Chapter 7 - The Trap is Set
At 9:45 AM, Clara’s SUV pulled up to the sleek, glass skyscraper of Vance & Associates, the law firm representing Daniel’s family. My ankle was throbbing, but I refused to wear a splint that would show my weakness. I wore a long, elegant wool coat that hid my bandaged leg, and I walked with a slow, deliberate pace, leaning slightly on Clara’s arm.
We rode the elevator up to the 24th floor in silence. When the doors opened, the receptionist guided us into a spacious, wood-paneled conference room overlooking the city skyline.
Daniel and Rachel were already sitting there, flanked by Mr. Vance, a senior partner with a reputation for being ruthless but highly protective of his client's "reputations."
When Daniel saw me, he stood up, his face painted with a mask of deep, agonizing worry. He rushed toward me, arms outstretched.
"Sarah, oh thank God," he said, trying to embrace me.
I gently but firmly stepped back, letting Clara slide between us.
"Let’s keep this professional, Daniel," Clara said, her voice ice-cold. "Sarah is extremely fragile, as you well know. She wants to get this over with."
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly at Clara, but he quickly smoothed his expression back into one of concerned grief. "Of course. Of course. Let’s sit down."
We took our seats on the opposite side of the massive mahogany table. Rachel sat silently beside Daniel, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes darting nervously between me and my canvas bag.
Mr. Vance cleared his throat and slid a thick stack of documents across the table.
"Mrs. Sterling," the lawyer said, addressing me. "Your husband has explained the situation. In light of your recent... medical difficulties, he wishes to assume management of the marital assets and your father’s estate to relieve you of the stress. These documents will grant him full power of attorney and initiate the transfer of the estate properties to D&R Enterprises."
"And once I sign this," I said, my voice soft, trembling just enough to keep up the charade, "what happens to me?"
"We have a reservation for you at Bellevue Ridge," Daniel said gently, reaching across the table to pat my hand. I didn't pull away, though every instinct screamed at me to bite his hand off. "It’s a beautiful place, Sarah. You’ll have 24-hour care. You can rest. I’ll visit you every single weekend."
"Every weekend," I repeated. "And what about Rachel? Will she visit me too?"
Rachel stiffened. "Of course, Sarah. We only want what’s best for you."
"What’s best for me," I said, looking down at the documents. I picked up the heavy gold pen Vance had provided.
Daniel’s eyes glued to the pen. He leaned forward, his breath catching in his throat. He was so close. He could almost taste the millions of dollars my father had left behind.
"Just sign on the sticky notes, sweetheart," Daniel whispered.
I brought the pen down to the paper. I wrote the first letter of my name.
Then, I stopped.
"You know, Daniel," I said, my voice suddenly losing all of its tremor, becoming smooth, steady, and sharp as a scalpel. "I was thinking about my father last night. He always told me to check the fine print."
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Daniel’s smile faltered. "Sarah, please. You’re getting confused again. Just sign—"
"I’m not confused, Daniel," I said. I looked up, staring directly into his eyes. The false warmth in his gaze began to crack, replaced by a sudden, creeping unease. "In fact, my mind has never been clearer."
