THE TRAP WAS NEVER ABOUT CLINT

By sunrise, I had stopped thinking about my marriage.

Clint had lied to me.

He had cheated on me.

He had stolen millions.

But compared with what I had just discovered, those betrayals suddenly seemed almost insignificant.

My father’s death had been covered up.

My uncle was involved.

And someone far more powerful had been hiding behind them both.

I sat alone in the forensic office, staring at the photograph from my father’s video.

There was one question I couldn’t escape.

Who was the person controlling everything?

I replayed the recording.

Again.

And again.

Then I noticed something I had missed before.

At the very end of the video, my father had moved closer to the camera.

His eyes shifted toward something beside him.

A small reflection appeared in the glass behind his shoulder.

I paused the video.

“Enhance that.”

The analyst enlarged the image.

The reflection became clearer.

It showed part of a room.

A bookshelf.

A painting.

And a distinctive gold clock.

I stared at it.

I knew that room.

My father’s old study.

But the painting wasn’t there when he died.

I looked at Daniel.

“That’s not from my father’s house.”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“Then where?”

He studied the image.

“I’ve seen that painting.”

“Where?”

He thought for a moment.

“Sterling Global headquarters.”

My heart began racing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I stood.

“Then we go back.”

Miller immediately stepped forward.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s exactly what whoever planted this evidence wants.”

“Maybe.”

“Clara, you’ve already been followed twice.”

“I know.”

“You can’t keep walking into these traps.”

I looked at him.

“Then help me make it a trap for them.”

He stared at me.

I explained my plan.

Thirty minutes later, we arrived at Sterling Global.

The building was surrounded by federal agents.

Every entrance had been sealed.

Meredith’s office was empty.

Clint’s office had already been searched.

But my father’s reflection had pointed us toward one specific room.

The executive boardroom.

We entered.

The painting was still there.

So was the gold clock.

I walked toward it.

Something felt wrong.

I touched the clock.

Nothing.

I moved it slightly.

A hidden compartment opened behind it.

Inside was a small black case.

Miller immediately called the forensic team.

The case contained three things.

A key.

A memory card.

And a photograph.

I picked up the photograph.

My father stood in the center.

Beside him was Richard.

And beside Richard was another man.

I stared at the third person.

I knew him.

I had seen him that night.

At The Obsidian Room.

The innocent-looking investor who had been escorted away during the raid.

The man who had claimed he had nothing to do with Sterling Global.

Daniel looked over my shoulder.

“That’s him.”

“Who?”

“Marcus Vale.”

“Who is he?”

Daniel’s face changed.

“He’s one of the richest private investors in the country.”

“And?”

“He’s also the man who financed Victor Hale.”

I stared at the photograph.

Suddenly everything made sense.

Victor wasn’t at the top.

Richard wasn’t at the top.

Even Sterling Global wasn’t at the top.

Marcus Vale was.

But there was still something that didn’t make sense.

“If Marcus is behind everything, why was he at the club tonight?”

Miller answered.

“To watch.”

“To watch what?”

“You.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“He wanted to know how much you knew.”

My blood ran cold.

Then the memory card was connected to a secure computer.

A single video appeared.

The screen showed my husband.

Clint.

He was sitting in a dark room.

Someone stood behind him.

A man’s voice spoke from the shadows.

“Your wife is becoming a problem.”

Clint looked terrified.

“I didn’t know she was an agent.”

“You should have.”

“I swear, I didn’t.”

“You married her.”

“I loved her.”

The unseen man laughed.

“No.”

A pause.

“You married her because you thought she was weak.”

Clint lowered his head.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take the evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“The ledger.”

“I don’t have it.”

“You will.”

“When?”

“When she trusts you again.”

I felt my stomach twist.

The recording continued.

Clint looked toward the camera.

“What if she finds out?”

The man’s voice became cold.

“Then make sure she doesn’t live long enough to tell anyone.”

The screen went black.

Nobody spoke.

I stared at the monitor.

Clint hadn’t simply betrayed me.

He had been instructed to get close to me.

The marriage.

The affair.

The financial fraud.

Maybe even the invitation to The Obsidian Room.

It had all been part of a plan.

But there was one thing they hadn’t anticipated.

They had underestimated how much I had learned from my father.

I turned toward Miller.

“Where is Clint?”

“In federal custody.”

“Take me to him.”

“You want to confront him?”

“No.”

I picked up the photograph of Marcus Vale.

“I want to make him talk.”

An hour later, Clint was brought into the interrogation room.

He looked exhausted.

When he saw me, he immediately began crying.

“Clara, I never wanted this.”

“You were instructed to marry me.”

He froze.

I placed the photograph from the memory card on the table.

“You were instructed to get close to me.”

“I can explain.”

“You were told to find my father’s ledger.”

“I didn’t know what it was.”

“You were told to kill me if I discovered the truth.”

Clint’s face went white.

“I couldn’t do that.”

“But you were willing to.”

“No!”

He slammed his hands onto the table.

“I loved you!”

I stared at him.

“Then why did you do it?”

He looked down.

“Because they threatened my family.”

“What family?”

“My sister.”

I frowned.

“I don’t have a sister.”

“I do.”

He began crying again.

“They kidnapped her.”

My anger faltered for a moment.

“Who?”

“Marcus.”

I stared at him.

“When?”

“Two years ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because they showed me photographs.”

He covered his face.

“They told me if I talked, she would die.”

I leaned forward.

“Where is she now?”

Clint looked at me.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“They moved her.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

My heart dropped.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Clint.”

He looked terrified.

Then he whispered:

“But I know where they were supposed to take her.”

“Where?”

He swallowed.

“Your father’s old property.”

I froze.

My father had owned only one property outside the city.

A farmhouse we hadn’t visited since I was a child.

The place where he had taught me to ride a bicycle.

The place he had told me never to enter alone.

I stood.

“Get a team ready.”

Miller looked at me.

“Clara, this could be exactly what they’re expecting.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

I picked up my father’s photograph.

“But if my father’s secret is still there…”

I looked toward the door.

“Then this time, we’re going to find it before they do.”

And somewhere across the city, Marcus Vale was already watching the same farmhouse on a security monitor.

He leaned back in his chair.

Then smiled.

“Let her come.”

Because he knew something I didn’t.

The farmhouse wasn’t hiding the ledger.

It was hiding the truth about why my father had really died.