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.

around my mother, patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. “Mom, It won’t hurt. 1 asked them, and they said it wouldn’t hurt. Dad will be out in

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

her, “Really, it won’t hurt. The heat is so intense, Dad

be over

on whether he would feel pain. Some thoughts, once entertained, would unleash a torrent

my

presented to us. As a child, I had naively believed that the “ashes‘ people spoke of were simply a

not reduce a person’s bones to ashes. My father’s skull and limbs were still distinctly there, and the rest of his b*dy was not ash but

bone.

bones, darkened to a sickly yellow from his prolonged illness, were a stark contrast to

funeral home, my mother and I carefully placed each piece of my father’s remains into the urn. My mother cradled his skull, her gaze tracing the darkened lines, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

words to offer,

Moore arrived, my mother and I were ready to take my father

2/2

Are

face painted, her red l*ps a

gave her a cold stare,

glance at Idris, who stood a short distance behind her. He approached us, his tall figure looming over me as he reached