Chapter 204
Chapter 204: The Plot (1)
A funeral—we’re talking about the dictionary definition, right? Where people wear black and gather to mourn the dead…
While I stood there wide-eyed and confused, Ian raised his hand like a diligent student and offered his opinion.
“Sure, a family event would naturally gather people, but to ensure all the executives attend without fail, it would have to be someone pretty significant.”
“Ah. I have just the solution for that.”
Jonathan and I had personal connections with Saint-Germain but no direct ties to the company. While Ian belonged to the company, he wasn’t influential enough to draw all the executives as mourners.
Someone who knew our plan and could cooperate, someone who belonged to the company and held a position important enough that not just employees but all executives would have to pay their respects…
Saint-Germain’s thin finger pointed at the man sitting beside me.
“Liam Moore.”
Liam, who’d been taking a sip of black coffee, choked.
“Me?”
“You need to die at least once.”
It was absolutely ridiculous how he delivered the command to die as casually as encouraging someone to check off a bucket list item. I gaped at Saint-Germain’s preposterous audacity.
“…Wouldn’t it be better if you died instead?”
Liam seemed displeased with the idea of faking his own death. He appeared concerned about not being able to openly protect me by my side. As if having already anticipated Liam’s thoughts, Saint-Germain grinned and countered:
“If news of your death spreads, it might take some heat off this troublemaker here. After all, you were the one who received the original case, and you’re the one deeply connected to the company that they suspect has been tracking their cult for over a century. And above all, given your position…”
Liam, who had been quietly listening to Saint-Germain, sighed and roughly scratched his head. His face showed he too sensed there was no other way. With slumped shoulders, he mumbled dejectedly:
“At least can I choose how I die?”
* * *
So we settled on a car accident. We’d been through something similar before, after all.
Jonathan was thrilled at the idea of Liam dying, even if it was fake. Seeing him ask if he could personally crash into Liam’s car, it seemed he’d built up quite a bit of resentment toward Liam while I was away. Of course, Liam readily agreed.
“Don’t go easy on me. You understand?”
“I know, I know. Sis, trust me. I was Scotland Yard’s—”
“Mad dog.”
When I cut off Jonathan’s words with a sigh, Liam made a strange laughing sound. Like a choking ostrich gasping for air. I glared at the giggling Liam with all my might.
The revised plan went like this:
Liam and I would depart in Saint-Germain’s borrowed car, supposedly moving hotels. Then halfway through, at a four-way intersection, Jonathan would crash into Liam’s car.
Since the cultists were all-or-nothing types who’d try to eliminate us decisively—whether by drowning us in the Thames or blowing up the car—Jonathan, who at least understood moderation, was the better choice. Though he didn’t seem entirely sane either, he’d probably show some restraint since I’d be in the car with Liam.
After causing the accident, Saint-Germain’s hired people would transport Liam to the hospital, where they’d pronounce him dead. Of course, it would be a forged diagnosis, so there wouldn’t actually be any problems. It’s not like we’d be sending him straight to the crematorium.
“Since we need to create an accident that looks fatal enough to be believable, we’ll have to accept at least rolling the car over. You can survive that, right?”
Saint-Germain tossed out cheerfully.
He was already picking out flowers for William Osmond’s funeral with Jonathan. He even made pointed jokes about using white dahlias for the main flower arrangement. His nonchalance was enough to make my head spin, but Saint-Germain’s funeral coordination didn’t stop there. He seemed so natural at it that he could probably make a career change.
“Cremation or burial?”
“Cremation’s better. Can’t be sure how they might use the body if it remains.”
“Hmm. Ashes are better than roasted?”
“Exactly.”
And Liam Moore, this maddening man, was calmly answering along. I squeezed my eyes shut at this conversation flow that defied any normal person’s common sense. These crazy bastards!
Of course, there was one sane person here. My nephew, Ian Osmond Cassfire. He too gaped at this absurd scene.
“Aunt, these people are all insane.”
Poor Ian looked like he wanted to escape from these lunatics immediately, but he had no choice. He too was one of the threads connected to Liam Moore. The massive cult organization known as the Brothers of Huntington would never leave their pursuers alone. That’s why both Ian and I had no choice but to stick close to Saint-Germain’s house.
I agreed pitifully.
“I know. They’ve always been like this…”
“Sis. Let me off the hook.”
What hook? Jonathan Osmond, this bastard. The one who taught Liam Moore that evil trick with the blank cartridge!
“You’re crazy too!”
“Whaaat!”
“Don’t act surprised!”
The one who stopped our squabbling was Liam. Or more precisely, Liam’s words.
“Brother-in-law, don’t hold back.”
Don’t hold back what? That was truly insane talk. No, he needed to hold back for survival. Was there any point in actually dying while pretending to be dead?
But Liam was adamant. To convince everyone—including the cult—that ‘William Osmond’ had died, anything half-hearted absolutely wouldn’t do.
I agreed in principle, but wasn’t this too extreme?
Provoked by Liam’s challenge (though more likely because of being called ‘brother-in-law’), Jonathan laughed nervously. I had the illusion that his lime-green eyes were gleaming with madness.
“I won’t hold back—I’ll push you over.”
“The car needs to flip properly.”
“I’ll make it roll three times.”
I muttered.
“You crazy bastards, I’ll be in there too…”
Anyway, the plan was perfect. Probably.
Though I wondered if Jonathan had any experience flipping other people’s cars. The heart-stopping memory of our previous taxi accident crept back. I glanced anxiously at Jonathan.
Meanwhile, Ian, who clearly didn’t trust either of them, came over and cast what seemed to be a protection spell on me. He wiggled his fingers and whispered:
“It’s a spell to prevent instant death. Avoids situations like neck-breaking impacts, or getting crushed…”
While those two over there were arguing about three rolls versus three and a half and whether it would kill or not, seeing Ian being so thoughtfully considerate warmed my heart. He was so precious. I roughly ruffled Ian’s red mop of hair.
At first, Ian irritably cried out “Ah, Aunt!” but soon quieted down, apparently not finding my touch so unpleasant. It felt strange seeing him being so docile with Owen’s face.
“You’re better than your uncle.”
Liam jumped at my words from across the room.
“Jane!”
“It’s true though.”
“…”
Much better now that it’s quieter.
While we were having this casual chat, Saint-Germain finished writing the will. He’d perfectly planned everything from the coffin and flower arrangements to the format of the funeral.
Saint-Germain gave us a brief rundown. A pure white wooden coffin, church funeral… They’d need to rent a large church to accommodate all the mourners. He’d already shortlisted several potential venues.
“We’ll leave the coffin lid open to show the face.”
Liam spoke with a serious expression.
“Ah, it would be a disaster if I blinked. And I’ve never acted dead before…”
Jonathan Osmond answered with a bright face, as if he’d been waiting for this:
“We can drug you!”
He looked like he’d be willing to high-five the devil himself and become best friends if he could just witness that sight.
“Brother-in-law, what about my opinion?”
“Why would that be necessary?”
“…They say blood runs thick, yet why are you siblings so cruel to me?”
When Liam exaggeratedly sniffled, Jonathan grimaced as if he’d seen something revolting. Of course, we’d known Liam Moore for a long time and were well aware that his sniffling was just atrocious acting.
“Well then, now…”
Pierre Saint-Germain said with an excited face.
“Let’s see how sturdy my car’s airbags are.”
