A thief was running from the police when he spotted an old church.
With sirens getting closer, he rushed inside and hid in the first place he could find—the confession booth.
A moment later, he heard someone enter and kneel down.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
The thief nearly jumped out of his skin.
Thinking fast, he grabbed a priest’s robe hanging nearby, pulled it on, and lowered his voice.
“Go ahead, my child.”
The woman sighed deeply.
“Father, I’ve been carrying this guilt for years.”
“What is it?”
“For the past fifteen years, I’ve been stealing money from my employer.”
The thief raised an eyebrow.
The woman continued.
“I’ve hidden it through fake invoices, secret accounts, and cash payments.”
The thief leaned forward.
“No one ever noticed?”
“Never.”
“No audits?”
“No.”
“No investigations?”
“Not a single one.”
The thief was visibly impressed.
The woman nodded sadly.
“I know it’s terrible, Father. What should I do?”
The thief sat in silence for a few seconds.
Then he leaned closer and whispered:
“My child… stop confessing.”
The woman blinked.
“Why?”
The thief glanced toward the church doors where police sirens could still be heard outside.
Then he said:
“”Could you start again from the fake invoices part?
