“You can try, Marcus,” Liam said calmly. “But you’re broke. Or you will be, once the SEC finishes with the documents I sent them regarding your company’s embezzlement schemes. I found those while looking for the crash report.”
He looked toward the back of the chapel. “Detectives?”
From the vestry doors behind the altar, four uniformed officers and two detectives in plain clothes emerged. They didn’t look like wedding guests. They looked like the end of the line.
The guests began to stand, chairs scraping loudly against the stone floor. Panic was setting in.
Vanessa hiked up her skirts and turned to run, but the heavy train of her Vera Wang dress acted as an anchor. She stumbled, falling to her knees at the altar.
“Daddy!” she screamed, reverting to a child. “Daddy, do something! Fix it!”
Marcus looked from the video screen to the police, and then to his daughter. For the first time in his life, he looked powerless. He looked at Liam, then slowly turned his head to the back of the room, finding Clara in the shadows.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. He hadn’t just bet on the wrong horse; he had bet on the one that was lame, vicious, and now, headed for the glue factory.
“She’s all yours, gentlemen,” Liam said, stepping aside.
