I looked closer. There was a temporary wax seal placed over the seam of the lid, a security measure to ensure the casket hadn't been opened in transit.
The wax seal was broken.
Someone had already been inside this casket. Sterling. He must have searched it, looking for the evidence Richard claimed to have hidden.
Did Sterling find it? Had I come all this way for nothing?
I had to know. I made a fast, irreversible decision. I couldn't wait for a better opportunity.
I gripped the edge of the heavy lid and pushed upward. The hinges groaned softly. The lead lining made the lid incredibly heavy, and my old shoulders burned with the effort, but I managed to prop it open.
I looked down inside.
Richard lay resting on the white silk lining. His face was pale and waxy from the embalming process, his eyes closed in eternal sleep.
My breath caught in my throat. I reached out and gently touched his shoulder.
"I'm here, old friend," I whispered.
Then I noticed his uniform.
Richard was a highly decorated General. He should have been wearing his dress blues, adorned with decades of ribbons and medals.
He was wearing dress blues, but they weren't his.
I stared in shock at the unit patch sewn onto his left shoulder. It was the emblem of the 42nd Tactical Division. My old unit. The disgraced unit that had been wiped from the official military records thirty years ago.
And below that, where his silver star should have been pinned, there was a glaring empty space. A missing service medal.
Why was Richard buried in my disgraced uniform?
I looked down at his hands. They were folded neatly over his stomach. Clutched tightly beneath his stiff fingers was a small, heavy steel box.
It was secured with a heavy iron padlock.
My heart hammered. This was it. Sterling must have broken the wax seal, opened the casket, and seen the locked box. But why didn't Sterling take it?
I pulled the rusted key from my pocket. '114'.
I quickly aligned the key with the padlock on the steel box. I slid it in.
It didn't fit.
The key was far too thick for the narrow keyhole. I tried to force it, twisting left and right, but it was completely useless.
I had misunderstood the clue. The rusted key wasn't meant for this box.
Before I could try to pry the box out of Richard's stiff grip, I heard a sharp, mechanical click echo through the silent chamber.
The sound of a heavy door latch opening.
I immediately dropped the casket lid, letting it close with a soft thud. I dove behind the draped steel bier, pressing my body flat against the cold marble floor just as the main double doors swung open.
Footsteps entered the room. Heavy, tactical boots.
"Sweep the room," a harsh, familiar voice commanded.
I recognized the voice immediately. It was Captain Harris, Sterling’s personal head of security. He was a ruthless, ambitious man who operated as Sterling's personal attack dog.
"Clear," a second voice replied. "Nobody's here, Captain."
"Check the perimeter anyway," Harris ordered. "Sterling wants that steel box out of the casket right now. He didn't have time to pry it loose from the corpse before the guests started arriving."
I held my breath, pressing my face against the floor. So that was it. Sterling had tried to take the box earlier, but rigor mortis had locked Richard's fingers around it. Now, with the public ceremony starting, Sterling had sent his men to finish the job.
Heavy boots approached the casket. I was trapped. If they looked behind the bier, they would see me.
I slowly slid my hand into my coat pocket, gripping the heavy brass handle of my tension wrench. It wasn't a weapon, but it was all I had.
The footsteps stopped just inches from my face, on the other side of the draped fabric.
"Captain," the guard said. "The lid isn't fully seated. Someone just closed this."