As the priest began the closing prayer, the heavy doors at the back of the chapel suddenly creaked open. Heads turned. A young Black boy, barefoot and wearing a tattered hoodie, stumbled inside. His breathing was labored, as if he had been running for miles.

“Stop him!” an usher shouted, but the boy darted past, heading straight for the coffin.

“Your daughter is still alive!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the marble walls.

The room erupted in shocked whispers. Some guests gasped, others murmured in anger. Jonathan froze, his mind unable to process what he had just heard. The boy — no older than fourteen — placed both hands on the coffin, trembling. “She’s not dead, Mr. Hartman. I saw her three days ago. She’s alive, and she needs your help!”