He approached us, his