Chapter 35 Adrian
ADRIAN
The email from Diocese IT sits in my inbox, flagged as routine maintenance. Irregular recording activity detected on church audio-visual system. Please review attached logs at your earliest convenience.
I scan it once, my mind already spinning with more immediate threats, and file it away for later.
The Bishop’s investigation.
Diane’s knowing smirks. Isabella’s calculated presence. Tommy’s threats. The attachment can wait.
I don’t understand the danger lurking in those unreviewed files.
The morning shatters when Robert Chen storms into my office without knocking, his face red with rage that makes the veins in his neck bulge.
He’s a small man, barely five-seven, but fury makes him seem larger as he slams his palms on my desk hard enough to rattle the crucifix mounted on the wall.
“I want Brother Moreau fired. Today.” His voice shakes with barely contained violence. “Or I’m going to the police. The media. The diocese. Everyone.”
My stomach drops. “Mr. Chen, please sit down. Let’s discuss this calmly.”
“Calmly?” He laughs, the sound sharp and cruel. “My daughter just told me everything. Months of grooming. Inappropriate touching. Secret declarations of love that he panicked and denied to cover his tracks when she finally confronted him.”
The words hit like physical blows. I force myself to remain steady, to not let my expression betray the terror flooding my system. “That’s a serious accusation. I need to speak with Sarah directly.”
“Absolutely not.” Robert’s hands curl into fists. “She’s traumatized enough. I won’t let you or anyone else at this church near her again.”
“Mr. Chen, I understand you’re upset, but I can’t take action based solely on secondhand information. If Sarah is making these claims, I need to hear them from her, with you present if you prefer.”
“You think I’m lying?” His voice rises. “You think my daughter is lying?”
“I think there may be misunderstandings that need clarification.” I keep my voice measured, professional, even as my mind races through implications.
Sarah’s crush on Elijah. The expensive gifts.
The social media posts. Charlie’s warnings that we all dismissed.
“Brother Moreau has been nothing but professional in his interactions with all choir members.”
“Professional?” Robert’s laugh is bitter. “Is it professional to accept expensive gifts from a teenage girl? To stand close enough that she can feel his breath? To make her believe he has feelings for her?”
Each accusation lands like a stone in my chest because I can see how Sarah might have twisted innocent interactions into something more. Elijah’s kindness.
His patience during vocal instruction. The book she gave him that he accepted to avoid embarrassing her publicly. All of it could be reframed, reinterpreted, and weaponized.
“I will investigate these allegations thoroughly,” I say, my voice firm. “But I won’t terminate anyone’s employment based on accusations alone.”
Robert leans across my desk, his face inches from mine.
“You have twenty-four hours to fire him. Or I’m going to the police with a formal complaint.
Then the media. Then the diocese.” His smile is cold.
“And I’ll make sure everyone knows that St. Michael’s protects predators who prey on teenage girls. ”
He storms out, slamming the door hard enough that the crucifix tilts on the wall. I sit in the sudden silence, my hands shaking as I grip the edge of my desk.
The timing couldn’t be worse.
The Bishop is already investigating us.
One more scandal, one more accusation, and we’re done.
I find Elijah in the choir loft, his golden hair disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it.
He’s sitting at the piano bench, his blue eyes wide with something that looks like panic. When he sees me, he stands so quickly the bench scrapes against the floor.
“Adrian.” His voice comes out rough. “Robert Chen was just here. He said terrible things. Things that aren’t true.”
I close the distance between us, studying his face. “Tell me exactly what happened with Sarah.”
“Nothing happened.” His voice cracks. “I swear on everything holy, nothing inappropriate occurred. She had a crush. I was kind to her because she’s a talented student.
I accepted one gift because refusing it publicly would have humiliated her.
” His hands shake as he gestures. “That’s all.
I never touched her inappropriately. Never made declarations of love.
Never gave her any reason to believe I had romantic feelings. ”
I want to believe him. Do believe him. But the fear in his eyes tells me he understands how bad this looks.
“She’s seventeen, Elijah. Her father is threatening police involvement. Even if you’re completely innocent, the accusation alone could destroy you. Destroy all of us.”
“I know.” He sinks back onto the piano bench, his head in his hands. “Mon Dieu, I know. But what can I do? How do I prove something didn’t happen?”
I have no answer. We stand in the choir loft surrounded by sheet music and the scent of old wood, and I feel the walls closing in from every direction.
That afternoon, the Bishop summons me to his temporary office. Sister Margaret stands by the door, her sharp eyes tracking my entrance with unnerving precision. The Bishop sits behind the desk, and spread across its surface are photographs that make my blood run cold.
Me watching Charlie during Mass, my gaze finding her in the third pew. The angle makes it look intimate, obsessive.
Marcus’s hand lingering on Charlie’s during communion preparation, their fingers intertwined for just a moment too long.
Elijah sitting close to Charlie in the choir loft, their bodies angled toward each other in ways that suggest more than professional interaction.
Nothing explicitly damning. But the pattern is unmistakable.
“Father Cross.” The Bishop’s voice is cold, measured. “I’ve been patient. I’ve given you opportunities to be honest. But these photographs, combined with the testimonies I’ve gathered, paint a very clear picture.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. “Those images are taken out of context.”
“Are they?” He taps one photograph. “This is you during your homily, staring at Miss Davis with an expression that is decidedly unpriestly.” Another tap.
“This is Deacon Reyes, his hand on hers in a way that suggests familiarity beyond professional boundaries.” A third tap.
“And this is Brother Moreau, sitting inappropriately close to a young woman who should be treated with pastoral distance.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong.” But my voice lacks conviction because we’ve done everything wrong, and he knows it.
The Bishop leans back, his steel-gray eyes holding mine.
“I’m going to be direct, Father Cross. You have forty-eight hours to make a choice.
Send Miss Davis away from this parish, permanently, or I will recommend immediate reassignment for you, Deacon Reyes, and Brother Moreau to separate dioceses.
You’ll never see each other again. And Miss Davis will be questioned extensively about her role in corrupting three men of God. ”
The words hit like physical blows.
My carefully maintained control fractures, and I feel the violence I’ve spent twenty years suppressing surge forward.
My hands curl into fists, and I imagine reaching across this desk and making him understand that Charlie is innocent, that we’re the ones who failed, that destroying her to save face is unconscionable.
But I’m a priest.
I’m supposed to turn the other cheek. Accept judgment. Submit to authority.
Except I can’t. Not when it comes to her.
“You’re asking me to choose between my vocation and an innocent woman’s wellbeing.”
“I’m asking you to do what’s right for everyone involved.
” The Bishop’s voice softens slightly. “Miss Davis is young. She’ll recover.
She’ll move on. But if this continues, if the scandal breaks publicly, her reputation will be destroyed.
She’ll be labeled a seductress, a homewrecker. Is that what you want for her?”
The manipulation is masterful. He’s framing this as protection when it’s really about control, about maintaining the Church’s image at any cost.
“Forty-eight hours,” he repeats. “Make your choice.”
Late that night, I call an emergency meeting in the church crypt.
The stone walls feel like a tomb as Marcus and Elijah descend the narrow stairs, their faces grim in the dim light.
We stand surrounded by decades of forgotten parish records, the weight of history pressing down on us.
“The Bishop gave me an ultimatum.” My voice is raw. “Send Charlie away, or we’re all reassigned to separate dioceses. We’ll never see each other again.”
Marcus’s jaw clenches, the muscle jumping beneath his olive skin. “That’s not a choice. That’s extortion.”
“It’s the reality we’re facing.” I grip my rosary beads until they cut into my palm. “And there’s more. Robert Chen is threatening to go to the police about Elijah. Claims Sarah told him about months of grooming and inappropriate behavior.”
Elijah’s face goes pale. “It’s not true. None of it is true.”
“I know.” I meet his gaze. “But true or false doesn’t matter anymore. The accusation alone will destroy us during the Bishop’s investigation.”
“So what do we do?” Marcus’s accent thickens with stress. “Confess everything? Face the consequences together with dignity?”
“That would destroy Charlie.” My voice rises despite my attempt at control. “She’d be labeled a seductress who corrupted three men of God. Her reputation, her future, everything would be ruined.”
“And sending her away protects her?” Elijah’s voice is sharp. “Making her feel like she’s the problem, like she’s something to be discarded?”
“It keeps her safe from the Church’s judgment.” I force the words past the lump in my throat. “It gives her a chance at a normal life.”
“Without us.” Marcus’s hands curl into fists. “You’re talking about erasing her from our lives to save our careers.”
“I’m talking about protecting her from becoming collateral damage in our failures.
” My control is fracturing, the violence I’ve suppressed for twenty years threatening to break free.
“We did this. We crossed lines we shouldn’t have crossed.
She deserves better than being destroyed because we couldn’t control ourselves. ”
The air grows thick with desperation and barely contained panic. We argue in circles, each solution worse than the last. Send her away and break her heart. Confess everything and destroy her reputation. Keep lying and watch the Bishop destroy us all.
None of us notice the shadow in the doorway. The figure who’s been listening to every word.
“So that’s your solution?” Charlie’s voice cuts through our argument like a knife. “Send me away like I’m the problem?”