Chapter 8 - The Trust Fund Trap
The cold water soaked through my ruined dress as we fled down the concrete stairwell.
Sarah carried our bags while I held Sophie tightly in my arms.
The young doctor led us through a maze of underground utility tunnels beneath the hospital.
He punched a code into a heavy steel door, pushing us out into a dark alleyway.
Ms. Vance, the high-priced attorney, was waiting there in a running SUV.
We piled into the back seat, shivering and gasping for air.
The attorney slammed on the gas, tearing away from the hospital before my father’s men could find us.
I handed her the burner phone I had taken from Mark’s wrecked car.
I told her it contained all the text messages proving Preston’s plot to steal my trust fund.
She quickly plugged the phone into a laptop resting on the passenger seat.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she extracted the data logs.
She smiled grimly, confirming that the digital trail led directly to Preston's personal IP address.
But then her smile faded as she looked closer at the screen.
She warned me that Preston was already moving the money.
Using the emergency custody order and my pending felony charges, my parents had triggered the morality clause.
They were legally transferring my entire inheritance into Preston’s offshore accounts right now.
If the transfer completed by midnight, the money would be completely untraceable.
It was currently eleven-forty-five.
We had exactly fifteen minutes to stop the transaction and expose him.
Ms. Vance said we needed to submit the evidence directly to the federal fraud division, not the local police.
She typed furiously, preparing a massive email blast to the FBI, the district attorney, and every major news outlet.
She hit the upload button, but a red error message flashed across the screen.
The file size was too large for a standard mobile connection.
We needed a hardwired, secure internet connection to bypass the firewall.
I looked out the window and realized we were driving past my father’s corporate headquarters.
I told Ms. Vance to pull over at the loading dock.
I still had my executive keycard, and the server room was on the first floor.
We snuck through the back entrance, moving silently past the sleepy nighttime security guard.
I swiped my card, and the heavy door to the server room clicked open.
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Just as Ms. Vance plugged the laptop into the mainframe, the lights overhead suddenly slammed on.
Standing at the end of the server aisle was Preston, holding a matte-black handgun.
