“Nobody leaves. Lock the doors.” Ricardo gives the order after stepping between Bia and Helena.

The heavy oak doors of the chapel slammed shut, the metallic click of the deadbolt echoing like a gunshot through the vaulted room.

The security guards Ricardo had quietly posted near the foyer moved into position, blocking the double doors with their broad shoulders. Gasps rippled through the assembled mourners. Wealthy patrons, family lawyers, and high-society acquaintances shrank back into the padded pews, their eyes darting between the small girl holding a plastic doll and Helena, whose porcelain composure was disintegrating into sheer terror.

"Ricardo, have you lost your mind?" Helena demanded, her voice shrill, cutting through the heavy scent of crushed lilies. She took a sharp step forward, her manicured hands trembling as she adjusted her black lace veil. "This is a sacred service! Your sister’s memorial! How dare you turn her funeral into a public circus based on the ramblings of a traumatized six-year-old?"

Ricardo didn't flinch. He adjusted his stance, placing his broad frame squarely between Helena and Bia. He reached down with his left hand, resting it gently on Bia’s small, shivering shoulder.

"If it’s just the ramblings of a child, Helena," Ricardo said, his deep voice carrying a deadly, measured calm, "then why are you looking at those doors like a condemned woman looking at a scaffold?"

Bodie... no, little Bia clung tightly to the cloth torso of her favorite ragdoll, Clara. The hidden zipper along the doll's spine was pulled back, exposing a sleek, black encrypted mobile device. The screen was cracked, but a tiny green LED light near the camera lens flickered rhythmically—a sign that an automated storage drive was actively mounting.

"Bia, sweetie," Ricardo whispered softly, kneeling on one knee so he was eye-level with his niece. "Give Uncle Ricardo the phone. Nobody is going to touch you. I promise."

Bia’s small, dirt-smudged fingers hesitated. Her big hazel eyes swam with tears, reflecting the soft candlelight of the altar. "Mommy told me... she said if she ever went to sleep and didn't wake up, I had to keep Clara safe until I found you. She said Aunt Helena was trying to delete Mommy's voice."

The chapel went dead silent.

"That is a lie!" Helena screamed, dropping all pretense of grief. Her face twisted into a mask of frantic rage. "She’s confused! Sofia was delusional before she died—her mind was destroyed by her illness! She filled that poor child's head with poisonous fantasies!"

At the chapel entrance, the sudden movement intensified. Two men in sharp dark suits—Helena’s personal security detail—attempted to force their way toward the altar. But Ricardo’s team held the line, shoving them back into the foyer as hushed shouting broke out near the heavy brass handles.

Ricardo took the phone from Bia’s trembling hands. The screen lit up instantly, recognizing Bia's biometric thumbprint which she had held against the glass seconds prior.

A file list appeared on the screen, labeled with a single timestamp from forty-eight hours ago—the night Sofia died.

The title of the primary audio file was brief, stark, and horrifying:

Helena_Dose_Override_Confession.m4a

Ricardo swiped his thumb across the glass. He connected the device via Bluetooth to the chapel's high-definition audio visual system, built into the pulpit for memorial video presentations.