Chapter 3 - The Nantucket ChapelThe chapel on the cliff overlooking Nantucket Sound was ancient, beautiful, and completely empty of genuine warmth.
White hydrangeas lined the stone steps. String quartets played softly from the choir loft, though there was no one in the pews to listen except three nervous bridesmaids and Vivienne Moore’s father, who kept sweating through his custom collar.
Vivienne stood in front of the full-length mirror in the vestry, smoothing down the cascading silk of her twelve-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. Her hair was swept up into an elaborate chignon, pinned with diamond-encrusted combs that Cameron had charged to the corporate development account.
“He’s late,” Vivienne muttered, her voice tight with irritation as she checked her Cartier watch for the fifth time. “The ceremony was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.”
“Relax, sweetie,” her mother cooed from the corner, adjusting her floral dress. “Private jets have traffic. You know how the Hamptons and Cape air corridors are on a Friday afternoon. He’s probably just circling the airstrip.”
Vivienne didn't look relaxed. Her fingers were digging into the lace of her veil. Something felt wrong. For the last two hours, every time she tried calling Cameron, her calls went straight to voicemail. His executive assistant, Cole, wasn't answering either.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the vestry burst open.
Vivienne spun around with an expectant smile, ready to scold her groom, but the smile died instantly on her lips.
It wasn't Cameron.
It was a tall, silver-haired man in a razor-sharp charcoal suit, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room with absolute, terrifying authority. Behind him stood two federal marshals in dark tactical vests and a local sheriff holding a clipboard.
“Are you Vivienne Moore?” the silver-haired man asked, his voice cutting through the quiet chapel like a glass cutter.
Vivienne stepped back, clutching her bouquet of white roses to her chest. “Who are you? What is the meaning of this? This is a private wedding!”
“My name is Alexander Pierce,” the man said smoothly, stepping further into the room. He pulled a crisp, blue-backed legal document from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the vestry table. “And I’m here to inform you that the groom you’re waiting for isn't coming.”
“That’s a lie!” Vivienne shrieked, her voice cracking. “Cameron loves me! He’s a billionaire! We’re getting married!”
Alexander Pierce smiled—a cold, humorless expression that made the bridesmaids shrink against the wall.
“Cameron Caldwell is currently sitting in a holding cell at Teterboro Airport answering federal questions about securities fraud, grand larceny, and corporate embezzlement,” Alexander said calmly. “Furthermore, the diamond necklace around your neck was purchased using corporate reserve funds belonging to the Sullivan Group—which means it’s stolen property.”
Vivienne stared at him in sheer horror. Her hands flew to her throat, her fingers clawing at the diamond pendant as if it had suddenly turned into a snake.
“Take it off, Miss Moore,” one of the federal marshals said quietly, stepping forward. “And wipe that makeup off. You’re going to need mugshots.”
As the bridal party dissolved into screams and tears, Alexander Pierce walked over to the vestry window, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen.
A call connected instantly.
“It’s done,” Alexander said softly into the receiver.
May you like
On the other end of the line, sitting in a quiet, sunlit penthouse overlooking Central Park, I took a slow sip of my tea and smiled.
“Thank you, Alexander,” I said. “Now, bring him home.”
