Chapter 7 - The Trap
Abigail wanted to run.
She hated admitting it.
But fear had changed shape.
When danger belonged only to her, she could be stubborn.
Now every threat seemed to point toward the child beneath her heart.
Matteo found her packing.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not a destination.”
“It’s better than staying somewhere everyone knows I am.”
“No.”
Abigail turned.
“Remember our conversation about you deciding things?”
“Yes.”
“Apparently not.”
Matteo stepped into the room.
“I’m not telling you to stay because I want control.”
“Then why?”
“Because Sinclair wants you frightened enough to disappear.”
She stopped.
Matteo lowered his voice.
“If you leave without a plan, he controls where you go just as surely as if he chooses the address himself.”
Abigail hated that he was right.
“So what do we do?”
“We make him believe you’re vulnerable.”
Luca’s plan was simple.
Which usually meant dangerous.
A false appointment would be entered into Abigail’s medical schedule.
A false transfer to another hospital would follow.
Only a handful of people would know.
If Richard’s former security chief appeared, investigators could connect him directly to the leak.
Abigail stared at Luca.
“You want to use my pregnancy as bait.”
“No,” Matteo said immediately.
Luca looked at him.
Matteo shook his head.
“She’s not doing it.”
Abigail almost laughed.
“You two are unbelievable.”
She considered the plan.
Then said:
“I’ll do it.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“You just gave a speech about not letting Sinclair control me.”
“That was before Luca suggested something stupid.”
“It’s a controlled operation.”
“No operation involving Abigail has been controlled since I met her.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
“That was not praise.”
The trap was set for Friday morning.
A private maternity clinic outside Manhattan appeared to receive Abigail’s records.
The information existed in exactly one compromised administrative system investigators believed Sinclair could access.
At 9:15 a.m., a black SUV arrived.
Richard’s former security chief entered.
He carried no weapon.
Only an envelope.
Inside was cash.
A passport.
And a plane ticket to Costa Rica under Abigail Foster’s name.
Police arrested him.
Within two hours, he requested an attorney.
Within four, he requested a deal.
By sunset, Richard Sinclair’s empire began collapsing.
The former security chief admitted Richard had ordered Abigail intimidated.
Not killed.
At least, that was the wording Richard had used.
“Make her understand what silence is worth.”
He also admitted helping cover up Antonio Romano’s murder.
But Richard had another surprise waiting.
He disappeared.
His mansion was empty.
His private plane remained at the airport.
His passport had not been used.
Police searched.
Nothing.
That night, Vanessa called Abigail.
Her voice shook.
“He contacted me.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say?”
“He wants to meet.”
“Don’t.”
“He says he has proof my mother’s death wasn’t an accident.”
Abigail sat upright.
Vanessa’s mother had died twelve years earlier after falling from a yacht.
Police ruled it accidental.
Richard had raised Vanessa alone.
“He told me to come without police.”
“Vanessa, listen to me. That’s exactly what he wants.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t go.”
Vanessa started crying.
“I spent my whole life believing he loved her.”
Abigail’s anger vanished.
She understood the temptation.
Truth could become addictive when someone had built your entire childhood out of lies.
“Send me the location.”
“What?”
“Send it.”
Matteo entered just as Abigail received the address.
An abandoned Sinclair warehouse near the Hudson.
His face hardened.
“No.”
Abigail pointed at him.
“Don’t start.”
“Vanessa is not going there.”
“Agreed.”
“You’re definitely not going.”
“Also agreed.”
He paused.
“That was easier than expected.”
“I’m pregnant, Matteo. Not suicidal.”
Police surrounded the warehouse.
Vanessa wore a wire.
She entered alone.
Richard stood beneath a single industrial light.
He looked ten years older.
“You brought them.”
Vanessa froze.
“How?”
Richard smiled.
“You were never good at lying.”
Police moved.
Richard pulled something from his coat.
Vanessa screamed.
But it was not a gun.
A remote.
He pressed the button.
Lights died.
Smoke erupted through the warehouse.
Everyone moved at once.
By the time emergency lights came on, Richard was gone.
A hidden maintenance tunnel led beneath the building.
But he had left something behind.
An envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Antonio Romano.
Thomas Reed.
Several city officials.
And one photograph of Abigail’s mother.
Abigail stared at it.
Her mother, Caroline Foster, stood outside St. Catherine’s Hospital eight years earlier.
Beside her was Richard Sinclair.
On the back, handwritten:
She knew too.
Abigail’s knees weakened.
Matteo caught her.
“My mother knew Richard?”
Luca turned over another photograph.
Caroline was holding a folder.
The date was two days after Antonio’s crash.
Abigail remembered her mother suddenly insisting they leave New York.
She had always assumed it was because of cancer treatment.
Maybe it had been something else.
Abigail rushed to the old shoebox.
There were letters from her mother.
Medical papers.
Receipts.
Then she found an envelope she had never opened because it was addressed to an attorney who had died years earlier.
Inside was a handwritten note.
If anything happens to me, Abigail must never know about the Romano documents until Richard Sinclair is no longer able to hurt her.
Abigail’s vision blurred.
Below the message was a key.
A bank deposit key.
And one number.
Matteo recognized the bank.
The next morning, under police protection, they opened the box.
Inside was a folder sealed in plastic.
Antonio Romano’s original evidence.
Bribery records.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
Audio tapes.
Everything Richard had killed to find.
And beneath them was a letter addressed to Matteo and Isabella.
May you like
Written in Antonio Romano’s handwriting.
Matteo’s hands began trembling before he opened it.
