Chapter 4 - THE TRAP IS SET
I didn't call the police immediately. I didn't scream, and I didn't leak the documents to the press.
Instead, I picked up the telephone and called my son.
“Liam,” I said, keeping my tone deliberately soft, vulnerable, and slightly tired.
“Mom?” Liam’s voice answered instantly. He sounded exhausted, stressed, and desperate. “Mom, please tell me you’re willing to talk. Harper has been hysterical for days. We’re staying at a cheap motel near the highway! It’s degrading!”
“I know, son,” I murmured, allowing a fake tremble to enter my voice. “I think... I think I overreacted. My nerves have been so bad since I got back from my trip.”
On the other end of the line, I heard a sudden shift in atmosphere. A background door closed, and I could hear Harper whisper sharply: “Is that her? Put it on speaker!”
“Mom, we just want what’s best for you,” Liam said quickly, his voice smoothing over with that familiar, patronizing warmth. “We were just trying to help. Harper was devastated that you thought she had bad intentions.”
“I understand now,” I lied softly. “The house is so big, and I am so tired of fighting. I’m willing to talk about the arrangement. But I want us to sit down together, face-to-face, in the master bedroom. I want Harper to show me her plans for the house so I can feel comfortable with the changes.”
Harper’s voice cut in, unable to contain her eagerness. “Mom! Oh, thank goodness! We can be there in twenty minutes! We can start fresh!”
“Come at eight o'clock tonight,” I said. “Just the two of you. Let’s keep this between family. No lawyers, no police.”
“We’ll be there,” Harper practically squealed. “Thank you, Margaret. You won't regret this!”
I hung up the phone and looked up at Daniel Mercer, who was standing in the doorway of the bedroom alongside Sergeant Vance and two plainclothes detectives.
“They bit the bait,” I said coldly.
“Everything is set, Mrs. Whitmore,” Sergeant Vance said, checking his watch. “Audio and video recording devices are active throughout the room. We’ll be stationed in the adjacent guest bathroom and inside the security van down the street.”
“Make sure the cameras have a clear view of the wall behind the headboard,” I instructed. “I want her to lay her hands on exactly what she came for.”
I walked over to the bed, smoothed down the Vermont quilt Arthur had bought me, and sat down in the armchair beside the nightstand.
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The stage was set. The trap was baited.
Tonight, Harper Vane would reveal her true face—not just to me, but to the son I had spent my entire life trying to protect from the cruelties of the world.
