Chapter 7 - The Frame Job
I stared at the US Marshal in absolute, paralyzing confusion.
"Julian is not dead," I stammered, my voice cracking from exhaustion.
"He sent armed mercenaries to kill me just a few hours ago."
The Marshal pulled a glossy photograph from her tactical vest and held it up.
It showed Julian’s luxury sports car completely engulfed in flames at the bottom of a steep ravine.
"The local police found his charred remains forty minutes ago," she stated coldly.
"And they found your fingerprints all over the severed brake lines of his vehicle."
I felt the entire room aggressively spin around me.
Eleanor had done this.
She had murdered her own son when the federal heat became too intense.
She sacrificed Julian to save herself and perfectly framed me for the brutal crime.
The Marshals roughly placed heavy iron handcuffs on my wrists and led me out of the building.
I was transported to a maximum-security federal holding facility in total isolation.
For three agonizing weeks, I sat in a cold concrete cell while the media destroyed my reputation.
Eleanor gave countless tearful television interviews, playing the tragic, grieving mother.
She claimed I was a violent, unhinged woman who burned myself for sympathy and murdered her perfect son.
My buildings were temporarily placed under Eleanor's control by a corrupt probate judge.
She was liquidating my entire family legacy to escape the country with billions.
Mr. Vance finally managed to secure a private, heavily monitored visitation with me.
He looked incredibly tired, his old face lined with deep stress.
"Eleanor is boarding a private jet to a non-extradition country tomorrow morning," he whispered urgently.
"We need the original physical ledger from the corrupt building inspector to prove she orchestrated everything."
"Where is the inspector now?" I asked desperately.
Mr. Vance looked down at the metal table and sighed heavily.
"He was found hanging in his garage yesterday morning."
I closed my eyes as the last sliver of hope seemed to vanish completely.
Then, Mr. Vance slowly slid a small, silver safety deposit box key across the table.
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"Before he died, he mailed this key to my office with a cryptic note," he whispered.
"The note simply said that the ghost of Clara's father knows the absolute truth."
