Chapter 11 - The Trap Springs
For a terrifying three seconds, Camille just stared at me, her chest heaving as her desperate scheme collapsed before her eyes. Then, her shock curdled into pure, unhinged rage.
"You ruined my life!" she screamed, gesturing aggressively to the laborers to keep moving, though the men had frozen, realizing they were in the middle of a major crime. "I was supposed to run this company! I was the one who charmed the clients while you sat in a dark room typing on a keyboard!"
She marched down the metal loading ramp toward me, her eyes locked onto my blue fiberglass cast. "You think you're so brilliant because you have a few files from Dad? You're nothing! I should have broken your neck instead of your arm when I had the chance!"
"Did you hear that?" I asked aloud, my voice echoing calmly across the quiet pavement.
Camille stopped two feet away from me, frowning in confusion. "What?"
I lifted my good hand, tapping the lapel of my coat where a small, high-definition camera and microphone transmitter were pinned. "I asked if you heard that. Because the U.S. Attorney, Sgt. Miller, and six federal agents sitting in the surveillance van parked right behind that shipping container definitely just heard you confess to attempted murder and corporate burglary on a live feed."
Camille’s face went completely slack. She turned her head slowly toward the rows of dark shipping containers just as the high-beams of three black tactical SUVs flicked on, blinding her with brilliant white light.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation! Nobody move! Hands in the air!"
Doors slammed open as a dozen armed federal agents and local police officers swarmed the loading dock. The hired laborers instantly dropped their crates and put their hands on their heads.
Camille stumbled backward, her legs shaking so violently she almost tripped over her own feet. She looked at me, her eyes wide with animal terror, realizing the depth of the trap I had sprung.
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"Sydney... please..." she whispered, her voice breaking into a pathetic whine. "We're sisters..."
"We stopped being sisters the moment you twisted my wrist and left me screaming on the floor," I replied coldly as two FBI agents grabbed her arms, pinning her against the side of the box truck to slap a fresh set of heavy steel cuffs over her wrists.
