A Tomb of Mirrors

I did not waste time with explanations. I just had him give me the account details.

A few taps on my phone, and the 15-million-dollar deposit was on its way.

The manager was frozen, staring at the transaction alert for a good ten minutes before he snapped out of it, hands shaking with barely contained excitement.

I said calmly, "Consider that a downpayment. I'll pay the rest on the day. We're on a tight schedule; the funeral has to be on the 21st."

His eyes lit up, and he was all deference and urgency as he said, "Please rest assured. Whatever you may request, I'll make it happen, no matter the cost."

I nodded and laid out my demands. "Out of the 30-million-dollar budget, set aside 15 million for gold coins settled in my coffin.

"I also need a top-of-the-line mahogany coffin with a velvet lining. For the flowers, the hall should be drowning in lilies, white roses, and orchids. Set aside 1.5 million for them.

"And I want a choir and a string quartet for the whole shebang. I demand a procession of sleek black luxury cars and the finest hearse in Zephyr City. So 7.5 million was meant for them.

"Please prepare soldiers cut from paper, and let them stand together with white flowers to guard my coffin. 4.5 million. Make the paper soldiers as much as possible.

"As for my final resting place, I want a grand, timeless mausoleum, not a run-of-the-mill cemetery plot. Allocate 1.5 million for that.

"This funeral will have one theme: unprecedented luxury. It will be the talk of the town, forever etched in one's memory.

"And listen up, don't even think about cutting corners with bulk orders. I'll be checking. If anything's not up to my standard, forget about seeing the rest of your money!

"If costs run over, just be straight with me, and I'll wire the extra funds."

The manager mulled over my words, then said, "This is a big ask, and it must be perfect. I can't pull this off alone."

I nodded. "Get your team together, then."

He dashed to the back of the shop and slammed a button. Moments later, every funeral manager on the block had bolted their doors and swarmed in, packing the place tight.

With a megaphone in hand, the manager pointed at me and bellowed, "Big news, Funeral Avenue! This lady's dropping 30 million on her own send-off!"

All eyes snapped toward me, wide with a mix of awe and the kind of concern one gives to someone with a terminal diagnosis.

Whipping out his phone, the manager hollered, "She's good for it, too. I've received 15 million dollars in deposit, already in the bank!"

The crowd's eyes sparkled at the sight of the confirmation text. They clamored over each other, asking, "What's the lady's vision?"

I snatched the megaphone from the manager. "I've already told him what we need, and he'll fill you in soon. Just get everything ready as I've asked."

I paused for effect. "And if you manage to get it all done early, I'll throw in an extra three million bucks!"

Eyes wide with anticipation, the crowd watched as I passed the megaphone back to the manager.

Stepping off Funeral Avenue, my phone buzzed to life. It was Christopher.

He must have gotten Sally home and realized I was missing.

I picked up, and Christopher's voice came through, laced with concern, asking, "Honey, where are you?"

I held my bitterness back and said, "Just some last-minute stuff at work. Did your mom get home okay?"

Christopher grunted a yes. "Mom's been worried sick about how hard you've been working. She didn't even stop to rest after the drive. She kept going on about making her special spaghetti with tomato sauce!"

An icy smirk played on my lips. In my previous life, this mother-son pair played me like a fiddle with that so-called 'mom-flavored' spaghetti to win over my heart.

However, back then, I was none the wiser.