Chapter 5 - THE TRAP IS SET
Driving around downtown Portland in Derek’s sedan was an exercise in listening to self-delusion.
For two hours, Derek drove me past high-value real estate sites, pointing out buildings and dropping names of local politicians and developers as if he were a major player in Oregon real estate. In reality, every time he spoke, he revealed just how out of his depth he truly was.
“You see that block over there?” Derek said, pointing out the window at a prime waterfront parcel. “I have a personal connection with the city planning director. If Vanguard puts in an offer, I can guarantee the zoning permits clear in less than thirty days—for a small management fee, of course.”
“That’s very impressive, Derek,” I said smoothly, taking notes in a leather notebook. “We usually pay our local procurement facilitators a standard three percent finder's fee on total project land acquisitions.”
Derek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. Three percent of a forty-two-million-dollar evaluation was over one point two million dollars.
I could practically see the mental math whirring in his brain.
“Three percent,” he repeated, trying to sound casual. “That... that is a very fair corporate standard.”
“Of course, to finalize an agreement like that,” I added casually, looking out the window, “our corporate legal team requires a comprehensive financial background audit of all local partners. Standard compliance stuff. We just need to verify assets, tax filings, and ensure there are no outstanding liabilities or legal conflicts.”
Derek’s smile froze slightly. “A financial audit?”
“Oh, it’s purely routine,” I waved my hand dismissively. “We run it on everyone. Just to ensure our partners are financially stable and untainted by personal debt. We wouldn't want a contractor’s personal financial trouble splashing back onto Vanguard’s public reputation.”
“Right... right, of course,” Derek stammered, a light sheen of sweat suddenly appearing on his upper lip. “Everything on my end is... completely clean.”
He was lying. I could smell the panic on him.
At 4:00 PM, while Derek was inside a coffee shop buying us drinks, my phone vibrated in my purse.
It was an encrypted message from Marcus Vance.
Attached was a document from the state forensic lab detailing the analysis of the white pills from Caroline’s medicine bottle.
My eyes swept over the medical terminology:
COMPOUND ANALYSIS: FLUPHENAZINE & HIGH-DOSE LORAZEPAM. Notes: A potent combination of a heavy antipsychotic and a strong sedative. Prolonged administration causes severe physical lethargy, profound cognitive impairment, memory loss, extreme passivity, and physical dependence. Long-term use in individuals without psychotic disorders can lead to severe neurological deterioration.
My phone vibrated again. A second message from Marcus popped up:
Adrienne, we ran a preliminary deep-dive on the Voss family finances. You need to see this. Call me immediately.
I quickly slid out of the passenger seat, stepped away from the car, and dialed Marcus’s secure line.
“What did you find?” I demanded, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Adrienne, your sister isn't just an abused wife,” Marcus said, his voice grave. “She’s an inheritance victim.”
“What do you mean?”
“Five years ago, your late aunt Eleanor passed away in California, right?”
“Yes. She left a modest estate.”
“Not modest,” Marcus corrected sharply. “Eleanor had a dark-horse investment portfolio in early tech stocks that matured right before her death. Her total estate was valued at 2.8 million dollars. She named Caroline as the sole beneficiary of a trust fund, payable on Caroline’s 35th birthday.”
I gasped, catching my breath. “Caroline’s thirty-fifth birthday is in two weeks!”
“Exactly,” Marcus continued. “But here’s the kicker: the trust terms state that if Caroline is declared mentally incompetent or incapacitated by a licensed medical practitioner prior to her 35th birthday, full legal guardianship and control of the 2.8 million dollar trust transfers directly to her legal spouse.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Everything made sense now.
The isolation. The missing keys. The terrible living conditions. The severe chemical drugging.
Derek and Marlene weren't just mistreating Caroline because they were cruel. They were systematically breaking her mind, poisoning her body, and creating a fake medical history of severe mental instability so that when she turned thirty-five in fourteen days, a bribed doctor could declare her legally incompetent—handing Derek nearly three million dollars.
“And if she dies or breaks completely?” I whispered, cold horror washing over me.
“He gets every single cent,” Marcus confirmed. “And Adrienne... we tapped the landline audio from the listening device you planted in the kitchen.”
“What did they say?”
“Marlene called Derek’s phone twenty minutes ago while you two were out. She said, 'Adrienne is asking too many questions. We need to speed up the process with the doctor before her sister ruins everything.'”
I clutched the phone tightly, my knuckles turning bone-white.
“They’re going to increase her dosage,” I said, pure fury rising inside me. “They’re going to finish her off.”
“What do you want to do, Adrienne?” Marcus asked. “I can bring the local police in right now with this forensic report.”
“No,” I snapped, my voice hardening into steel. “The police will arrest Derek, but Marlene and Tessa will lawyer up, push blame onto each other, and drag this through court for years while Caroline suffers through the trial. I want all of them. I want them destroyed so completely that they never see the light of day again.”
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“How?”
“Derek wants my forty-two million dollar Vanguard contract,” I said, a dark, dangerous plan taking shape in my mind. “I’m going to give him the contract. I’m going to make him sign it. And then I’m going to strip everything he owns right out from under his feet.”
