Chapter 9 - The Fall of the False ProphetMarcus abandoned the pulpit entirely. He dropped his Bible, bolted down the steps of the dais, and tried to push past Attorney Vance to reach the side exit.
Before he could take two steps, the lead federal marshal stepped into his path, grabbed Marcus’s arms, and snapped heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists with a sharp, metallic click.
As Marcus was dragged down the central aisle past the weeping congregation—the man who had wrapped himself in holiness while picking the pockets of the faithful—he glared at me with pure, venomous hatred.
“You ruined everything!” Marcus screamed, thrashing against the marshals. “You destroyed me, Naomi! God will never forgive you for this!”
I looked down at him, my expression completely serene, carrying the unshakeable peace of a woman who had finally stepped out of the shadow of deceit.
“Marcus,” I said softly, as the heavy oak doors opened to reveal the flashing lights of police cruisers outside, “God doesn't bless a fraud. And prayer doesn't excuse a criminal.”
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The doors slammed shut behind him.
Absolute silence settled over the sanctuary.
