Chapter 7 - The Final Trap
cornered and facing universal hatred, Evelyn snapped.
Driven by sheer desperation and blind rage, she believed that if she could get into my private home office at the mansion, she could find physical financial documents or blackmail material to force me into dropping the charges and returning the company.
She still had a duplicate secret key to the side garage door that the locksmiths hadn't noticed.
At 2:00 AM, under the cover of dark, rainy skies, Evelyn crept onto the estate grounds. She slipped through the side entrance, soaked, shivering, her heart pounding in her chest.
She crept up the stairs to the master suite office, using her phone flashlight. She opened the heavy mahogany desk drawers, frantically shuffling through paper files, looking for anything—bank statements, shell company deeds, tax forms.
"Looking for these?"
The room lights suddenly flashed on.
Evelyn screamed, spinning around, dropping her phone.
I was sitting in the leather armchair in the corner, flanked by Marcus Vance and two LAPD officers.
"Victoria!" Evelyn gasped, clutching her chest, her eyes wild with terror. "I... I came to get my personal belongings!"
"At two in the morning? Through a locked garage door?" Marcus said, holding up a recording tablet. "You are currently being recorded on high-definition security systems breaking and entering a private residence."
"You trapped me!" Evelyn shrieked, pointing a trembling, dirty finger at me. "You set me up!"
"You set yourself up, Evelyn," I said, standing up smoothly. "You were so consumed by greed and hatred that you couldn't accept that the woman you abused was the only reason you weren't living on the street three years ago."
Marcus stepped forward with another legal document. "Evelyn Montgomery, while the police arrest you for felony breaking and entering and burglary, the IRS and the State Prosecutor's Office have also issued warrants for your arrest."
Evelyn froze, her face draining of all color. "What... what are you talking about?"
"For the past three years, you listed yourself as the director of a non-profit charity called 'The Montgomery Foundation,'" I explained cold-heartedly. "You funneled $2 million of Vanguard’s corporate donations into that charity, which you then used to buy designer clothes, luxury vacations, and jewelry."
"That’s embezzlement and tax fraud," Marcus added. "Minimum sentence: eight years in federal prison."
The police officers stepped forward, pulling Evelyn’s arms behind her back and clicking handcuffs around her wrists.
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"Ethan! Ethan, save me!" Evelyn screamed hysterically as she was dragged down the marble staircase she used to parade around like a queen. "Victoria, please! I’m an old woman! You can't do this to me!"
"You told me two days ago to 'remember my place,'" I said, watching her from the top of the stairs. "This is yours."
