Chapter 8 - Checkmate
The silence in the dining room was suffocating. Marcus looked frantically from Eleanor to me.
“Clara, what is going on?” he demanded, trying to mask his rising panic with fake outrage. “Why is she out of bed? She has severe dementia! She could hurt herself!”
I reached beneath the table and placed a thick, black leather folder directly in front of his plate.
“Open it,” I commanded.
Marcus hesitated, then flipped the cover open. The first page was a high-resolution photograph of the flash drive hidden in the air vent. The second page was a printed transcript of the audio recording where he and Sylvia discussed my supposed 'neglect' and their plan to let Eleanor die.
Sylvia grabbed the folder, her hands shaking violently. “This… this is illegal! You recorded us in our own home! This is inadmissible!”
“Actually, it’s a security system you explicitly consented to when you moved in,” I corrected her, taking a slow sip of my water. “But if you prefer medical evidence, turn to page four.”
Marcus flipped the page. It was the official toxicology report from the independent lab, signed and notarized, detailing the exact chemical breakdown of the sedatives found in Eleanor’s blood.
“You poisoned your own grandmother,” I said, my voice like ice. “And you tried to use me as your alibi.”
“It’s fake!” Marcus shouted, slamming his fist on the table. He stood up, knocking his chair backward. “You forged this! You’re trying to set us up because you’re a paranoid, controlling bitch!”
“Turn to page six, Marcus,” I said softly.
May you like
He looked down. It was a digital trace log, complete with IP addresses, routing numbers, and a federal hold notice from the FBI regarding the offshore LLC, ‘Apex Holdings’.
“The million dollars never left the country, Marcus,” I smiled, a predator showing its teeth. “I bounced it into a federal escrow account. The Russian syndicate in Vegas isn't getting their money. But they do know exactly where you live.”
