Chapter 8 - The House of Cards
Benedict froze mid-lunge, his hands suspended in the air. The sight of the FBI agents completely shattered his arrogant facade. His knees buckled, and he dropped slowly to the carpet, lacing his fingers behind his head.
“This is a misunderstanding!” Gertrude shrieked, clutching her fur coat tightly around her shoulders. “My son is a government employee! We are taking a family vacation! This crazy woman is trying to ruin us!”
“Save it for the judge, ma'am,” one of the FBI agents said, stepping forward. He flashed a badge at the terminal manager. “We’re impounding the charter plane and seizing all cargo manifested under Seaside Ventures LLC.”
“No!” Gertrude wailed, lunging toward the tarmac doors, but a female police officer quickly intercepted her, clicking a pair of heavy steel handcuffs around her wrists.
I stood in the center of the lounge, my chest heaving, watching the absolute destruction of the people who had tried to ruin my life.
An FBI agent named Kessler walked over to me. He was tall, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Mrs. Hayes?” he asked.
“It’s Sabrina,” I corrected him. “Just Sabrina.”
“Sabrina. Your boss at the marketing firm forwarded us the cyber forensics report regarding the corporate espionage attempt. That, combined with the bank fraud report and your tip about the gold bullion, gave us enough probable cause to raid the Del Mar restaurant thirty minutes ago.”
Benedict, who was being hauled to his feet by two officers, let out a pathetic whimper.
“What did you find?” I asked.
Agent Kessler almost smiled. “Your mother-in-law wasn't just running a failing seafood joint. She was running a high-stakes illegal sports betting ring out of the back office. Benedict was heavily indebted to some very dangerous people. He didn't just steal your money to get rich; he stole it to pay off his mother’s criminal associates before they broke his legs.”
It all made sense now. The sheer panic, the extreme lengths they went to, the desperate rush to flee the country. They weren't just running from me. They were running from the cartel.
“You ruined everything!” Benedict screamed at me, spit flying from his lips as the officers dragged him toward the exit. “I was protecting my family!”
“I was your family, Benedict,” I said quietly, looking him dead in the eye. “But you treated me like an ATM. Now, you’re nothing to me.”
As they dragged him through the glass doors, Gertrude began to sob violently, all her haughty pride stripped away, leaving only a terrified, broken old woman.
Agent Kessler handed me a clipboard. “We recovered the items from his briefcase. Can you verify these belong to you?”
I looked down. Resting on top of the clipboard was the deed to my house, the forged $90,000 auto loan documents, and my father’s antique gold pocket watch.
I picked up the watch, tracing the familiar engravings with my thumb. A single tear slipped down my cheek.
“Yes,” I whispered. “They’re mine.”
“The funds locked in the offshore wire will be returned to your account by Monday, minus a few days of legal red tape,” Kessler assured me. “As for the gold bullion... since it was purchased using stolen marital assets, your legal team will have a very strong case for restitution during the divorce proceedings.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying finally lift from my shoulders.
“We have one more problem, however,” Kessler said, his tone turning serious.
My heart skipped a beat. “What is it?”
“Benedict’s mistress, Evelyn,” Kessler said, gesturing toward the empty parking lot. “She managed to slip away before we secured the perimeter. She is a key witness to the bank fraud. Without her testimony, proving she forged your signature could be an uphill battle in court.”
I thought about Evelyn. The panicked twenty-four-year-old girl who realized she was in way over her head. She had left her suitcase behind in her rush to escape.
I looked at the pink designer suitcase sitting abandoned by the sofa.
“I know how to find her,” I said, walking over to the luggage.
I unzipped the front pocket of the suitcase. Tucked inside was a leather-bound diary and a pay stub from the government agency where Benedict worked.
May you like
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on the pay stub. It was the agency’s HR department.
“Hello,” I said, my voice dripping with corporate authority. “This is Sabrina Hayes. I need the emergency contact information for Evelyn Carter. I have something that belongs to her, and I’d like to make a deal.”
