Neville and Savannah couldn’t make it, so on the day Elissa was cremated, they wouldn’t be here to see her one last time.
“Hadley?” Tamara’s voice floated up behind her. “Did you sort everything out? If it’s too much right now, we can always handle it later.”
Hadley shook her head and started back inside. “No need. I’ll set the date myself.”
Right now, she was the only one who could do this.
“Miss Pearson, we have a few dates available,” said the funeral home staff member. “Or if you have a specific date or other demands in mind, we can also do our best to make it happen.”
Hadley studied the calendar that the staff member handed her. Her slender fingers hovered for a moment, and then tapped lightly on one date. “This day it is, then.”
She picked the day after tomorrow. It would be this weekend.
“Understood. I’ll make the arrangements. And I’ll bring some forms for you to sign later.”
Once all the paperwork was completed, Hadley left the funeral home.
Sitting in the car, Hadley paused for a moment. She thought it through before picking up her phone to send Ernest a message. “Ernest, I’ve taken Elissa from the police station to the funeral home. The arrangements are done, and the cremation is set for this weekend.” She left it at that.
After hitting send, she set her phone aside, leaned back against the seat, and closed her eyes. She had done everything she could. Whether Ernest would come or not… that was his decision to make.
At the Flynn Group, the air inside the CEO’s office was heavy with smoke. Ernest sat back in his chair, his phone buzzing where it lay on the desk. He glanced at the screen. It was a message from Hadley. Each word struck him like a tiny needle, stabbing into his eyes.
When he finished reading, he turned the phone over and set it face down. Then he opened a drawer, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, drawing in a long breath.
The ashtray in front of him was already overflowing with cigarette butts.
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Ernest wasn’t much of a smoker. It was something he wanted now and then, not something he craved. Ever since he’d come out of that years-long coma, he had hardly touched a cigarette—at least, not until Elissa’s accident.
Since Elissa’s disappearance, his old habit had come rushing back, fiercer than it had ever been. He lit one cigarette after another, hardly giving himself a break. Before long, the office was shrouded in a thick haze.
Holding the cigarette between his fingers, Ernest sat there with his eyes half-closed, his long lashes casting faint shadows.
After a moment of silence, he picked up his phone and made a call. “Quentin, come in.”
A few seconds later, Quentin entered the office. “Mr. Flynn.”
Ernest gave a small nod. “I need you to take care of something for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
.
.
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