Chapter 18 - The Bait and the Trap
The sun had completely dipped below the horizon by the time we returned to the house in Bexley, though "returning" felt less like coming home and more like entering a combat zone. Federal agents in tactical gear surrounded the perimeter, their black SUVs parked haphazardly along the manicured lawns. Inside, technicians had set up a temporary command center in our living room, monitors glowing with satellite feeds, thermal imaging sweeps, and encrypted comms channels.
I sat at the kitchen island, staring at my phone. The screen was dark, but my chest burned with a fierce, burning adrenaline. They thought they could terrorize us. They thought that by threatening my daughter, they could break my spirit the way they tried to break my body on that horrific Sunday afternoon.
They didn't know who they were dealing with anymore.
Daniel walked up behind me, placing a warm, heavy hand on my shoulder. His thumb brushed soothingly against my skin, though I could feel the tension vibrating through every muscle in his body.
"The FBI has a containment perimeter locked down for a five-mile radius," Daniel whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed my ear. "Agent Vance thinks she’s heading for the private airfield in Delaware County. She has a charter plane lined up to fly her out to the Caribbean."
"She’s not flying anywhere," I said, my voice cold, calm, and utterly devoid of fear.
Daniel pulled back, looking at me with a mixture of shock and deep, abiding respect. "Rach... what are you planning?"
I turned on the barstool to face him. "Agent Vance said Brittany wants the master cryptographic key to the offshore accounts, right? She thinks it's the only thing that can save her."
"Yes. But nobody knows where Diane hid the physical drive. Even Kyle claims he doesn't have the combination to the safety deposit box at Fifth Third."
"Kyle doesn't have it," I said softly, standing up and walking over to the pantry. I reached up to the very top shelf, past the bulk baking supplies and the rarely used serving platters, pulling down an old, dusty tin box that had belonged to my late grandfather—a retired federal judge who had taught me more about leverage than any textbook ever could.
I popped the rusted metal latch and lifted the lid. Inside sat a small, unassuming leather pouch. I unzipped it and pulled out a heavy, gold-plated skeleton key and a folded piece of parchment paper covered in dense, handwritten alphanumeric code.
Daniel’s eyes went wide as saucers. "Where did you get that?"
"Diane left it in the guest bedroom coat pocket the weekend before the baby shower," I said, a grim smile touching the corners of my mouth. "She thought she was being clever, hiding it in plain sight while she stayed with us. I found it when I was doing laundry. I never told her. I never told anyone."
Before Daniel could answer, my cell phone buzzed violently on the kitchen counter.
An incoming text message from an unknown, encrypted number.
I picked it up. The screen displayed a single line of text:
*Alone. Riverside Park, by the boathouse. In ten minutes, or the next picture you get of your daughter won't be sleeping. Bring the key.*
I looked up at Daniel. He was already reaching for his comms radio to signal Agent Vance, but I placed my hand firmly over the device, stopping him.
May you like
"No backup," I said, my eyes locking onto his. "If Vance’s tactical team moves in, Brittany will run or she’ll detonate the remote dead-man switch she has linked to our home security system. This ends tonight, Daniel. Just her and me."
***
