The Imperial Grand Hotel boasted the most expensive ballroom in the city.
My mother had transformed it into some bizarre hybrid of wedding venue and funeral parlor.
My black-and-white memorial portrait dominated the center wall.

It was from my college graduation—me laughing without a care in the world.
Below it hung a gaudy crimson banner.
Four gold-embossed characters proclaimed: "WELCOME NEW LIFE."
Anyone walking in might think they'd stumbled into a wedding rather than a funeral.
The bewildered guests all wore expressions of confused discomfort.
My father, hands clasped behind his back, explained with fake solemnity:

"It's an ancient tradition—a celebratory funeral."
"It signifies that Vivian passed peacefully and has moved on to prosperity in the next life."
Ethan, in a perfectly tailored black suit, took the stage.
He played the grieving almost-husband to perfection.

"Vivian… was an incredible woman."
On cue, tears slid down his cheeks.
"We were supposed to be married in just a few weeks…"
Below the stage, Ivy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, shoulders shaking with "grief."
Their performances were so convincing, you'd think they were auditioning for an Oscar.
Meanwhile, my parents had stationed themselves at the entrance, collecting condolence envelopes.
My mother actually brought a cash-counting machine, its mechanical whirring drowning out the somber music.
Ryan stood beside her with a QR code for digital payments, grinning like he'd won the lottery.
Ethan's "heartfelt" eulogy finally concluded.
The MC raised his voice dramatically:
"Let us raise our glasses! To new beginnings rising from endings!"
Waiters wheeled in an extravagant five-tier champagne tower.
Ethan, Ivy, my parents, and Ryan lined up like contestants at a game show.
Each clutched a bottle of expensive champagne, faces glowing with genuine excitement.
POP! The champagne erupted in golden streams.
The amber liquid cascaded down the crystal glasses, mirroring the greed dripping from their smiles.
This entire spectacle was being broadcast live to millions through "guests" I'd strategically placed throughout the venue.
From a backstage room, I watched it all unfold on a monitor.
Flanking me were my legal team and several plainclothes detectives.
Nathan flashed me a thumbs-up.
I smoothed down my crimson dress and nodded.
"Showtime."
"Let's crash this party."
Just as the champagne was about to fill the topmost glasses…
Click. A subtle sound.
The massive screen displaying my memorial portrait suddenly went black.
The music cut off abruptly.
Their laughter died in their throats.
The screen flickered back to life.
It showed my bedroom, cluttered with medical equipment.
There I was, supposedly dying in my bed.
Then came my mother's face, leaning in with her "heartfelt" confession:
"…Your money will help your brother find a wife, so at least your death will serve some purpose."
The room froze in collective horror!
The video cut to Ryan.
"Sis, I'll turn your apartment into an amazing place, and I'll pour one out for you every year on your death day."
Then to Ivy.
"Oh Vivi, don't be scared. I promise I'll take good care of Ethan for you."
Finally, Ethan's face filled the screen, dripping with false tenderness.
"Vivian, I'll use your money to give Ivy the dream wedding she deserves…"
Crystal clear, high-definition close-ups.
Every pixel of their greed and hypocrisy displayed in nauseating detail.
Along one side, live comments from millions of viewers scrolled frantically:
[MONSTERS! ABSOLUTE FUCKING MONSTERS!]
[VIVIAN WHEREVER YOU ARE YOU NEED TO HAUNT THESE PEOPLE!]
The ballroom fell into stunned silence.
My father jabbed a shaking finger at the screen:
"Who—who's responsible for this? Turn it off!"
Ethan bolted toward the control booth to cut the power.
But he quickly discovered that the entire system had been locked down tight.
And then…
Creeeeak
The massive double doors at the entrance slowly swung open.
I stood there in my blood-red dress.
Balanced on sky-high stilettos.
Camera flashes exploded around me as every head turned in ghostly shock.
Step by deliberate step, I approached the stage where my "family" stood frozen like wax figures.
Click.
Click.
Tap.
I plucked the microphone from the stunned MC's hand and tapped it.
The speakers screeched in feedback.
"My funeral. Without my permission."
"Who the hell said you could throw it?"
My mother released a banshee-like scream.
"GHOST!"
Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in a heap.
Ethan, Ivy, and Ryan's legs gave out simultaneously.
They crumpled to the floor like puppets with cut strings.
The blood drained from their faces.