Chapter 7 - Justice Served
Michael lunged forward, trying to yank the USB drive from the podium console, but Ethan stepped up, catching Michael by his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back, and forcing him down onto his knees on the hardwood stage.
“Let go of me!” Michael roared, struggling uselessly against Ethan’s grip. “It’s a fake! The video is modified! She’s framing us!”
“The video was retrieved from your own home security cloud server, Michael,” Ethan said coldly, maintaining his grip. “The server you thought you erased, but paid my former investigation firm to back up five years ago.”
Heavy double doors at the side of the ballroom burst open for the second time that night.
Six uniformed officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation walked into the room, led by Special Agent Miller.
“Michael Montgomery? Rachel Hayes?” Agent Miller announced, unholstering his handcuffs. “You are both under arrest for federal wire fraud, bank fraud, perjury, and conspiracy to commit frame-up extortion.”
Rachel dropped to her knees on the stage, weeping hysterically, her red dress spreading around her like spilled blood.
“It was Michael!” Rachel shrieked, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at her lover. “He threatened me! He made me smash my ribs! He told me he’d destroy my business if I didn't help him take her money!”
“You lying bitch!” Michael screamed back, thrashing against the officers as steel handcuffs snapped around his wrists. “You begged me for the money! You drained your own firm!”
I stood at the edge of the stage, watching the two of them turn on each other like starved animals in a cage. There was no rage left inside me. No desire to pick up a bat, no urge to scream.
Only a profound, peaceful silence.
As the officers dragged Michael past me, he stopped, looking up at me with pale, desperate eyes.
“Evelyn... please,” Michael begged, his voice cracking. “I loved you! I made a mistake! Please tell them to stop!”
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I leaned down slightly, looking into his eyes with the same calm, unreadable expression I had worn three years ago.
“You didn't make a mistake, Michael,” I whispered softly. “You made a choice. And now you get to pay for it.”
