Chapter 7 - The Digital Trap
I stared at the red loading bar in absolute horror as it rapidly began deleting the files on the USB drive.
Daniel must have anticipated that my father would leave digital evidence and hired a hacker to monitor the home network.
The moment I connected my laptop to the Wi-Fi, the malicious virus was automatically deployed to destroy the video.
I did not hesitate for a single second.
I grabbed the USB drive and violently yanked it out of the port, risking permanent corruption to save whatever was left.
The laptop screen immediately went dead, but I held the tiny piece of plastic like it was a fragile lifeline.
Sarah looked at me with wide, panicked eyes, asking if the video had been completely erased.
I told her I was not sure, but we did not have the time to find a forensic computer expert to recover the data.
We had less than four hours left before the probate courthouse closed for the weekend, effectively ending my claim.
We left my ruined apartment and hailed another taxi, directing the driver to the main county courthouse downtown.
During the ride, my cell phone began to ring relentlessly with calls from blocked and unknown numbers.
I finally answered one of the calls, and Rachel's shrill, condescending voice echoed through the speaker.
She told me that I was making a terrible mistake by dragging this family feud into the public eye.
She promised to give me fifty thousand dollars from her share if I simply destroyed the will and walked away.
I laughed coldly into the phone, telling her that she was currently offering me money from a bank account she no longer legally owned.
Rachel's fake sweetness vanished instantly, replaced by a vicious, venomous tone that sounded exactly like our mother.
She informed me that they had already filed an emergency restraining order against me early this morning.
They falsely claimed that I was mentally unstable and had physically abused my father during his final days in the hospital.
Rachel smugly declared that there were heavily armed sheriff's deputies waiting at the courthouse entrance to arrest me on sight.
She said if I stepped foot on the property, I would be thrown in a holding cell until the deadline expired.
I hung up the phone and looked out the window at the towering marble pillars of the courthouse approaching in the distance.
Sure enough, two police cruisers were parked directly in front of the main staircase, and deputies were actively scanning the crowd.
Sarah cursed under her breath, realizing that walking through the front door was no longer a viable option.
She told the taxi driver to circle around to the back alleyway where the judges parked their private vehicles.
Sarah explained that she knew a sympathetic security guard who manned the underground delivery entrance.
We slipped out of the taxi and approached the heavy steel delivery doors just as a catering van was pulling inside.
Sarah waved down the older security guard, who smiled warmly and unlocked a side access door for us.
We snuck into the basement of the courthouse, navigating the labyrinth of dusty filing rooms and maintenance corridors.
We finally found the service elevator and hit the button for the third floor, where the probate clerk's office was located.
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out confidently, holding the protective plastic sleeve containing the will.
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Standing directly in front of the clerk's office, blocking the door with his massive frame, was my brother Daniel.
He was holding a heavy steel fire extinguisher in his hands, and his eyes were completely devoid of sanity.
