“I’m sorry to ruin your payday, Miles,” I said. My voice carried through the cathedral, cold and clear. “But as the CEO of the company you just defrauded can confirm, you are terrible at closing deals.”
Miles stumbled backward into the podium.
The fifty-million-dollar check nearly slipped to the floor.
Brielle screamed.
She shot up from the front pew, lifting her black dress as she ran toward the side exit.
She did not make it five steps.
“Federal agents! Nobody move!”
Men and women who had been seated quietly in the back pews rose at once. Jackets opened. Badges flashed. Tactical vests appeared beneath mourning clothes.
FBI agents flooded the aisles.
Two agents caught Brielle before she reached the door, forcing her to the stone floor as she shrieked.
On the altar, Everett released my arm and stepped forward.
His blue eyes burned with a father’s rage.
“You pushed my daughter off a cliff,” he said, his voice a low thunder. “Then you signed a federal affidavit claiming she was dead so you could steal my money.”
He looked at the lead agent.
“Arrest him.”
Two agents struck Miles from both sides. He hit the marble floor hard, the air rushing out of him.
“Miles Whitlock,” the lead agent barked, pinning him down, “you are under arrest for attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, federal wire fraud, and perjury.”
The metallic click of handcuffs echoed through the cathedral.
Miles was hauled to his feet.
His suit was wrinkled. His face was wet with sweat and terror. The tragic widower had vanished. In his place stood a coward.
“Caroline, please,” he sobbed. “It was an accident. I slipped. I didn’t mean to push you.”
I looked at him and felt nothing that resembled fear.
Not anymore.
