“Mrs. Cordelia Whitmore,” Agent Martinez projected, his voice carrying the heavy weight of absolute authority. “You are under arrest for federal racketeering, mail fraud, wire fraud, conspiracy, and attempted bribery of law enforcement officials.”
Total chaos consumed the community center. Local media cameras, originally invited by Cordelia to document her great victory, immediately pivoted to film her spectacular downfall. Flashes went off. Reporters shouted questions over the din of outraged homeowners.
To my right, two agents moved swiftly to intercept Brad, who had been trying to slink toward a side emergency exit. They pinned him against the drywall, the metallic ratcheting of handcuffs cutting through the noise.
But Cordelia didn’t surrender. Desperation, pure and venomous, hijacked her reason.
Instead of submitting to the federal agents stepping onto the stage, she bolted. She shoved past the podium, vaulted off the side of the low stage, and slammed through the side-door exit into the cool October night.
