FROM PRISON TRASH TO GOD OF WAR

Chapter 5: The Coffin Opens

The secretary's fingers trembled over her phone screen. She pressed Derek Morrison's number, and the dial tone echoed in the tense silence of the ballroom.

Then another sound cut through the air—a shrill, tinny ringtone.

It came from inside the coffin.

Robert Thompson's face went slack. The ringing continued, muffled but unmistakable, emanating from within the polished wooden box that sat like a tombstone in the center of his celebration.

"What..." His voice died in his throat.

Alexander walked toward the coffin with leisurely, almost casual steps. The crowd pressed backward, creating a wide circle around him. He raised his boot and kicked the lid.

The coffin exploded open.

The screaming started immediately.

Women shrieked, champagne glasses shattered as they hit the floor. Men stumbled backward, some retching. Because inside the coffin, illuminated by the glittering chandelier light, lay Derek Morrison's phone—still ringing—clutched in the stiff, dead fingers of a corpse.

The body was that of one of Derek's guards, the man's face frozen in a rictus of terror, eyes wide and unseeing. His neck bent at an unnatural angle.

Victoria's scream rose above all others. "MURDER! Oh God, it's MURDER!"

"Call the police!" someone shouted.

"He killed someone!"

"There's a dead body!"

Victoria pointed at Alexander with a shaking hand, her voice climbing to a hysterical pitch. "You MURDERER! You brought a corpse to our banquet! You've killed someone and you'll—you'll be EXECUTED for this! Death penalty! DEATH PENALTY!"

"That's right!" Margaret Ashford clutched her pearls. "This is first-degree murder! Premeditated! He'll go to the chair for this!"

The remaining guards, already terrified, tried to edge toward the exits. Derek Morrison sobbed on the floor, cradling his ruined hand.

Alexander's cold gaze swept across the panicking crowd. "The law. How interesting that you suddenly remember the law exists."

"Of course we remember the law!" Victoria shrieked. "Because we're not ANIMALS like you! We don't go around killing people!"

"Don't you?" Alexander's voice cut through the chaos like a scalpel. "Tell me, Uncle Robert. Stepmother Victoria. When you murdered my parents, did you remember the law then?"

The screaming faltered. The crowd fell into confused silence.

Robert's face cycled through emotions—confusion, fear, and finally desperate rage. "What are you talking about? Your parents died years ago! Natural causes!"

"Natural causes," Alexander repeated softly. "Is that what you call slow-acting poison?"

Victoria's mask of horror slipped for just a fraction of a second, revealing something cold and calculating beneath. "You're insane. Everyone can see you're insane! Robert, call the police! Now!"

"Yes!" Robert seized on the suggestion. "Everyone here is a witness! You've committed murder in front of the entire city's elite! You'll never—"

"Evidence," Alexander interrupted calmly. "Where's your evidence?"

Robert blinked, thrown off balance. "Evidence? The BODY is right there! The coffin! Everything!"

"Exactly." Alexander's smile was terrible. "Evidence. Proof. The foundations of law and justice." He took a step closer to Robert. "So tell me, Uncle. When you framed me five years ago, where was your evidence? When you accused me of attempted rape, where was your proof?"

"We had dozens of witnesses!" Victoria shot back.

"Witnesses you paid. Guards you controlled. A scenario you orchestrated." Alexander's voice remained eerily calm, but tears began sliding down his cheeks—not tears of sadness, but of pure, cold rage. "You stole my inheritance. You murdered my father with poison. You had already killed my mother. You framed me, beat me half to death, and sent me to prison to be executed."

His voice rose, each word cutting deeper. "You demolished my parents' graves. You scattered their remains like TRASH. You used their funeral urns as wheel chocks for your vehicles. And not ONCE—not for a single SECOND—did you think about the law!"

The ballroom had gone deathly silent. Even Victoria seemed frozen, her mouth half-open.

"You committed every evil act imaginable," Alexander continued, tears streaming freely now. "Murder. Fraud. Assault. Grave desecration. And now—NOW—after everything you've done, you dare to hide behind legality? You dare to demand I follow rules you've never once respected?"

He laughed, the sound harsh and broken. "You're not just criminals. You're cowards. Pathetic, shameless cowards."

"LIES!" Robert's face contorted with fury. "Everything you've said is LIES! These people—" he gestured wildly at the crowd, "—they all know the truth! They know what kind of degenerate you are!"

Victoria rallied, her voice dripping with false righteousness. "You're trying to destroy us with slander! Well, it won't work! We have the law on our side! You're the one with a CORPSE in a COFFIN!"

"That's right!" Jason, still nursing his swollen face, found his courage in numbers. "You can't just murder people and expect to walk away! This isn't some third-world country! We have JUSTICE here!"

"Justice." Alexander's laugh was bitter. "From the family that framed an innocent man? From the woman who murdered her husband for his money? That's rich."

Robert's control finally snapped. His face went purple with rage, veins bulging at his temples. "ENOUGH! I don't need to listen to this garbage anymore!"

He charged forward, his expensive shoes slapping against marble as he rushed at Alexander with murder in his eyes. "I'll kill you myself! Right here! Right now! You should have DIED in prison like we planned!"

The confession hung in the air for half a second.

Then Robert was airborne.

Marcus Bennett's boot caught him squarely in the stomach with a perfectly executed flying kick. The impact made a sound like a bat hitting a watermelon.

Robert's body lifted completely off the ground. He flew backward through the air, arms and legs flailing uselessly, before crashing into a banquet table laden with hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The table collapsed under his weight with a splintering crash. Food and broken glass exploded outward.

Robert lay in the wreckage, wheezing desperately, his face turning blue as he struggled to breathe. His eyes rolled back, consciousness flickering.

"ROBERT!" Victoria screamed, rushing toward him.

Jason stood frozen, all bravado gone, staring at his father's crumpled form in the ruins of their celebration.

The crowd pressed against the walls, as far from Alexander and Marcus as they could get.

Alexander walked calmly to where Robert lay gasping like a landed fish. He crouched down, bringing his face level with his uncle's.

"That's for my father," he said softly. "And we're just getting started."

Robert's lips moved soundlessly, trying to form words, trying to breathe. His hands clutched at his stomach where the kick had landed.

Victoria dropped to her knees beside him, mascara running down her cheeks. "Someone call an ambulance! Please! He's dying!"

"Dying," Alexander mused, standing. "Yes. I imagine that's how my father felt. Every day. As your poison slowly killed him. As he lay in bed, too weak to defend his own son."

He looked around at the horrified, pale faces of the city's elite.

"Now," Alexander said clearly, his voice carrying to every corner of the ballroom. "Let's talk about justice."