Shonee's POV

The service soon began with a prayer, then followed by a few hymns from the choir. Next on the program was a series of tributes from close friends and others who considered Michael as family. After one lady's short tribute, another gentleman followed, his gelled hair slicked back, giving him the look of someone from the mafia.

"Good morning, everyone. My name is Greg Hughes, and I had the privilege of working alongside Michael Percy at Beckham Incorporated."

He gave us a warm smile as his tone dipped into one of nostalgia. "Michael was one of the most hardworking, dedicated, and resourceful people I've ever met. He had a way of brightening the room with his humour and never hesitated to lend a hand. He was more than a colleague to me. He was a brother from another mother."

As Greg continued, rattling on about how great his 'brother from another mother' was, I couldn't help but squirm in my seat.

I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but come on. Greg's glowing tribute made Michael seem like the saint he absolutely wasn't. In fact, he was far from it.

Memories of the merge party flashed in my mind. The night he cornered me in the bathroom, after discovering his secret affair with Avril. I recalled how his hands wrapped my neck. His way of trying to stop me from telling Vincent the truth.

My hands clenched in my lap. Only God knew what would've happened if I hadn't kneed him in the jewels that night.

Greg's voice brought me back to the present. "I also want to commend my employees, the Beckham family, for organizing such a beautiful service for Michael. It speaks volumes about the kind of people they are: compassionate, considerate, and generous. Let's give them a round of applause."

He gestured toward Vincent and his family, prompting a round of applause. Cameras flashed as the Beckhams gave polite nods of acknowledgement. Nancy alone decided to wave like the guests were her adoring fans. It was funny how she was enjoying the public's attention, even during a funeral where she was meant to be mourning.

Greg ended his tribute and stepped down, allowing the officiant to return to the podium. "Thank you, Mr. Hughes. Now, we'd like to invite Mr. Aaron Thorne, Michael's uncle from his maternal side, to say a few words."

A round of applause began. Heads darted around in search of him, but no one stepped forward. The clapping trailed off awkwardly, leaving a heavy silence.

That's strange, I thought. Vincent did say he was going to be here.

The officiant cleared his throat. "Well, uh...it seems Mr. Thorne was unable to join us. In his absence, we'll hear from Mr. Vincent Beckham."

Another round of applause erupted as Vincent rose and approached the podium, shaking hands with the officiant before taking over.

"Good morning, everyone," he began, reading from the tablet he'd brought with him. "It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today at the burial service of one of our most dedicated and hardworking employees." He paused to take a breath. "Michael Percy joined Beckham Incorporated during a particularly challenging time for both myself and the company. He quickly proved to be a capable and efficient personal assistant, someone I could rely on to make my work easier and more manageable."

As Vincent spoke, I couldn't help but think about how ironic this whole thing was. I mean, here he stood, delivering a heartfelt tribute to a man who had blackmailed him for months and slept with the woman he intended to marry to save his company.

It had to sting, standing there and painting a glowing picture of Michael when everyone sitting here knew the truth. But then again, as the CEO of Beckham Incorporated, Vincent had a duty to uphold his image and the company's reputation. He couldn't let his personal problems interfere with that.

"Michael was a valued employee, and his sudden and tragic death has been a great loss to all of us," he continued. "Because of that, we at Beckham Incorporated are working closely with law enforcement to bring the person responsible for Michael's death to justice. Rest assured, we will not stop until the guilty culprit is caught, and justice is served."

My gaze inadvertently shifted to the entrance only to find Ruben's piercing eyes fixed on me. Again, my eyebrows dipped low, suspicion rising in my system. Has he been watching me the entire time?

"Michael may no longer be with us." Vincent's voice drew my attention back to him. "But his contributions to our lives and our company will not be forgotten. May his soul rest in peace. Thank you."

The crowd applauded as Vincent stepped down from the podium, and the officiant returned.

"Thank you too, Mr. Beckham. We will now proceed to the burial. Please follow the pallbearers to the gravesite."

The pallbearers approached Michael's casket, lifting it carefully onto their shoulders. Everyone stood up, and I followed the sombre procession.

As I walked behind an old couple, a figure soon appeared at my side. "You know, if you know something about Michael's killer, you might as well come clean."

I turned sharply, brows knitting into a frown the moment my eyes landed on Ruben. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I know something?"

"Oh a lot of reasons," he drawled in a low and deliberate tone. "Like you wanting payback for the number of times Michael blackmailed Vincent, hence his shooting. Or maybe it was about Avril. You hated her, didn't you? And Michael was sleeping with her. Perhaps getting rid of him was your way of sticking it to both of them."

His insinuations made me come to a complete stop, sending a wave of indignation through me. "Look, I don't know what kind of detective you think you are, but your theory is insane! I wasn't anywhere near the crime scene that night. I was in the building with everyone else. Even Avril can testify to that."

"Oh, I know." Ruben's smirk didn't waver. "And it's probably why Wiley has taken you off the suspect list. But you should know, you're still on mine, Shonee Coleman." His dark brown eyes glazed over my face. "Keep that in mind."

With that, he strode off, leaving me simmering with a bucketload of frustration.