👉 Previous Decision: You chose Option B – Keep the emergency line open, run a historical line-trace through county records, and review the security footage directly with Silas.
“Silas, the line,” Maeve said, her voice tight. “It’s still open. It’s still giving me information.”
Silas leaned closer, his good ear angled towards Maeve’s headset. The rhythmic clicking was unmistakable.
“Trunk-88,” he murmured, his gaze distant. “We need to run a full historical trace. See where that copper goes.”
I pulled up the county’s digital infrastructure map, inputting the archaic Trunk-88 code. Layers of faded blueprints scrolled across the screen.
The lines, a spiderweb of obsolete connections, converged. One particular segment, thick and distinct, led directly to 1442 Old Furnace Road.
“It runs through an abandoned junction box,” I said, pointing. “In the basement.”
Silas nodded, a grim set to his jaw. “That house is a time capsule. Oldest copper lines in the county, right to the core.”
A sharp rap on the dispatch room’s secure glass door made us both jump. A woman in a tailored navy suit stood outside, a leather briefcase clutched in her hand.
“Evelyn Delancey,” Silas said, recognizing her. “Julian’s pitbull.”
Evelyn’s eyes, sharp and intelligent, scanned the room, lingering on the dispatch console. She walked directly to my desk.
“Maeve Hollister,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. She placed a stack of papers on my desk. “Emergency court injunction. Freeze on all bank accounts. Accusation of embezzling $185,000 from the family trust.”
I picked up the documents, my fingers trembling. This was Julian’s retaliation.
Evelyn kept glancing at her wristwatch, her movements agitated. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, a tic unusual for such a composed attorney.
“What is this?” I demanded, my voice cracking. “Julian is having me committed over a damn phone call now?”
Evelyn leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “He ordered this. He’s transferred over $1.4 million in fraudulent liabilities into your name using forged power-of-attorney documents.”
My head snapped up. “$1.4 million? I haven’t seen a power of attorney for anything, ever.”
“He’s panicking,” Evelyn said, her eyes darting to Silas. “There are other, larger debts. This is to force the property sale. He’s desperate.”
I flipped through the injunction papers, my eyes scanning the fine print. There, buried in the legal jargon, I saw it: “Property Valuation: Based on corporate appraisal dated three days hence.”
“This appraisal,” I said, holding up the paper. “It’s for Friday. It hasn’t happened yet.”
Evelyn flinched, her professional facade cracking completely. A vein throbbed in her temple.
“Julian is trying to expedite an emergency tax sale,” she admitted, her voice low and strained. “He needs your inheritance gone, and the house cleared, before his private bridge loans mature.”
Her hands wrung together. The initial accusation of $185,000 was a smokescreen for something far larger, something that put her own legal integrity at risk.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 4 to continue the story
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