Her firefighter husband carried his mistress out of a burning ballroom and left his bride to die behind a locked door—never knowing she survived to watch him receive her death certificate.

The cathedral descended into total bedlam.

News cameras flashed frantically as reporters sprinted down the side aisles, aiming their lenses at me, at Daniel, and at the silver urn sitting on the altar.

"She's alive! My God, Clara Mercer is alive!" a reporter screamed into her microphone.

Daniel backed away from the altar, hitting the mahogany table. The heavy silver urn wobbled and crashed onto the marble floor, spilling a grey cloud of fireplace ash across his polished dress shoes.

"Clara..." Daniel stammered, raising his hands in a frantic, desperate gesture. "You... you were behind the door! I tried to get you out! The fire was too hot! I couldn't open the latch!"

"The door wasn't jammed, Daniel," I said, stopping ten feet away from him in the center aisle. "Lieutenant Miller locked it from the outside using a steel security pin. The same pin we found in his turnout coat locker an hour ago."

Lieutenant Miller, who was standing near the side altar in full dress uniform, turned and sprinted toward the sacristy exit.

BOOM!

Two undercover arson investigators slammed the sacristy doors open, tackling Miller to the floor and slamming handcuffs onto his wrists before he could reach the alleyway.

"Vanessa!" Daniel panicked, turning to his mistress. "Tell them! Tell them it was an accident! Tell them we didn't know she was in the corridor!"

Vanessa backed away from him as if he were covered in plague. Her sophisticated facade completely shattered.

"Don't touch me!" Vanessa screamed at Daniel, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. "This was all him! He planned the fire! He set up the insurance policy! I didn't know he was going to lock her in there! He told me she was already outside!"

"You lying bitch!" Daniel roared, lunging toward her, but Detective Lena Ortiz stepped between them, her service weapon raised and aimed directly at his chest.

"Freeze, Captain Mercer!" Ortiz commanded, her voice dropping like an iron anvil. "Step away from her! Put your hands on your head! Now!"

DA Vance marched down the aisle, flanked by four uniformed police officers.

"Daniel Mercer," DA Vance announced loudly so every news camera in the cathedral caught every word. "You are under arrest for attempted capital murder, commercial arson, conspiracy to commit insurance fraud, and grand larceny."

"No... no!" Daniel wept, looking around at his fellow firefighters in the pews. "Boys! Help me! You know me! I'm your captain!"

Not a single firefighter moved.

His own men stood in silence, looking at him with cold, unforgiving hatred. The men who had trusted him with their lives in burning buildings realized that their captain was a murderer who had used his badge to burn his own bride.

One of the officers stepped behind Daniel, pulling his arms behind his back and snapping the steel handcuffs tightly around his wrists.

As they forced him to his knees to search his pockets, a small black ledger fell out of his inner jacket—the notebook where he had meticulously recorded the offshore account numbers for the arson payouts.

Ortiz picked up the ledger with gloved fingers and held it up for the cameras.

Daniel looked up at me from the floor, tears and sweat dripping off his pale face.

"Clara... please," he whimpered. "I loved you... I really did..."

I walked over to him, leaning down until my face was inches from his trembling ear.

"You didn't love me, Daniel," I whispered softly. "You just thought I was an easy target. But you forgot one simple rule of fire investigation."