Chapter 4 - The Trap is Sprung
We moved across the muddy yard like shadows, Arthur holding his shotgun low and ready, while I walked slightly behind him, my eyes locked on the front door of my father’s house.
Inside, the muffled sound of splintering wood echoed through the night air. Marcus and Daniel had found the pantry floor compartment.
We crept up the warped wooden steps of the porch. I motioned for Arthur to take the left side of the doorframe while I positioned myself quietly on the right, resting my weight on my good leg. Through the cracked wooden panels of the front door, I could hear Daniel’s voice raised in triumph.
“I found it!” Daniel shouted inside. “Look at this, Marcus! The black ledger, the property titles, and the flash drive containing the original bank records!”
“Open the ledger,” Marcus urged excitedly. “Let’s see what else the old man wrote down.”
“He wrote everything,” a cold, clear voice rang out from the doorway, cutting through their celebration like a razor blade.
Daniel froze mid-sentence.
Arthur kicked the front door wide open with a resounding crash that rattled the windowpanes. I stepped across the threshold right behind him, my cane striking the floorboards with a sharp, metallic ring.
Daniel spun around, the black leather ledger clutched tightly in his hands. His face drained of all color, his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. Behind him, Marcus dropped a heavy metal lockbox onto the floor with a loud clatter.
“R-Rachel?” Daniel stammered, taking an involuntary step backward. “What... what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home in Virginia Beach.”
“And you were supposed to be a loving husband, Daniel,” I said, stepping further into the living room, my voice steady, ice-cold, and filled with a terrifying calm. “Instead, you’re a common house thief breaking into a dead man’s home in the middle of the night.”
Daniel quickly recovered his composure, his expression twisting from shock into a mask of arrogant disdain. He forced a sickeningly patronizing smile onto his face.
“Rachel, honey, you’re confused,” Daniel said, smoothing down the lapel of his jacket. “Look at you, you’re unwell. The blast, the medication... you’re not thinking clearly. Marcus and I just came here to secure the property so squatters wouldn't trash it. We were doing you a favor.”
“A favor?” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Is that what you call tearing up floorboards and stealing legal documents?”
“Put that shotgun down, old man!” Marcus snapped, glaring angrily at Arthur. “You’re pointing a weapon at unarmed citizens! We can have you locked away for brandishing!”
“Try it, you little punk,” Arthur growled, stepping forward, the twin barrels of the Remington pointed squarely at Marcus’s chest. “The only thing getting locked away tonight is you two in the back of a state trooper cruiser.”
“State troopers?” Daniel sneered, his panic returning slightly before he masked it with defiance. “You think state troopers care about a family dispute over an abandoned farmhouse? This is Whitaker property now. My lawyers filed the probate waivers months ago.”
“Your lawyers filed fraudulent probate waivers using a forged signature,” a smooth, authoritative voice echoed from the open front doorway.
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We all turned. Standing on the porch, flanked by two towering Virginia State Police troopers in crisp uniforms and reflective vests, was a sharp-looking woman in a tailored wool coat. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her briefcase gleamed under the overhead light.
Elaine Porter.
