Chapter 4
Thomas flinched as if he had been physically struck, instinctively clutching his leather briefcase tighter against his ribs. "I have no such thing," Thomas lied quickly, his voice pitching an octave too high. "Sarah, please, let's be rational. There is no need to drag institutional paperwork into a family dispute. Arthur is acting in the best interest of the estate."
"Shut up, Thomas!" Sarah barked, her hand shooting out to grab Leo’s shoulder, pulling him close against her side as she carefully stepped out of the white coffin. Her knees buckled slightly from hours of restricted circulation, and Leo immediately braced his small body to help support her weight. "You’ve been taking his payoffs since the merger. You think I didn't see the deposits in the Cayman accounts?"
Arthur let out a cold, humorless chuckle. He adjusted his cuffs, his movements infuriatingly calm given the chaotic scene inside the hallowed church. "You always were too observant for your own good, Sarah. That was your primary charm, and ultimately, your fatal flaw. You thought because you inherited the majority shares from your father that you could dismantle thirty years of careful corporate structuring with a single stroke of a pen."
"It was dirty money, Arthur. Blood money from the shipping routes," Sarah countered, her breath still coming in shallow, ragged gasps as she guided Leo backward down the altar steps. "I would rather see the company burn to ash than let you use it to fund whatever illegal operations you're running through the cargo terminals."
Leo looked up at his mother, his young mind struggling to comprehend the vast, corrupt world of corporate espionage and betrayal she was describing. All he knew was that the man who had patted his head at breakfast and offered him candy on the drive to the church was the same man who had zip-tied his mother’s hands and left her to suffocate in a box. The betrayal tasted like ash in his mouth.
"We need to leave, now," Leo whispered urgently, tugging on the hem of his mother's torn dress. He glanced toward the heavy oak double doors at the far end of the nave. The afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the stone floor, stretching toward them like reaching fingers.
"We aren't going anywhere, boy," Arthur said softly. He reached inside his jacket, his fingers wrapping around the handle of a snub-nosed revolver tucked into a leather shoulder holster. The metallic click of the safety being flicked off sounded deafeningly loud in the quiet church. "The rear exit is chained from the outside, and Thomas parked his car directly across the front doors. There is no cavalry coming, Sarah. The parishioners think you're resting in peace, and by nightfall, you will be."
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Thomas paled to a ghostly white, his eyes widening in terror as he stared at the gun in Arthur’s hand. "Arthur, wait. You said intimidation, not—not this. Not murder in a consecrated church. That crosses a line I cannot and will not be a part of."
"You crossed that line the moment you cashed the first retainer check, Thomas," Arthur replied without looking at him, his gaze fixed entirely on Sarah and the boy. "You're just as soaked in this as I am."
