Salgado, who had for years been quietly receiving off-the-books payments from Veronica’s shell companies under the cover of corporate wellness consulting, had done exactly what he had been paid to do.

He had signed the death certificate at the warehouse loading bay, without running an EKG, without transporting my husband to a real emergency room, without performing any of the checks that would have instantly revealed a faint but present heartbeat.

He had declared a living man dead, to help Marcus avoid an autopsy and a police inquiry.

They thought they had executed the perfect crime.

A healthy man drops dead of a cardiac arrest, a physician confirms it, the body is moved quickly to a friendly funeral home, buried without examination, the audit dies with him, and no one is ever the wiser.