Chapter 6 - The Trap Sprung at the Law Firm
At 3:30 PM, the executive conference room on the twentieth floor of the Vance & Associates building in downtown San Antonio was bathed in bright afternoon light. The glass walls offered a panoramic view of the city skyline.
Behind the double doors, sitting at the end of a long mahogany table, sat my father, my mother, and my sister Brooke.
My father was wearing his best dark suit, pressing a handkerchief to his eyes, putting on a heroic display of tragic fatherhood. My mother sat beside him, patting his arm with practiced tenderness, while Brooke sat quietly, playing a game on her phone beneath the edge of the table.
In front of them sat two paralegals, serving them chilled bottled water and fresh pastries.
Through the two-way glass of the adjacent observation room, Arthur Vance, Sheriff Buford, two plainclothes state troopers, and I watched their every move.
"Look at them," I whispered, holding a cold cup of water. "Not a single genuine tear. They think they won."
"Your father called the insurance adjuster from the car on his way down here," Arthur noted, checking his tablet. "He formally notified them of your 'disappearance in the storm.' He’s rushing the timeline because he knows your birthday is in forty-eight hours."
"Let's give him what he came for," Sheriff Buford muttered, leaning his heavy frame against the observation window.
Arthur stepped out of the observation room and entered the main conference room, closing the door behind him.
Through the speaker system, we listened into every word.
"Dale, Denise, Brooke," Arthur said warmly, shaking my father’s hand. "Thank you for coming on such short notice during this horrific ordeal."
Dale wiped his eyes with the handkerchief, letting out a ragged sigh. "Thank you for seeing us, Arthur. The police... they haven't found Katie’s body yet, but they found her car lodged against the lower bridge pylons. It's... it's crushed, Arthur. Completely crushed."
Denise placed a trembling hand over her heart. "We're just in absolute shock. Our sweet baby girl... gone."
"It is an unimaginable tragedy," Arthur said smoothly, pulling a thick stack of legal documents from his leather folder and placing them in the center of the table. "As you know, Evelyn’s trust explicitly states that upon the event of Kate’s untimely passing before her twenty-fifth birthday, the three million dollars in liquid assets and real estate holdings immediately transfer to you, Dale."
Dale’s eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp glint of unmistakable avarice before he quickly forced his head down in a posture of grief. "We don't care about the money, Arthur. We just want closure. But... given the business debts I’ve accrued during this terrible economy, settling the estate quickly would help us keep our home."
"Of course," Arthur replied, handing Dale a expensive Montblanc fountain pen. "I have the emergency probate transfer documents ready right here. Once you sign Section 4—attesting under penalty of perjury that Kate Miller passed away during the flood event of September 15th—the funds will be wired to your escrow account within twenty-four hours."
My father didn't hesitate. He reached for the pen, unscrewing the cap with eager, practiced ease.
"Wait, Dale," Denise whispered softly, leaning in. "Should we read the waiver first?"
"It's standard, Denise," Dale snapped under his breath, his fake grief slipping for a fraction of a second. "Arthur knows what he's doing."
He pressed the nib of the pen to the paper and signed his name in large, sprawling cursive: Dale Vance Miller.
He slid the paper to Denise. She signed her name right beneath his: Denise Miller.
"Done," Dale said, leaning back in his chair, a long, deep sigh of immense satisfaction escaping his lungs. "What happens next, Arthur?"
May you like
Arthur slowly picked up the signed document, blowing lightly on the ink to let it dry.
"What happens next, Dale," Arthur said, his tone turning as cold as liquid nitrogen, "is that you face federal fraud charges."
