Chapter 8 - Judgment at the Altar
At 9:45 AM the following morning, snow fell softly over the gothic spires of St. Jude Cathedral in downtown Chicago.
The massive oak doors of the empty church were closed to the public. Inside, sunlight filtered through magnificent stained-glass windows, painting the long stone aisle in rich shades of ruby red, sapphire blue, and deep emerald green.
Silas Marchetti—a heavy, sixty-year-old man with silver hair, a dark trench coat, and a face lined with deep, permanent furrows of greed—stood at the foot of the altar. Beside him stood Genevieve, wearing an exquisite white mink coat, her face pale as parchment, her hands shaking violently.
Four armed Marchetti bodyguards stood near the entrance, their eyes darting nervously around the cavernous, quiet church.
The heavy front doors swung open.
Weston Kade walked down the center aisle alone. He wore an impeccably tailored black three-piece suit, his posture straight, his grey eyes locked onto Silas with terrifying intensity.
"Weston," Silas spoke, his voice hoarse, trying to project authority through his sheer terror. "What is the meaning of this? You sent an audio recording... you made threats—"
"Where is the contract, Silas?" Weston interrupted, stopping five feet from the altar steps, his voice echoing off the high vaulted ceilings.
"What contract?!" Silas demanded, sweating despite the cold interior of the church.
"The contract where you paid Detective Vance Miller two million dollars to wire my wife's fuel tank," Weston said, pulling the ruby signet ring out of his pocket and tossing it at Silas's feet.
The heavy ring clinked against the cold stone floor, rolling until it hit Silas's polished leather shoe.
Genevieve let out a sharp, horrified gasp, covering her mouth with her manicured hand.
Silas looked down at the ring, then back up at Weston, his jaw trembling. "You... you killed Miller."
"Miller died last night," Weston said coldly. "Just like the twelve men he brought to my home. Just like Carlo three years ago. You built your entire empire on the blood of my family, Silas. You thought you could force a merger, marry your daughter into my holdings, and slowly poison me off once you had control of my ports."
"It wasn't my idea!" Silas broke down, pointing a trembling finger at his own daughter. "It was Genevieve! She was the one who insisted on taking out Odalys! She wanted to be the queen of the city! She planned the whole thing!"
Genevieve spun toward her father, her eyes wild with rage and shock. "You coward! You disgusting old coward! You approved every single transfer! You wanted Kade's shipping lines!"
Weston watched the father and daughter turn on each other like rabid dogs in a cage. There was no dignity left in them. No honor. Only the pathetic, desperate scramblings of guilty monsters caught in the light.
"It doesn't matter whose idea it was," Weston said softly, reaching into his suit coat.
Silas’s four bodyguards immediately reached for their waistbands.
CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.
From the high organ loft above the altar, and from behind every stone pillar along the aisle, twenty federal agents in tactical vests bearing the letters FBI stepped out into view, their sniper rifles aimed directly at the Marchetti men.
A tall man in a navy suit stepped out from behind the altar screen—Special Agent Marcus Vance of the Department of Justice.
"Silas Marchetti, Genevieve Marchetti," Agent Vance announced, pulling out a thick warrant document. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, federal racketeering, financial fraud, and the assassination of Odalys and Nadia Kade."
Genevieve screamed as two female federal agents stepped forward, grabbing her arms and snapping heavy steel handcuffs around her delicate wrists.
"Weston! Please!" Genevieve sobbed, thrashing against the agents as she was dragged down the stone aisle. "Weston, I loved you! I did it for us! Tell them to stop! WESTON!"
Weston didn't look at her. He didn't say a single word. He watched silently as Silas and Genevieve were paraded down the aisle in chains, their fake royalty stripped away forever, leaving them to spend the rest of their miserable lives in a federal supermax facility.
When the church fell quiet once more, Agent Vance walked up to Weston, holding out his hand.
May you like
"Thank you for handing over the financial ledgers and Miller's confession, Mr. Kade," Agent Vance said respectfully. " justice has finally been served for your wife and daughter."
Weston shook the agent's hand firmly. "Justice was served three years late, Agent Vance. But it was served."
