Chapter 3 - The Trap Closes at Dawn
By seven o'clock the next morning, the grand ballroom of the Blackwood Hotel was packed with over two hundred journalists, news crews, and high-society reporters. Flashbulbs flickered incessantly under the crystal chandeliers.
Daniel Blackwood stood behind the velvet curtain near the stage, impeccably dressed in a bespoke charcoal tuxedo suit. His silver hair was neatly slicked back, and his posture radiated undisputed authority.
Beside him stood Arthur Vance, his anxious chief financial officer, nervously adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.
"Are the federal agents in position at my estate?" Daniel asked, his voice low and icy.
"Yes, sir," Vance whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "They have the search warrant signed by Judge Miller. The moment you give the signal on live television, they will breach the penthouse and arrest Amelia. The forged offshore transfer logs were uploaded to her personal laptop two hours ago."
"Good," Daniel smirked, adjusting his silk cufflinks. "And what about the maid? The one who was lurking near the service entrance last night?"
Vance hesitated. "Julian Drake’s men tracked her to an alley behind the hotel, but... she vanished. We think she took off out of fear."
Daniel’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Find her. I don't like loose ends. Once Amelia is in handcuffs, offer the maid fifty thousand dollars to sign a non-disclosure agreement. If she refuses, make sure she disappears permanently."
"Understood, sir."
At precisely 7:55 AM, Daniel stepped out from behind the curtain and approached the podium. The room immediately fell silent, save for the frantic clicking of camera shutters.
Daniel leaned into the microphones, his face contorted into a masterclass of fabricated sorrow and solemn dignity.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Daniel began, his voice echoing powerfully through the room's speakers. "It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today. Over the past twenty-four hours, an internal audit at Blackwood Private Equity revealed a catastrophic betrayal."
He took a slow, dramatic breath, looking down at the podium.
"Millions of dollars have been systematically drained from our investment funds. And regrettably, the evidence points directly to someone I loved and trusted above all others... my wife, Amelia Blackwood."
A collective gasp rippled through the gallery of reporters. Headlines were already being typed on laptops across the front rows.
"At this very moment," Daniel continued, raising his head with stoic resolve, "federal law enforcement officers are executing an arrest warrant at my residence. I ask for privacy during this painful time as I cooperate fully with—"
"You can stop lying now, Daniel."
A clear, resonant voice cut through the ballroom speakers, overriding Daniel’s podium microphone.
The journalists turned in unison toward the rear of the ballroom.
Standing at the main double doors was Amelia Blackwood.
She wore a striking, floor-length deep royal blue dress, her blonde hair styled in flawless waves, radiating absolute power and elegance. Beside her stood Marcus Cole in a crisp dark suit, and right next to them was Nora, wearing her crisp, clean hotel management uniform—her head held high.
Daniel’s face flushed red, then turned an unsightly ash-grey.
"Amelia?" Daniel stammered, gripping the edges of the podium until his knuckles turned white. "What is the meaning of this?! Security! Remove these people immediately!"
Julian Drake and six heavy-set guards stepped forward to intercept them, but Marcus immediately raised a bright yellow legal document.
"Touch us and you're assaulting federal witnesses, Drake!" Marcus shouted, his voice echoing across the room. "United States Marshals are already in the building!"
Before Daniel could speak, the massive digital projection screens behind the podium—which usually displayed the Blackwood corporate logo—flickered violently.
The screens illuminated, showing a high-definition video recording.
It was the footage from the flash drive.
Daniel’s voice blasted through the ballroom's high-end sound system, crystal clear:
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“She’ll take the blame for everything,” Daniel’s recorded voice sneered on screen. “Amelia’s name is on the shell corporations. Once the prosecutors lock her away, the board will vote me full ownership of her father’s remaining thirty percent shares. She has no money, no family, and no way to fight back.”
The ballroom exploded into absolute pandemonium.
