Chapter 5 - The Trap is SprungAt 6:00 a.m., the morning sun broke over the horizon, casting a pale, bruised-orange light across the sprawling lawns of the Rossi-Vance estate.
Jonah sat in his leather armchair in the study, pouring another glass of bourbon to steady his nerves. His phone buzzed aggressively on the mahogany desk. He picked it up, expecting a confirmation from Sheriff Miller that the troublesome state investigator had been dealt with out on the county line.
Instead, an unfamiliar, blocked number flashed on the screen.
Jonah hit accept, his voice dripping with arrogance. “If this is Miller, I told you I don’t want to talk until the girl’s body is—”
“Good morning, stepdad,” my voice cut through the speaker, crisp, calm, and dripping with absolute authority.
Jonah froze, his glass hovering inches from his mouth. “Maya? Where the hell are you? You think you can just march into my house and—?”
“I’m sitting in your home office chair right now, Jonah,” I interrupted smoothly. “Well, figuratively speaking. Actually, I’m sitting in the state tactical command van parked right outside your front gates, watching your security cameras feed directly to my laptop.”
On the encrypted tablet resting on my console, I watched live-feed footage of Jonah leaping out of his leather chair, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated panic as he rushed to the window and looked out toward the front gates.
There, gleaming in the morning light, sat three armored federal tactical transport vehicles, their heavy-duty engines idling with a low, menacing rumble. A dozen federal agents in full combat gear stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the perimeter fence, their rifles pointed skyward.
“You’re bluffing!” Jonah roared into the phone, his voice cracking with sudden, hysterical fear. “You have no jurisdiction here! I’ll call the governor! I’ll call the state attorney general! They’re on my payroll!”
“You can try,” I replied calmly. “But while you’re reaching for your landline, federal marshals are currently seizing your offshore accounts in the Caymans, freezing your shell corporations, and executing a search warrant on Sheriff Miller’s precinct safe. Your empire just collapsed in forty-five minutes, Jonah.”
“You little bitch!” he screamed, losing all control. “I’ll tear you apart! I’ll burn that disabled sister of yours to the ground—!”
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“That’s it,” I said softly, glancing at the audio recording timestamp on my console. “That’s felony terroristic threats and witness intimidation recorded on a secure federal line. Playtime is over, monster.”
I tapped my comms headset. “All teams, execute search and arrest warrants. Breach the estate.”
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