BEHIND THE SCENE: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜᴍʙʀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ || 𝗧𝗨𝗔

Chapter 3

Present-day...

The Hargreeves siblings were congregated in the living room, a cloud of tension suffocating the atmosphere. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, each member avoiding eye contact, waiting for the storm to break.

Luther shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a sheepish smile attempting to deflect the palpable unease. "Well, I suppose we should address this," he stammered, a shaky attempt at diffusing the mounting pressure. His siblings exchanged skeptical glances, their collective skepticism almost tangible.

"A memorial service, really?" Allison's voice dripped with incredulity, her gaze fixed on Luther. "For dear old dad?" she continued, her tone laden with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Luther's attempt at diplomacy seemed to crumble with each passing second.

Luther forged ahead, determined to salvage his proposition. "Yes, a service. At sundown. Under the oak tree, his favorite spot," he offered, his gaze sweeping over his siblings. He appeared remarkably composed, a veneer of calm masking his inner turmoil.

"Dad had a favorite spot?" Allison's voice carried a note of bewilderment, mirroring the sentiments of her siblings. Their skepticism was palpable, the concept of their father having preferences a foreign notion.

"Under the oak tree," Luther reiterated, as if this revelation held more weight than it appeared. "We used to sit there all the time," he explained, almost wistful in his recollection. His confident facade faltered, however, as his siblings continued to exchange dubious glances.

A disruption emerged in the form of Klaus, a cigarette dangling from his fingers and a glass of wine in his hand. "So, will there be refreshments? Tea, perhaps? Scones? Ah, the classic cucumber sandwiches," he interjected, his tone dripping with mockery. Luther's patience frayed, his admonishment for Klaus's smoking habit punctuating his frustration.

Amidst the bickering, a new interruption arose as Allison's gaze zeroed in on Klaus's attire. "Is that my skirt?" she exclaimed, her incredulous tone breaking through the noise. Klaus, unfazed by her accusation, waved his cigarette dismissively, offering a casual explanation for his choice of wardrobe.

Luther seized the opportunity to regain control of the conversation. "Listen up, folks. We have some serious matters to discuss," he asserted, his voice rising above the din of their banter. Diego's retort dripped with sarcasm, his patience for his brother's theatrics wearing thin.

Luther's attempt to regain focus was met with Diego's sardonic commentary. "And here comes the grand proclamation," Diego muttered under his breath, his irritation thinly veiled.

Undeterred, Luther plowed ahead. "We need to talk about the way he died," he declared, his tone carrying an air of authority. His accusation sent shockwaves through the room, prompting skeptical glances and raised eyebrows.

Diego's response was tinged with skepticism. "And so it begins," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he folded his arms in defiance.

Vanya, perplexed by the sudden turn of events, voiced her confusion. "I don't understand. They said it was a heart attack," she murmured, her brow furrowed as she searched for clarity amidst the chaos.

Luther, resolute in his belief, offered his own perspective. "Yes, according to the coroner," he affirmed, his conviction unwavering. Vanya, still puzzled, probed further. "But wouldn't they know?" she questioned, casting doubt on her brother's theory.

"Theoretically," Luther conceded, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. Allison's skepticism only deepened. "Theoretically?" she echoed, her disbelief evident.

Diego, now thoroughly exasperated, intervened with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "So, Luther, if I have this right, you're saying that the coroner might not know how to do his job?" he drawled, his tone laced with irony.

Luther's determination remained unshaken. "No, I'm just saying that something happened. The last time I spoke to him, he sounded off. He told me to be careful who to trust," he revealed, his gaze fixed on his siblings, seeking validation.

Diego, however, dismissed his brother's theories. "Luther, come on. He was paranoid, losing his marbles. It's not that deep," Diego countered, his voice tinged with frustration. The tension in the room escalated as opposing viewpoints clashed.

Vanya, her brow furrowed in contemplation, attempted to find common ground. "I thought he was just worried about us," she offered tentatively, her words an attempt to bridge the growing divide.

Luther, undeterred by his siblings' skepticism, pressed on. "No, it's more than that. He must have known something was about to happen," he insisted, his voice firm, determined to convey his convictions.

Diego's skepticism was undeniable. "And where exactly is this leading?" he demanded, his patience wearing thin.

The pieces of Luther's theory began to coalesce as he elaborated, convinced of his revelation. "The missing monocle. A seemingly insignificant item, but its disappearance was deliberate. Someone close to him took it, someone harboring a grudge," he proposed, his voice taking on a detective's cadence.

Klaus's voice cut through the room, his curiosity piqued. "And what is the grand conclusion, dear Sherlock? Are you accusing one of us of killing dear old Dad?" he inquired, a note of intrigue coloring his words.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Luther's implications hanging in the air. Tensions escalated, the heated exchange a reflection of the unresolved conflicts that had lingered within the Hargreeves family for years.

"You really think one of us did it?" Klaus's disbelief was palpable, his eyes narrowing at Luther's implication.

But amidst the storm of skepticism and sarcasm, Luther's intentions remained clear – to uncover the truth behind their father's mysterious demise. Allison's voice cut through the tension, her tone laced with a mixture of hurt and confusion. "Luther, how could you even suggest such a thing?" Her disbelief was mirrored by Vanya, her eyes searching for an explanation that seemed elusive.

Diego's scorn was evident as he stalked out of the room, his anger leaving a lingering trail of resentment. The room seemed to exhale as Klaus followed suit, his nonchalant departure a stark contrast to the turmoil that brewed beneath the surface.

Luther's plea echoed in the wake of his siblings' departure, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm he had inadvertently created.

"Guys! It's not what you think!" As his siblings dispersed, his regrets loomed large, his earnest attempts at resolution giving way to a sea of misunderstandings.