Chapter 1: The Eulogy of Greed
The air in Peterson and Sons Funeral Home was thick with the cloying, sweet scent of lilies and the muffled, rhythmic sounds of forty people trying to pretend they were heartbroken. I sat in the third row, my back pressed against the hard velvet of the pew, feeling like a ghost in my own life. To my left, my mother, Eleanor Henderson, sat in a state of perfectly curated sorrow. To my right, my brother, Marcus, adjusted his Tom Ford cufflinks with a restlessness that had nothing to do with mourning.
I looked at the mahogany casket at the front of the room. Inside lay Richard Henderson, a man who had spent forty years building a life in the suburbs of Philadelphia, only to have it picked apart before his body was even cold.
Marcus stood up. He walked to the podium with the practiced grace of a man who had spent his life being told the world belonged to him. He delivered a eulogy filled with anecdotes of fishing trips and father-son wisdom—stories I didn’t recognize, memories that felt like they had been scripted by a mid-tier publicist. The room was moved. Women wiped at their eyes; men nodded solemnly.
But then, the mask slipped. Marcus didn’t sit down. He gripped the edges of the podium, his knuckles white against the dark wood.
“As many of you know,” Marcus began, his voice dropping into a somber, confidential tone, “Dad’s passing has left us with some heavy logistical burdens. After discussing it with Mom, we’ve decided the best way to honor his memory and ensure Mom is taken care of is to sell the house on Maple Street immediately. To cover… family obligations.”
A ripple of whispers traveled through the room. I knew what “family obligations” meant. It was code for the $340,000 gambling debt Marcus had accrued—a debt my mother had been desperately trying to hide.
Then, my mother stood up. She didn’t look at the casket. She looked directly at me, her eyes cold and unwavering.
“Your father would understand,” she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the chapel. “Marcus needs the support. Briana is independent; she has her own life in the city. Your sister can find somewhere else to live.”
