The slap came so fast that for a second, I thought the crack I heard had come from somewhere else.

Before Richard could utter another threat, the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral swung open once more.

This time, it was not a bride entering.

Detective Marcus Miller of the Metro Financial Crimes Unit walked down the center aisle, flanked by two uniformed officers. The rhythmic thud of their polished boots against the marble floor echoed like a death sentence.

"Richard Sterling? Victoria Sterling?" Detective Miller called out, his badge gleaming against his dark blazer.

Richard’s eyes widened in disbelief. "What is this? Julian, call them off! You don't know what you're doing!"

"Actually, he didn't call them," I spoke up, stepping forward until I stood shoulder to shoulder with my son. "I did. When Victoria was busy counting the four hundred and fifty thousand dollars she wired from the firm's bridge fund this morning, she forgot that Margaret—the seamstress she so casually dismissed from the suite—was my sister-in-law's cousin. We had the account flagged within ten minutes of the transfer."

Detective Miller reached the altar, producing a pair of pristine steel handcuffs. "Richard Sterling, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, grand larceny, and corporate embezzlement. Victoria Sterling, you are under arrest for aggravated assault and felony fraud."

Victoria let out an unearthly shriek, stumbling backward against the communion rail. "Dad! Do something! Call the governor! Call somebody!"

"Keep your mouth shut, Victoria!" Richard snarled, his regal posture completely collapsing as the first officer twisted his arms behind his back. The sharp click of the handcuffs ratcheting closed seemed to snap whatever remained of the Sterling family's fifty-year dynasty.

As the second officer moved toward Victoria, she dropped to her knees on the steps, the voluminous skirts of her designer gown collapsing around her like a deflated parachute.