Chapter 8 - The Graveyard Struggle
The tiny pistol shook in Rosalind's manicured hands as she aimed it at my chest.
She screamed that I was a nobody, a mere bookkeeper who had ruined decades of careful planning.
She confessed that she was the one who forged my signature on those fatal loan documents.
She wanted me to rot in federal prison so her family name could remain pristine.
I did not cower or beg for my life.
I slowly stood up, letting the cold wind whip my torn wedding slip around my bruised body.
I told her that the federal agents inside were wearing active wiretaps that fed directly to the FBI command center.
Her entire confession had just been broadcast live to a dozen federal prosecutors.
Rosalind's eyes widened in horror as she realized she had just sealed her own fate.
Her finger hesitated on the trigger for a fraction of a second.
That was all the time I needed.
I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist and twisting it sharply to the side.
The gun went off with a sharp crack, the bullet burying itself harmlessly in the dirt.
I pinned her to the ground, my knee pressing firmly against her shoulder.
Two federal agents burst through the church doors, their weapons drawn and flashlights cutting through the fog.
They hauled Rosalind to her feet and clamped heavy steel handcuffs around her wrists.
I stood up, breathing heavily, feeling the weight of the past year finally lifting from my shoulders.
One of the agents jogged over and told me the paramedics were tending to Evelyn and that she would survive.
He also mentioned that the security team had surrendered and the guests were being safely evacuated.
I asked where Jonathan was.
May you like
The agent frowned and pointed toward the towering stone bell tower above the chapel.
Jonathan had barricaded himself at the very top, and he was demanding to speak to me one last time.
