Chapter 3 - The Trap ClosesThe phone rang four times before a breathless, panicked voice burst through the speaker.
“Claire! Pick up the damn phone! Are you insane? The police are downstairs in the lobby! They just hauled Dad into the cruiser in handcuffs!”
Ryan’s voice sounded frantic, the smooth, arrogant veneer completely shattered. Gone was the man who had watched his father burn his pregnant wife. In his place was a cornered coward realizing his entire house of cards was collapsing.
I didn’t say a word. I simply crossed my arms and let him rant.
“Listen to me!” Ryan continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You’re going to call Detective Miller right now and tell him it was a misunderstanding! You tripped over the rug! You dropped the cigarette yourself! If you do that, I’ll... I’ll let you stay in the guest room until the baby is born. We can work this out!”
I slowly stepped closer to the desk, leaning down so my lips were inches from the microphone.
“Ryan,” I said, my voice smooth, melodic, and terrifyingly calm.
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the phone. “Claire? Where are you? Why do you sound like that?”
“I’m sitting in Arthur Sterling’s office,” I replied evenly. “Looking at a very interesting file. It includes your forged notary seals, the one-point-two-million-dollar mortgage fraud on my penthouse, and the wire transfers you sent to your offshore accounts in the Caymans.”
Silence descended on the line. It was so heavy I could hear the distant hum of traffic through Ryan’s end of the phone, miles away.
“What... what are you talking about?” Ryan stammered, his voice dropping an octave. “That’s... that’s family business. You’re my wife!”
“I was your cash cow, Ryan,” I corrected him. “Past tense. And by the way, how is the surrogate in Scottsdale doing? Does she know the man who hired her is about to spend the next twenty years in a federal penitentiary?”
The phone made a sharp, clattering sound, as though Ryan had dropped it against a hard surface. Faint scuffling sounds came through the speaker—someone else trying to grab the receiver.
“Claire!”
It was Diane, my mother-in-law, her voice shrill and trembling with unmasked hysteria. “You listen to me, you ungrateful little bitch! You think you can destroy this family over a little family dispute? Ryan is a Sterling! We built this city! You’re just a marketing clerk who got lucky with tech stocks!”
“Diane,” I interrupted, my tone cutting through her rant like a razor. “Your husband is currently sitting in the back of a police cruiser in his bathrobe, your son is facing forty years for federal forgery and wire fraud, and as of twenty minutes ago, Arthur has filed an emergency injunction freezing every corporate and personal asset tied to the Sterling Family Investments umbrella.”
“You can’t do that!” Diane shrieked. “We’ll sue you! We’ll take everything!”
“With what money?” I asked sweetly. “Your credit cards have already been declined. I cancelled the secondary accounts at midnight. By morning, the bank will repossess the BMW in your driveway because, surprise, Diane—that lease was under my corporate account too.”
I tapped the screen, ending the call, and tossed the phone back onto the desk.
Arthur let out a low, appreciative whistle, leaning back in his leather chair. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Claire.”
“This is only phase one, Arthur,” I said, walking over to the window and watching the first pale rays of dawn break over the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains. “They thought they could break me, humiliate me, and throw me away like trash. Now, I’m going to take away every single thing they ever used to look down on me.”
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“What’s your next move?” Arthur asked, adjusting his glasses.
“The penthouse,” I said, turning around with a cold, absolute resolve in my eyes. “They’re going to try to go back there once the police release them on bail. I want to be waiting for them when they arrive.”
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