Chapter 5 - Men in Dark Suits
The heavy oak doors of Saint Jude’s Church banged against the stone interior walls with a resounding crack that echoed like a gunshot through the sacred space. Three men in identical, sharply tailored dark suits stepped briskly into the dim nave, their movements synchronized, cold, and unmistakably authoritative.
Mateo froze mid-motion, his outstretched hands dropping instantly to his sides as all the color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost in the amber light. Camila gasped, stumbling backward and tripping over the wooden edge of a pew, landing hard on the floor with a muffled cry.
Sister Beatrice crossed herself instinctively, her eyes fixed warily on the lead man who stepped forward from the trio. He was a tall, middle-aged man with sharp, silver-rimmed glasses, a neatly trimmed mustache, and an expression carved entirely out of stone.
"Mateo Morales," the lead man spoke, his voice deep, calm, and utterly chilling as it carried effortlessly across the empty church. "We’ve been looking all over the city for you. And it appears you’ve brought your daughter and your former employee to your little family reunion."
Elena’s heart skipped a beat. She clutched her green handbag so hard her knuckles turned translucent. She looked from the strangers in suits to Mateo, who was now trembling so violently his knees appeared ready to buckle beneath him.
"I-I don't know who you are," Mateo stammered, holding up his hands defensively as he took a frantic step backward down the aisle. "You have the wrong man. This is a private matter—a labor dispute!"
The lead man with the silver-rimmed glasses let out a short, cold chuckle that held no humor whatsoever. He reached slowly inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small leather badge wallet and flashing it briefly before sliding it back into his pocket. Federal Treasury investigators.
"Labor dispute?" the investigator repeated, his eyes locking onto Mateo with piercing intensity. "Running counterfeit currency plates through a clandestine textile sweatshop disguised as a legitimate dressmaking firm is quite a bit more serious than a labor dispute, Mr. Morales. And right now, the missing master printing plate happens to be stitched inside a green silk velvet dress currently sitting inside that seamstress's handbag."
Every eye in the church instantly snapped toward Elena.
Camila scrambled back to her feet from the floor, pointing a trembling, manicured finger directly at Elena with wild desperation. "She has it! The seamstress took it! She knew what was in the lining all along and she tried to steal it from us!"
"That is a lie!" Elena shouted, her voice ringing out with fierce, indignant rage as she stepped away from the pew, putting distance between herself and the corrupt family. "He forced me to sew that lining shut three days ago! I didn't know what was inside until you people showed up and confirmed my worst fears!"
The federal investigator ignored Camila’s screaming entirely. He shifted his cold, calculating gaze onto Elena, taking two slow, deliberate steps down the aisle toward her. His expression softened ever so slightly, recognizing the terrified honesty in the elderly Hispanic woman's lined face.
"Ma'am," the investigator said evenly, holding out an open palm. "Put the bag down slowly and step away from it. You are holding federal evidence. If you cooperate right now, we can ensure you are treated as a witness, not an accomplice."
Elena looked down at the green handbag resting in her trembling hands. Inside sat the unfinished green garment, the mysterious brass key, and the heavy printing plate that had just destroyed thirty years of her life in a single afternoon. She took a deep breath, her mind racing through the wreckage of her career, her dignity, and her trust.
She reached down, unzipped the bag, and slowly pulled out the heavy green velvet dress. The metallic weight of the hidden plate shifted heavily against the fabric, sagging toward the floor.
"Wait, Elena, don't!" Mateo screamed, lunging forward with a desperate, frantic cry, reaching into his own jacket pocket with a sudden, violent motion that made the federal agents react instantly.
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"Federal agents! Freeze!" the lead investigator bellowed, drawing a sleek black firearm from his holster in a blur of motion as the other two agents swarmed forward, tackling Mateo violently to the stone floor before he could pull whatever weapon he had hidden away.
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