Chapter 5 - The Trap Snaps
Eric didn't say a word. He looked at the side exit door behind the choir stalls and made a desperate break for it. He bolted down the three stone steps, knocking over an ornate flower arrangement of white roses that crashed loudly against the slate floor.
""Eric, stop!"" Clara screamed.
He didn't look back. But as he slammed his shoulder against the heavy oak side exit, the door didn't swing open. Instead, two men in dark suits pushed through from the outside, blocking his path entirely. Special Agent Marcus Vance of the State Bureau of Investigation flashed an identification badge, his partner stepping forward with a pair of steel handcuffs.
""Eric Jennings,"" the agent said calmly. ""Step back and keep your hands where we can see them. We have warrants issued out of Fulton County for wire fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy.""
Eric stumbled backward into the chapel, his face gray as ash. He raised his hands slowly, his charming, debonair facade completely shattered. The clicks of the handcuffs fastening around his wrists echoed through the high stone ceiling, a sound more definitive than any wedding bell.
Adrien walked down from the altar, stopping two paces away from the man he had called his best friend for three years. Eric wouldn't look him in the eye; he stared at the floor, breathing heavily through clenched teeth.
""You sat in my kitchen, Eric,"" Adrien said, his voice dropping to a low, painful whisper. ""You drank my whiskey. You talked about how hard your father worked, how much you valued loyalty. You introduced her to me knowing exactly what she was going to do.""
""It's just business, Adrien,"" Eric hissed, his voice bitter and venomous as he finally looked up. ""You had more money than any one man deserved. You walked around like a saint just because you paid your factory workers a living wage. You were an easy mark. Soft. Pathetic.""
""Being decent isn't being soft, Eric,"" Adrien replied quietly. ""And you’re about to find out how expensive that mistake really is.""
The federal agents escorted Eric down the center aisle, marching him past the shocked faces of North Carolina's top industry leaders. Clara watched him go, trembling with uncontrollable fury. She ripped the veil from her hair and threw it onto the floor, stomping on the delicate lace with her white satin heels.
""You think you’re so clever, Adrien?"" she spat, turning on him like a cornered animal. ""So what? You didn't marry me. You don't have a case against me here! I didn't take a single dollar from your accounts! You humiliated me in public, and I will sue you for every penny of emotional distress! I’ll tie your company up in litigation until you go bankrupt just paying legal retainers!""
Diane Holloway stepped forward, holding her phone to her ear before tapping the speaker button. ""Actually, Clara, that won't be necessary. We’ve already contacted the North Carolina Attorney General's office. You see, the wire transfers you initiated two days ago from your private boutique account—the ones using stolen Mercer Ridge proprietary vendor credentials—cleared fifteen minutes ago.""
Clara went rigid. ""What?""
""We knew you couldn't resist setting the trap early,"" Diane said with a tight smile. ""You scheduled an automated drawdown of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to Eric’s offshore holding firm, set to execute the moment the ceremony concluded. Because you signed the disclosure agreement three minutes ago, those funds were instantly flagged, traced, and seized by federal cyber-crimes units. You committed interstate bank fraud inside this chapel.""
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Two uniformed county deputies entered through the main doors, their boots clicking deliberately on the stone aisle. They walked directly toward the altar.
Clara backed away until her back hit the communion railing. She looked at the guests, seeking an ally, any shred of pity. But every face—from Adrien’s oldest factory supervisors to the society matrons—stared back with cold, unforgiving condemnation.
