Chapter 6 - The Trap is Sprung
At 0400 hours, the Vance family estate on Voss Ridge was lit up like a Christmas tree.
The sprawling six-bedroom mansion sat at the end of a private winding driveway, surrounded by manicured lawns and high stone walls. Parked in the circular driveway was a dark blue Bentley with tinted windows and Florida state license plates—the Miami investors.
Inside the grand study, Arthur Vance sat at a massive mahogany desk, sweating profusely despite the blast of the central air conditioning. Across from him stood Jackson, his wrist wrapped in a tight black brace from our encounter three nights ago.
Sitting in a leather armchair was a heavy-set man in a thousand-dollar linen suit named Frank Moretti—a representative of the offshore syndicate Arthur owed four million dollars to.
On the desk between them lay a thick stack of legal papers: a forged Quitclaim Deed transferring full ownership of my downtown apartment to Vance Development Group, complete with a beautifully executed counterfeit of my signature and a stamped notary seal from a crooked notary Arthur had paid off ten thousand dollars.
"Is this clean?" Moretti asked in a deep, gravelly voice, turning a cigar between his fingers. "If I take this property as collateral for Arthur's debt, I don't want some federal agent knocking on my door claiming her signature was forged."
Jackson stepped forward, grinning eagerly. "It's totally clean, Frank. My wife signed it yesterday afternoon. She realized it was in her best interest to cooperate."
"And she won't cause trouble?" Moretti pressed, narrowing his eyes.
"She's a military bureaucrat," Arthur chimed in, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "She gave us a little resistance at dinner the other night, but once my son explained the reality of the situation, she folded. She knows if she pushes back, we'll ruin her military standing."
"Is that so?" a voice echoed from the doorway of the study.
All three men froze.
I stepped into the room.
I was wearing my full Class A uniform—impeccably ironed, stars and ribbons glowing under the chandelier, my CID badge pinned prominently above my heart. My hands were resting casually behind my back.
Beside me stood two agents from the Internal Revenue Service Criminal Investigation Division, flanked by four state troopers in broad-brimmed hats.
Genesis, who had been sitting on the sofa in the adjoining living room sipping gin, dropped her crystal glass. It shattered against the tile floor, sending liquid splashing across her designer shoes.
"Evelyn?!" Jackson gasped, backing up against the bookshelves, his face turning the color of chalk. "How... how did you get past the gate?!"
"Your gatekeeper was very cooperative once he saw four state trooper vehicles behind my truck," I replied smoothly, taking three slow, deliberate steps toward the mahogany desk.
Arthur stood up, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and terror. "This is private property! You have no right to be in my home!"
"Arthur Vance," the lead IRS Special Agent announced, stepping forward with a thick leather briefcase. "We are executing a federal seizure warrant issued ninety minutes ago by the United States District Court. Every asset, account, and property registered to Vance Development Group has been frozen under federal racketeering and anti-fraud statutes."
Moretti stood up from his leather chair, immediately putting his hands in the air. "I'm just a lender! I have nothing to do with their internal business!"
"Sit back down, Mr. Moretti," the IRS agent commanded. "Federal officers are currently seizing your Bentley outside."
Jackson looked at the forged quitclaim deed lying on the desk, then at me. His eyes were wide with pure panic. "Evelyn... baby... please. We can talk about this! It’s a family matter!"
"Family?" I asked, stepping right up to the edge of the desk and picking up the forged document. I held it up to the light, inspecting my fake signature with a cold, amused smile. "You tried to steal my home. You sent two men to break into my apartment while I slept. You threatened my career. And you call this a family matter?"
"You ruined us!" Genesis screamed from the doorway, rushing into the room with her nails clawed like a harpy. "You treacherous bitch! You came into our lives and destroyed everything!"
Before she could reach me, a female state trooper caught Genesis by the arms, pivoted her around, and snapped steel handcuffs around her wrists.
"Genesis Vance," the trooper said calmly. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit extortion and tax fraud."
"Let go of me! Jackson! Arthur! Do something!" Genesis shrieked, kicking her feet as she was led out toward the patrol cars.
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Arthur collapsed back into his leather chair, his head in his hands, weeping silently as IRS agents began packing his financial ledgers into evidence boxes.
Jackson stood alone in the center of the room, looking at me like a drowning man watching the last lifeboat pull away.
