Chapter 3 - The Federal Raid
Before Reginald could scream, before Beatrice could faint, the sound of heavy sirens echoed from the street outside the hotel gates.
Three black SUV units and two federal transport vans screeched to a halt in front of the grand hotel entrance. Doors flew open, and a dozen armed federal marshals, accompanied by forensic accountants from the Department of Justice, streamed past the hotel security guards and into the courtyard.
The guests scattered like frightened pigeons, pressing themselves against the brick walls and flower urns.
"Reginald Brennan!" shouted the lead federal agent, flashing a gold badge under the romantic string lights. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, tax evasion, and embezzlement of client trust funds! Hands behind your back!"
"This is a mistake! My daughter is an FBI agent, this is personal retaliation! You can't do this to me, I know the District Attorney!" Reginald bellowed, thrashing wildly as two marshals grabbed his arms and slapped heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists with a sharp, echoing click.
Beatrice lost her balance, collapsing onto a velvet-covered banquet chair, weeping hysterically into her designer veil while her expensive makeup smeared into black streaks.
Camille sprinted down the terrace, her ivory wedding dress hiked up around her knees, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Mom! Dad! What is happening?! My wedding! You’re ruining my wedding photos!"
"Your wedding photos are going to look fantastic from the federal penitentiary visiting room, Camille," I said, stepping forward out of Adrian’s protective embrace, letting the cold water drip from my dress onto the pristine white rug.
Camille stopped dead in her tracks, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Chloe... you did this? You ruined my wedding out of petty jealousy because Mom and Dad always loved me more?!"
I let out a cold, humorless laugh.
"Jealousy, Camille?" I asked, walking slowly toward my sister until she was forced to step backward. "I haven't cared about your approval since I was fifteen years old. While you were practicing dance routines and collecting participation trophies, I was mastering counterintelligence, counter-terrorism, and financial forensics."
I leaned in close, whispering so only she and her new husband could hear.
May you like
"And as for your brand-new husband—the handsome corporate lawyer your parents vetted so carefully to maintain the Brennan dynasty?" I glanced toward the terrified groom, who was slowly backing away toward the exit. "You might want to ask him why his law firm was the primary conduit for Dad’s offshore shell accounts. He’s looking at five to ten years as an accessory."
Camille let out a piercing shriek of pure, unadulterated horror, spun around on her designer heels, and burst into bitter, helpless tears as her fairytale wedding dissolved into a crime scene.
