Chapter 7 - The Trap Closes
Dozens of heavily armed federal agents swarmed into my house, their tactical flashlights blinding everyone in the kitchen.
"FBI! Nobody move!" a booming voice echoed through the chaotic room.
Christopher immediately dropped to his knees, raising his trembling hands high into the air.
Elena collapsed onto the marble floor, sobbing hysterically as an agent secured her wrists in steel handcuffs.
Beatrice, however, remained standing completely still, her eyes darting around the room for any possible escape route.
The syndicate enforcer casually slipped his weapon into his jacket and held his hands up in a gesture of peaceful surrender.
A tall woman wearing a crisp FBI windbreaker walked directly into the center of the kitchen.
It was Agent Miller, the lead investigator for the corporate fraud division.
"Savannah Vance, you are completely safe now," Agent Miller said, lowering her weapon.
Christopher looked up from the floor, his eyes wide with absolute confusion.
"Safe?" he spat angrily. "She is the one who stole three million dollars from her own company!"
Agent Miller ignored him entirely and turned to look at me with a respectful nod.
I pulled my encrypted cell phone from my pocket and ended the live audio transmission I had been broadcasting.
"Thank you, Agent Miller," I said calmly, stepping around my pathetic, kneeling husband.
Christopher’s jaw dropped in absolute shock.
"You have been working with the FBI this entire time?" he asked, his voice cracking with pure disbelief.
"My corporate board contacted the authorities the moment they noticed the strange security breaches on my laptop," I explained coldly.
"My termination this morning was a completely staged event to make you feel overly confident."
I looked down at the man who had ruined my life for the past seven years.
"I knew you would rush to collect the money if you thought I was completely destroyed and out of the picture."
Beatrice scoffed, crossing her arms defensively despite the dozens of guns pointed at her.
"You still have absolutely no proof that I orchestrated the wire transfers," Beatrice challenged arrogantly.
I smiled and reached into the leather tote bag hanging from my shoulder.
I didn't pull out the stacks of untraceable bearer bonds we had found in the safe.
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Instead, I pulled out a small, metallic silver hard drive.
"You really shouldn't keep your syndicate ledgers stored on the same network as your fake dental records, Beatrice."
