Chapter 4 - The Art of the Trap
The next morning, the hospital room was flooded with sunlight and police officers.
Detective Miller sat beside my bed. My throat was raw from the tube, but I could finally speak in a hoarse whisper.
“They denied everything,” Miller said, rubbing his tired eyes. “Ryan claims he knows nothing about the brakes. Claire claims she was at a spa all day. Without hard proof linking them directly to the tampering, the District Attorney won’t press attempted murder charges. We need a confession.”
Ms. Parker, sitting on my other side, nodded grimly. “They are scared, Emily. But they are also smart. They hired top-tier defense lawyers an hour after we brought them in. They’ve been released on bail.”
I closed my eyes. The thought of Ryan and Claire walking free, sleeping in my house, plotting their next move, made me nauseous.
“Where is Ethan?” I croaked.
“He’s safe,” Ms. Parker assured me. “He’s staying with me. I have private security watching my house 24/7. They can’t get anywhere near him.”
I let out a long breath. That was the only thing that mattered.
“So, how do we catch them?” I asked, looking at the detective.
Miller leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We set a trap. But it requires you to play a very dangerous game, Mrs. Vance.”
He explained the plan. It was risky. It required me to suppress my rage and play the perfect, vulnerable victim.
Two days later, I was moved from the ICU to a private recovery suite.
When Ryan and Claire walked in, flanked by their expensive lawyer, I was staring blankly out the window.
“Emily, honey,” Ryan said, his voice dripping with fake relief as he rushed to my bedside. He tried to grab my hand, but I subtly pulled it under the blanket.
“Ryan?” I whispered, furrowing my brow. I looked at him with wide, confused eyes. “What… what happened?”
Claire stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. “Em? Do you remember the accident?”
I shook my head slowly, letting a single tear fall down my cheek. “No. I just remember waking up here. It hurts… my head hurts so much.”
The doctor, who was in on the sting operation, stepped into the room.
“Retrograde amnesia,” the doctor explained smoothly, reading from a fake chart. “It’s quite common with severe head trauma. She may not remember the days or even weeks leading up to the crash. She needs a calm, stress-free environment.”
I watched the subtle shift in Ryan’s posture. The tension drained out of his shoulders. He looked at Claire, and they exchanged a split-second glance of pure, unadulterated triumph.
They bought it.
They thought I didn't remember the betrayal. They thought I didn't remember the new will. They thought I was still their clueless, wealthy victim.
“Oh, my poor darling,” Ryan said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. It took everything in my power not to vomit. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of everything. You just focus on signing those trust papers we talked about before the crash, and then you can rest.”
“Papers?” I murmured, acting confused.
“Just business, sweetie,” Claire chimed in, smiling sweetly. “To protect the company while you heal.”
“Okay,” I whispered, looking away. “Whatever you say, Ryan.”
As they left the room, confident in their victory, Detective Miller stepped out of the adjacent bathroom where he had been listening.
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He tapped a small recording device in his hand.
“Phase one complete,” Miller said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Now, we give them enough rope to hang themselves.”
