Chapter 6 - THE TRAP IS SET
Detective Marcus Vance arrived at the bank twenty minutes later, accompanied by two plainclothes investigators.
We sat in a private conference room on the second floor while Marcus viewed the video statement, reviewed the toxicology reports, and examined the ledger detailing Jean’s offshore accounts.
His face grew darker with every passing second.
"This is airtight, Harper," Marcus said, setting his pen down on the table and looking at me with dead seriousness. "This isn't just murder. This is premeditated grand larceny, corporate fraud, and obstruction of justice on a massive scale."
"Where is she now?" I demanded. "Her house on Oak Ridge was burned down last night by two men she hired. She was supposed to fly to Paris last night!"
Marcus pulled out his tablet and typed rapidly.
"She didn't board that flight," Marcus revealed, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "Port Authority records show she canceled her ticket at eight PM yesterday. She booked a private charter flight out of Teterboro Airport in New Jersey instead. Departure time is scheduled for six o'clock this evening."
I looked at my watch. It was eleven-thirty in the morning. We had less than seven hours before Jean slipped out of the country on a non-custodial private jet to a non-extradition territory.
"Can't you arrest her right now at her hotel?" I asked.
"We don't know which hotel she's staying at," Marcus explained, shaking his head. "She used a fake passport and a shell company credit card to make her arrangements. If we throw up border alerts too early, her legal team will tip her off, and she'll go dark in the city before we can corner her."
He looked at me, a sharp idea forming in his eyes.
"We need her to reveal her exact location," Marcus said. "We need her to come to us."
I thought for a moment, my mind racing through every conversation I had ever had with my sister. Jean was arrogant, narcissistic, and obsessed with control. She believed she was infinitely smarter than everyone else in our family.
"She thinks Bailey is terrified of her," I said slowly, a cold smile forming on my lips. "She thinks Bailey is a harmless ten-year-old who will do whatever she's told."
I looked at Marcus. "Give me a secure phone line."
"Harper, what are you planning?" Marcus asked, leaning forward.
"I'm going to call my sister," I said. "And I'm going to give her a reason to come meet me in person."
Ten minutes later, I sat at the conference table with a secure, trace-enabled mobile unit in front of me. Marcus gestured for the technicians to begin recording.
I dialed Jean’s private cell number.
The phone rang three times before a sharp, familiar voice answered.
"Harper?" Jean barked, her tone laced with immediate annoyance. "Why are you calling me? I told you I was on vacation. I'm busy."
"Jean," I said, putting on a shaking, frantic voice, making myself sound panicked and overwhelmed. "You need to come back. Something terrible happened."
"What are you talking about?" she snapped.
"It's Bailey," I sobbed convincingly into the receiver. "She ran away this morning. She left a note saying she was going to David’s old office in the city to find his safety deposit key. Jean... she said she knows where the key is!"
Silence stretched over the line. Cold, deadly silence.
"Where is she now, Harper?" Jean’s voice dropped into a dangerous, icy whisper.
"I tracked her phone to the old waterfront warehouse on Pier 14," I gasped. "She's locked inside the office! Jean, please... she won't open the door for me. She says she's going to give the key to the police! You have to help me before she ruins everything!"
On the other end of the line, I heard Jean let out a slow, sharp breath.
"Stay right there, Harper," Jean commanded, her voice terrifyingly calm. "Don't call anyone. Don't touch anything. I'll be there in thirty minutes."
The line went dead.
Marcus looked at me and grinned. "Got her. Trace confirmed. She's leaving a boutique hotel in Midtown right now."
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I stood up from the table, my heart cold as stone.
"Let's go meet my sister."
