Chapter 2 - The Silent Autopsy
By midnight, the grand memorial hall was completely empty, save for Ethan and a specialized medical team he had personally flown into the estate via a private transport helicopter.
Because Ethan controlled forty-nine percent of the Blackwood Global shipping conglomerate, the estate guards hadn't dared to stop him from bringing in his own people once the civilian guests had cleared out.
Dr. Jonathan Vance, a leading forensic pathologist and a long-time military comrade of Ethan's, stepped away from the portable scanning equipment he had set up beside Claire’s casket. He removed his surgical gloves, his expression incredibly grim.
“You were right, Ethan,” Dr. Vance said, handing Ethan a digital tablet showing a localized thermal scan of Claire’s neck tissues. “The bruising near the collarbone goes deep. The hyoid bone in her throat is fractured. That only happens in cases of manual strangulation or extreme blunt force trauma to the neck.”
Ethan stared at the glowing blue and red image on the screen. The reality of it hit him like a physical blow to the stomach, but he refused to let the tears fall. “And the pregnancy?”
“Eight weeks,” Dr. Vance confirmed softly. “The fetal heartbeat had ceased only a few hours before her official time of death. Ethan… there’s something else. We found traces of a heavy sedative, Phenobarbital, in her system. It was enough to make her completely groggy, completely incapable of fighting back when someone put their hands around her throat.”
“They drugged her first,” Ethan whispered, a dark, toxic rage boiling over his consciousness. “They made sure she couldn't scream.”
The heavy oak doors of the hall pushed open, and Julian, Ethan’s head of intelligence and security, walked in. He held a secure laptop and a folder of encrypted data drives.
“Boss,” Julian said, bowing his head respectfully. “We hacked into the estate’s main server. Margaret’s private security team tried to completely wipe the security footage from the western garden terrace between the hours of 4:00 PM and 6:00 PM yesterday. They thought the overwrite was permanent.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Did you recover it?”
“We recovered eighty percent of the video blocks,” Julian said, opening the laptop and pressing play. “Look at this.”
The grainy, low-light footage showed Claire walking slowly along the stone path of the western garden. She looked disoriented, stumbling slightly—likely from the effects of the sedative. Suddenly, Adrian appeared from behind the hedges. He looked furious, waving his arms, screaming at her.
The video didn't have audio, but the physical altercation was undeniable. Adrian grabbed Claire by her shoulders, shaking her violently. She tried to push him away, her hand reaching toward her collarbone—the exact location of the crescent scrape. Then, the video abruptly cut to static.
“That’s the exact moment the server was manually overridden from the main office,” Julian explained. “Ten minutes later, Margaret’s personal vehicle left the estate, heading toward the private medical clinic owned by Dr. Charles—the same doctor who signed the natural death certificate.”
Ethan closed the laptop slowly, his face a mask of cold, calculated execution. He looked toward the grand windows of the hall, which looked out over the vast, dark expanse of the Blackwood empire.
“Adrian wanted her shares,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Claire was going to inherit her full portion of the shipping conglomerate on her twenty-fifth birthday next week. If she passed away without an heir or a spouse, her entire portfolio defaults directly back to the main family trust… which is managed by Margaret and Adrian.”
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“What’s the move, Boss?” Julian asked, his hand resting near his sidearm. “Do we take them down tonight?”
“No,” Ethan said, looking back at his sister’s white dress. “A quick arrest is too merciful for what they did to her and her baby. They love this empire more than human life. So, I am going to make them watch it burn to the ground first.”
