Chapter 4 - Dad Decided to Attend His Own Funeral
By noon, Dad’s death had spread farther than any of us realized.
A cousin in Ohio called.
Then Dad’s former foreman.
Then the pastor from our childhood church.
Someone had posted a memorial message online.
REST EASY, ROBERT COLE. A GOOD MAN GONE TOO SOON.
Dad stared at it.
“I’m getting a lot of attention for a dead guy.”
I didn’t laugh.
The post included a photograph of Dad and Mom at their thirtieth anniversary.
Vanessa had posted it at 7:04 that morning.
Underneath were dozens of condolences.
Then I saw the second post.
FUNERAL DETAILS TO FOLLOW.
My hands shook.
“She announced your funeral before she even called me.”
Dad read the timestamp.
His face hardened.
At 1:15, Detective Chen arrived.
She was in her forties, calm, observant and unwilling to accept easy answers.
She photographed the office.
She collected the hidden camera.
She examined the safe.
Then she asked Dad about his financial records.
He gave her everything.
“What about the alleged death certificate?” I asked.
“It wasn’t an official certificate,” she explained. “It was an online request for records and notification services. But combined with the banking activity, it matters.”
Dad looked toward the window.
“Can you arrest them?”
“Not for being terrible at family communication.”
Dad almost smiled.
“But unauthorized transfers, forged financial documents and identity theft are different matters.”
She closed her notebook.
“We need evidence.”
Dad nodded.
“You’ll get it.”
That evening Vanessa called seventeen times.
Dad answered the eighteenth.
“What?”
She was crying.
“Dad, please.”
“You have thirty seconds.”
“Grant told me Harold said you died.”
Harold, sitting beside Dad, rolled his eyes.
Dad said, “Harold is here.”
Silence.
Then Vanessa changed her story.
“I misunderstood.”
“You misunderstood whether I was alive?”
“I was scared.”
“So you hired a locksmith?”
“Grant handled that.”
“You contacted a realtor.”
“Grant.”
“You posted my death online.”
Silence.
Dad’s eyes hardened.
“And sixty-three thousand dollars disappeared from my account.”
Vanessa stopped crying.
That silence told us more than anything else.
Dad continued.
“Was that Grant too?”
The call ended.
Detective Chen had advised Dad not to provoke them.
Dad interpreted that creatively.
The next morning he posted one sentence beneath Vanessa’s memorial announcement.
RUMORS OF MY DEATH HAVE BEEN GREATLY EXAGGERATED.
Within twenty minutes, the post exploded.
Dad’s phone rang constantly.
Friends demanded explanations.
Vanessa deleted her original post.
Screenshots had already spread.
By Monday morning, half the town knew.
But something stranger happened.
Harold called me at work.
“You need to see this.”
He sent me a screenshot.
Vanessa had created an event.
ROBERT COLE MEMORIAL GATHERING.
Sunday.
Pike & Sons Funeral Home.
I called Harold.
“You’re hosting this?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then why does it list your funeral home?”
“My nephew runs it now. Vanessa reserved the reception room online.”
I stared at the screen.
“She still plans to hold Dad’s memorial?”
“Looks that way.”
“Why?”
Harold was silent.
Then he said, “Maybe because canceling it would force her to explain why she announced his death.”
That evening, I showed Dad.
He studied the event page.
Then he smiled.
I knew that smile.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“You are not doing whatever you’re thinking.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
Dad handed the phone back.
“Apparently I have a funeral Sunday.”
“Memorial.”
“Close enough.”
“Dad.”
He walked toward the refrigerator.
“I’ve never attended my own funeral.”
I followed him.
“You cannot walk into that room.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a sitcom.”
“No. It’s my life.”
He opened the refrigerator.
“And someone has spent the last week trying to steal it.”
Sunday arrived gray and cold.
More than sixty people came.
Vanessa stood near the entrance wearing black.
Grant wore a dark suit.
They had placed Dad’s photograph on an easel.
There were flowers.
There was a guest book.
There was even a framed sign.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF ROBERT COLE.
Dad and I waited in Harold’s office.
Through a security monitor, we watched Vanessa accept hugs.
She cried convincingly.
Grant shook hands.
Then Dad’s attorney arrived.
Margaret Sloan.
Vanessa immediately approached her.
We couldn’t hear the conversation.
But we saw Vanessa hand Margaret an envelope.
Margaret opened it.
Read something.
Then looked sharply at Vanessa.
Dad leaned toward the monitor.
“What did she give her?”
I didn’t know.
Margaret walked directly toward Harold’s office.
She entered and closed the door.
Her face was pale.
“Robert.”
“What?”
She handed Dad the paper.
It was a photocopy of a will.
Dad read the first page.
Then the second.
His expression became unreadable.
“What?” I asked.
He gave it to me.
The document left Dad’s house, vehicles, investments and remaining estate to Vanessa.
It specifically excluded me.
At the bottom was Dad’s signature.
Except it wasn’t his signature.
Margaret pointed to the date.
The document had supposedly been signed six months earlier.
Dad looked at her.
“Where did she get this?”
“She claims it was in your safe.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
Margaret took a breath.
“She also asked me how quickly probate could begin.”
Dad looked toward the monitor.
Vanessa was standing beneath his memorial photograph.
Then he stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To my funeral.”
Dad walked down the hallway.
Harold followed.
I followed Harold.
Margaret followed me.
The reception room doors were open.
A pastor was speaking.
Vanessa stood in the front row.
Grant had one arm around her.
Then Dad entered.
Someone screamed.
A coffee cup hit the floor.
The pastor stopped speaking.
Every head turned.
Dad walked slowly down the center aisle.
Vanessa looked as if she had seen a ghost.
Which, technically, was exactly what she believed she was seeing.
Dad stopped beside his own photograph.
He looked around the room.
“Thank you all for coming.”
Nobody moved.
Dad turned toward Vanessa.
“Especially you.”
Vanessa’s lips trembled.
Dad held up the forged will.
“Because now,” he said, “we finally have something worth talking about.”
May you like
And from the back of the room, Detective Chen stepped forward.
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