Silence fell over the church. Then the elderly man stood up slowly. “I’ll take that box,” he said calmly, reaching into his trench coat pocket. “And I’ll be on my way.” Every police instinct Emma had screamed at her to stop him. “No,” she said, tightening her grip on the ribbon. The man’s calm composure cracked instantly. “Don’t,” he snapped.
A knife appeared in his hand in a quick, deliberate motion, held low but clearly visible for everyone to see. Gasps rippled through the church, chairs scraping as guests backed away in fear, hands lifting instinctively in surrender. “Give me the box,” the man ordered sharply. “No one gets hurt.” Emma didn’t move an inch.
