Chapter 7 - THE WIRE
Saturday morning. Detective Vance called. "We have enough for a warrant, but white-collar fraud is tricky. A good defense attorney will claim Martha thought she had your verbal permission to move the funds. We need a confession. We need her to admit to the forgery."
"I'll do it," I said.
I texted Martha from an unlisted number: Meet me at the Bluebird Diner on 4th Street. Alone. If you want to settle this without the cops, we talk now.
Two hours later, I sat in a booth smelling of cheap coffee and frying bacon. Underneath my flannel shirt, a wire was taped to my chest. Vance and two plainclothes officers sat in an unmarked van outside.
May you like
The bell above the door chimed. Martha walked in, looking immaculate in a cashmere coat. But she wasn't alone. Brenda was right behind her, glaring like a cornered rat.
They slid into the booth across from me. Martha immediately started crying. "Arthur, please. I was just trying to secure our future—"
