Chapter 3 - THE RAT TRAPBy 2:00 PM, the news of Brandon’s arrest for residential burglary had leaked to the press, but the financial disaster behind it remained tightly sealed under a federal gag order.
Margaret Hawthorne had managed to post Brandon’s ten-thousand-dollar bail for the misdemeanor breaking-and-entering charge using a high-interest loan shark in Queens—since every single one of her credit cards had been terminated by my bank.
They were currently hiding out in Margaret’s duplex apartment on the Upper East Side, completely unaware that the FBI was listening to every single phone call leaving the building.
I sat in the mobile command unit parked three blocks away, wearing noise-canceling headphones alongside Agent Miller and Grace Parker.
On the audio monitor, Brandon’s voice was hysterical, high-pitched, and trembling with terror.
"Mom, you don't understand!" Brandon was shouting, his voice echoing through the speaker. "She didn't just call the cops for the break-in! She was leading a live board meeting with Julian Vance when I walked through the door! Julian Vance, Mom!"
"So what?!" Margaret’s sharp, shrill voice snapped back. "You tell them it was a marital dispute! You tell them she’s unstable! We’ll hire a public relations firm! The Hawthornes do not get arrested like common street thugs!"
"Shut up, Mom! Just shut up!" Brandon screamed. "The money in Vanguard Horizon... the wire transfers... she has the master key logs! If she gives those server files to the SEC, I’m going to federal prison for twenty years!"
In the command van, Agent Miller glanced at me with a cold, satisfied smile. "We have admission of knowledge on tape. But we still need him to attempt to move the stolen capital. If he doesn't initiate a transfer, his lawyers can claim the Vanguard Horizon account was set up by a rogue third party."
"He won't try to move it yet," I said, leaning over the console. "Brandon is a coward, but he’s a calculating coward. He knows Vanguard Horizon requires a two-factor authorization token sent to my personal cell phone number."
Grace turned to me, her eyes widening. "Wait... he needs your phone?"
"He doesn't just need my phone," I smiled faintly. "He needs me to panic. He thinks if he puts enough pressure on me, I’ll fold to protect the Bennett family name."
"So what’s the move, Olivia?" Julian Vance asked from the back of the van.
I pulled my cell phone out of my coat pocket, unblocked Brandon’s number, and hit call.
The line rang twice before Brandon answered, his breathing ragged and frantic.
"Olivia?!" Brandon gasped. "Olivia, listen to me! You have to drop the criminal trespass charges right now! The press is calling my office! You’re ruining my reputation over a simple mistake!"
"A simple mistake, Brandon?" I asked, keeping my voice soft, hesitant, and trembling slightly—putting on the precise performance of a frightened, overwhelmed ex-wife. "You brought a locksmith to my apartment. You drilled through my door while I was working."
"I was worried about you!" he lied seamlessly. "I thought you were hurting yourself because of the Cartier card! Olivia, please... we were married for five years. Don't do this to me. Come meet me at the Regency Hotel lounge. Just five minutes. Let's talk like adults before this gets out of hand."
I looked at Agent Miller, who gave me a sharp nod.
"Fine," I whispered into the receiver, sounding utterly broken. "Thirty minutes. The Regency lounge. But if your mother is there, Brandon... I’m walking away."
"She won't be there, I swear!" Brandon promised desperately. "Just you and me, honey. Just like old times."
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I hung up the phone and looked up at the FBI agents.
"He thinks I'm coming alone to negotiate a settlement," I said, smoothing down my tailored black wool coat. "Let's go give my ex-husband exactly what he deserves."
