Chapter 3 - The $250,000 Trap Springs
Garrett sat in the stark, freezing interrogation room of the 4th Precinct, nursing his heavily splinted wrist. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the frantic, panicked math running through his head.
He needed to get out of here. He needed that $250,000 wire transfer to clear so he could post bail and hire a lawyer who could spin this. Evelyn was just being dramatic. She would drop the charges once he threatened to cut off her credit cards.
The heavy metal door swung open, and two detectives walked in, carrying a thick manila folder.
"Mr. Blackwood," the lead detective, a tired-looking woman named Miller, said as she dropped the file onto the metal table with a heavy thud. "You’ve had a very busy morning. Aggravated assault, domestic battery, and attempted feticide."
"It's a misunderstanding!" Garrett snapped, leaning forward. "My wife is mentally unstable. She’s prone to hysterical fits. I was trying to restrain her for her own safety. Just let me make my phone call. I have the funds to post bail immediately."
Detective Miller raised an eyebrow. She opened the folder and slid a single sheet of paper across the table.
It was the digital receipt of the $250,000 wire transfer authorization I had told Victor to send him.
"You mean this money?" Miller asked.
"Yes," Garrett sneered. "My business investments finally paid off. So, if you don't mind—"
"Mr. Blackwood, take a closer look at the sender's origin," Miller interrupted, leaning her weight onto the table.
Garrett scowled and squinted at the paper. His eyes scanned past the amount, down to the corporate routing information.
Authorized by: Davenport Holdings Global. Beneficiary Account: Frozen pending fraud investigation. Memo: Bait.
Garrett’s face lost all its color. He looked up, his jaw slack. "Davenport? Like... the Davenport empire? That's a mistake. My wife is a nobody from the suburbs."
"Your wife," Detective Miller said coldly, "is Evelyn Davenport. Sole heir to the Davenport fortune. And it seems, Mr. Blackwood, that for the last three years, she’s the one who has been secretly bailing out your failing companies through proxy LLCs. We’ve just received a mountain of financial documents from her legal team. Your 'business empire' is built entirely on her hidden charity."
Garrett felt the room spin. The air was suddenly sucked from his lungs.
"No," he whispered. "No, she’s quiet. She’s submissive. She doesn't have a dime to her name!"
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"Well, she does now," Miller smirked. "And she just revoked every single signature she ever forged to save your ass. Which means you are currently millions of dollars in debt. You have no bail money, Mr. Blackwood. You have nothing."
Garrett stared at the word Bait on the paper, the reality of his doom finally crashing down on him. The quiet, pathetic woman he had left to die on a rug had just buried him alive.
