Chapter 5 - The Trap is Set
The interface on Sarah’s screen was a maze of financial charts, transaction logs, and account numbers. To my untrained eye, it looked like absolute chaos, but to Sarah, it was a roadmap of Derek’s entire criminal empire.
"Look at this," Sarah whispered, pointing to a flashing digital ledger. "He’s been embezzling from his own logistics firm for three years. He’s been taking money from a cartel transport network, using his shipping containers to move contraband across the border. That's where the fifteen million dollar debt came from—one of his shipments got seized by federal agents in Houston four months ago. He lost their product, and they demanded their money back."
"So he decided to burn his life down to pay them," Marcus said, his voice flat with disgust.
"Exactly," Sarah agreed. "He took out a massive, multi-million dollar insurance policy on your house, naming himself as the trustee for Lily’s 'estate' in the event of your joint demise. The gas explosion was supposed to be the tragic accident that solved all his financial problems. He’d collect the insurance, use the embezzled funds he’d successfully laundered into the Swiss account, pay off the cartel, and disappear under a new identity."
I felt a wave of nausea so strong I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling. My husband, the man I had shared a bed with, the man who had held my hand while I was in labor with Lily, had calculated our deaths like a line item on a spreadsheet.
"Can we stop the money transfer?" I asked, my voice turning cold. The sadness was gone now, replaced by a deep, burning anger. I didn't want to cry anymore. I wanted justice.
"We can do better than that," Sarah said, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. "We can reroute it."
"Reroute it where?" Marcus asked.
"To an escrow account controlled by the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Cyber Crimes Division," Sarah said. "I’ve been in contact with an agent I trust in the Baltimore field office. His name is Special Agent Vance. He’s been building a case against Derek’s company for a year, but he lacked the hard evidence linking Derek directly to the offshore accounts. If we initiate this transfer directly into their secure recovery portal, it acts as an immediate, undeniable confession. The moment Derek tries to log into his Swiss account to verify the funds, the feds will trace his exact physical location."
"But he'll know something is wrong," I pointed out. "If the money doesn't show up in his Swiss account, won't he run?"
"That’s why we need a decoy," Sarah said, looking at me. "We need to make him think the transfer was successful, but is just temporarily delayed in probate due to a system glitch. And we need to keep him on the line long enough for Vance's team to pinpoint his coordinates."
"How do we do that?" Marcus asked.
Sarah reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a clean, unregistered burner phone. She slid it across the table toward me.
"You have to call him, Claire."
My heart stopped. "Call him? No. No, I can't. If he hears my voice, he’ll know I’m alive. He’ll send Leonard. He’ll find us."
"He already knows you’re alive because your bodies weren't found in the ashes of the house," Marcus said gently, taking my hand. "The local fire department would have realized within an hour that the house was empty when it blew. He’s probably panicking right now, wondering where you are. If you call him, you play the victim. You play the confused, terrified wife who has no idea what’s going on."
"Tell him you survived the explosion because you went to a hotel," Sarah instructed. "Tell him you’re scared, that someone was chasing you. Make him believe you still trust him. Ask him where he is. Tell him you need him to come get you."
I looked at the black phone sitting on the table. It looked like a venomous snake, ready to strike.
But then I looked toward the kitchen, where Lily was quietly coloring a picture of a butterfly, oblivious to the storm raging around her. She deserved a life where she didn't have to jump at every shadow. She deserved to grow up safe.
"Okay," I said, my voice hardening. "Give me the phone."
Sarah typed a command on her computer, setting up a digital routing system that would mask my call's location, making it appear as though I was calling from a motel in West Virginia.
"Whenever you’re ready, Claire," Sarah said. "I’m setting up the trace now."
I picked up the phone. My fingers were trembling, but my grip was firm. I dialed Derek’s private number—the one he only used for "business."
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
My heart was beating so loud I was afraid he’d hear it through the line.
On the fourth ring, the call connected.
May you like
"Claire?" Derek’s voice came through the speaker. He sounded out of breath, his usual smooth, confident tone replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of panic. "Claire, where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call your phone all morning!"
"Derek?" I sobbed, forcing my voice to break, letting the tears that had been building up finally spill over. "Derek, oh my god, Derek, something terrible happened!"
