When Cult Leader Silas Kincaid Casts Disabled Sister Miriam Into a $4 Million Montana Blizzard, Administrative Caretaker Hannah Risks Her Secret Past to Trigger a Federal Raid Nine Days Later
I hung up, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Twenty minutes. Against Silas Kincaid, that felt like an eternity. I had to create a diversion, something big enough to consume his entire focus, something that played directly into his greatest vulnerability: money.
I walked back towards the main sanctuary, the faint, desperate pleas of Caleb still echoing from the vestibule. Silas was there, his back to me, engaged in a low, furious argument with Caleb. He hadn’t given up on Miriam, not yet.
“The Lord provides, Caleb!” Silas roared, his voice momentarily cutting through the wind’s shriek. “He will shelter her spirit.”
I cleared my throat, stepping into the sanctuary, making sure my presence was known. Both men turned, Silas’s eyes still blazing.
“Prophet Silas,” I said, my voice crisp, professional. “I’ve been reviewing the Q4 budget reports. There’s a significant discrepancy.”
Silas narrowed his eyes, momentarily distracted from Caleb and Miriam. “A discrepancy? What are you talking about, Hannah?”
“A missing transfer,” I said, walking towards the heavy oak table in the center of the sanctuary that served as Silas’s makeshift office when he wasn’t in his private study. “A rather large one, actually. Four hundred thousand dollars.”
Silas visibly stiffened. His financial empire was his true power, even more than his perceived divine authority. This was a direct assault on his control.
“Four hundred thousand?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “Explain yourself.”
“It’s from the Mount Zion Land Acquisition Fund, Prophet,” I continued, inventing details on the fly. “Transferred to a holding account, but it never arrived at the designated Purity Covenant general fund. It’s just… gone.”
I pulled a stack of ledger printouts from my satchel, placing them precisely on the table. They were blank pages, mostly. But in this light, under his furious gaze, they looked official enough.
“I need to cross-reference the transfer codes,” I explained, tapping a non-existent column. “It’s possible it was an internal routing error, but without access to the full transaction logs, I can’t be sure.”
Silas strode to the table, sweeping aside a prayer book. His eyes scanned the numbers I had scribbled onto the top sheet, his brow furrowing with genuine concern. He was a master manipulator, but he was also deeply paranoid about his wealth.
“Gone?” he hissed, his face inches from the printout. “How could four hundred thousand dollars simply be ‘gone’?”
“That’s what I’m trying to ascertain, Prophet,” I replied, feigning concern. “It could jeopardize our entire tax-exempt status if not accounted for immediately.”
His gaze dropped to the page again. Miriam, for a moment, was forgotten. Caleb, understanding, used the lull to pull his mother further into the shelter of the vestibule, away from the direct blast of the wind.
Silas waved a dismissive hand at Caleb. “Take her into the vestry. Keep her out of the draft. This is more urgent.” His priorities had shifted.
He leaned over the table, his mind already calculating, tracing the phantom flow of money. The sub-zero wind raged outside, but inside, Silas was trapped in a financial maze of my making. Twenty minutes. The clock was ticking.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours