Chapter 4 - Mice in the Maze
By noon, Brandon’s panic had escalated into a full-blown frenzy. Through the camera in the kitchen, I watched him pace back and forth, frantically dialing numbers on his cell phone. He had called my old college friends, my distant cousins, and even the local hospitals under a fake name, claiming to be a worried husband looking for his "unstable" wife who had wandered off.
Of course, the hospital I was in was a private facility secured under Abigail’s law firm's corporate account. My name wasn't on the general admission roster. I was a ghost.
"Nothing," Brandon yelled, throwing his phone onto the kitchen island. "No one has seen her. It’s like she vanished into thin air. Mom, what if she went to the police?"
Linda, who was busy pack a designer leather suitcase in the living room, stopped and walked into the kitchen. Her face was tight with calculations. "If she went to the police last night, they would have been here by morning, Brandon. Use your brain. She’s terrified of you. She’s probably hiding in some dirty motel down by the transit station, freezing and crying. She doesn't have the courage to face the law. She knows we have the resources to tie her up in court for years."
"Then what do we do about Vance?" Brandon pressed, his voice cracking. "If the Vanguard contract falls through, the city will audit our company records to see why we backed out of the bidding. If they look at the accounts... they’ll see the missing four million. They'll see the fake invoices I used to clear out the operational reserve!"
Linda walked over and slapped him across the face—a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the microphone.
"Pull yourself together," she hissed. "We don't need the Vanguard contract if we can get into her father's private vault at the downtown trust. The physical stock certificates and the bearer bonds are in that safety deposit box. There’s over five million dollars in liquid gold and paper bonds in there. We have the key. We have her fake ID. We go there now, empty the box, and we leave the country before the business day ends. Let the company collapse. Let the city audit an empty building."
In my hospital bed, I leaned forward, a cold smile touch my lips. "Bingo," I whispered.
I opened my laptop and pulled up a secure chat window with Abigail.
Clara: They’re going for the downtown trust box. Linda has the forged ID and the key.
Abigail: Perfect. The branch manager at downtown trust is my brother-in-law, Thomas. He’s been briefed. The moment they step into the vault, they are trapped. Do you want me to call the police to intercept them at the bank?
Clara: No. Let Linda get the box out of the vault. I want her to physically carry the stolen property out of the building. The moment she steps onto the public sidewalk with five million dollars of stolen bearer bonds in her hands, it becomes a federal crime under interstate commerce laws. Call the FBI field office. The agent we spoke to this morning—Agent Miller—tell him the targets are moving.
Abigail: You're cold, Clara. Your father would be incredibly proud of you.
I closed the laptop and got out of bed. My body was sore, my ribs ached where Brandon had dragged me across the floor, but the adrenaline flowing through my veins washed the pain away. I walked over to the bathroom, washed my face, and dressed in a simple black sweater and dark jeans that Abigail had provided.
"It’s time to go," I told the police officer stationed outside my door. He nodded, pulling out his radio to coordinate with the unmarked transport vehicle waiting downstairs.
May you like
As I rode down the elevator, I checked the GPS tracking app on my phone. The tracker I had hidden inside Linda’s designer leather suitcase six weeks ago was pulsing with a bright red dot. They were moving. They were leaving the house, driving toward the financial district.
They thought they were escaping. In reality, they were just driving deeper into the maze I had spent six weeks constructing. Every turn they took, every choice they made, had been anticipated. They were no longer the predators. They were just desperate, blind mice running toward a piece of poisoned cheese.
