CHAPTER 5
Abigail didn't sleep that night.
She sat at her kitchen table with Naomi's notes and the pen recorder, going over every detail, every word, until the sun came up.
The pattern was clear.
Spencer and Victoria had been working this for months. Maybe longer.
She called Arthur first thing in the morning.
“They know. Or at least they suspect. Victoria heard about the lottery win from the store owner.”
Arthur was quiet for a moment. “That complicates things. But it also gives us an opportunity. If they think you have the money but haven't claimed it yet, they'll make their move. And when they do, we'll be ready.”
“What do I do?”
“Keep playing your part. But now, we add another layer. I want you to let them think you're scared. That you're overwhelmed by the possibility of having that much money. That you need Spencer to help you handle it.”
“Why?”
“Because arrogant people make mistakes when they think they're in control. If Spencer believes you're looking to him for guidance, he'll push harder. He'll reveal more of his plan. And we'll catch every word of it.”
Abigail thought of the coldness in Spencer's voice on the recording. The way he'd said That changes everything.
“Arthur... Naomi said she didn't think he'd stop at lying. Do you think he could actually hurt me?”
The lawyer sighed. “I've seen people do terrible things for far less than twenty million dollars. I don't want to scare you, but I also don't want you to be naive. Take precautions. Change the locks on your doors. Vary your routine. And for God's sake, don't meet anyone alone anywhere private.”
“I already changed the locks.”
“Good. Now, I had my investigator look into Victoria. You should know what we found.”
He paused, shuffling papers.
“Her full name is Victoria Marsh. She's twenty-eight. Originally from Florida. She has a criminal record.”
Abigail's breath caught. “What kind?”
“Fraud. Embezzlement. She served two years for scamming elderly people out of their savings. Got out eighteen months ago. And here's the interesting part—she was released to a halfway house in this city. Six months before your son got 'sick.'”
The pieces clicked into place.
“She targeted him.”
“Or he targeted her. Either way, they found each other. And they found you.”
Arthur went on. “My investigator also looked into Spencer's business. That print shop he claims is failing?”
“What about it?”
“It's not failing. It's actually doing reasonably well. He's been siphoning profits into a separate account. An account Victoria has access to.”
Abigail closed her eyes. The print shop. She'd given him ten thousand dollars just three months ago to “save” it.
“How much has he taken from me total, do you think?”
“Based on what we can see so far? At least forty thousand dollars in the last year alone. Probably more. And that's not counting the jewelry or the items you pawned.”
Forty thousand dollars. Money she'd saved for retirement. Money her husband had worked thirty years to leave her.
Gone.
All gone.
“There's one more thing,” Arthur said. “Naomi. The nurse who contacted you.”
“What about her?”
“We checked her out. Her story checks out. Her mother did pass away last year. And her brother did drain her savings. She has no connection to your son or Victoria. She appears to be exactly who she says she is.”
Abigail let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
“Thank God.”
“But Abigail? Be careful anyway. Trust no one completely. Not even me. Verify everything. That's the only way you'll get through this.”
She promised him she would.
After hanging up, she called Naomi. They arranged to meet at a different location this time—a park near the hospital, where there were plenty of people around.
Naomi arrived during her lunch break, still in scrubs.
“I heard the recording,” Abigail said without preamble. “They suspect I won the lottery. Victoria found out from the store owner.”
Naomi's face went pale. “That's bad. Really bad. Victoria doesn't play games. When she wants something, she goes all in.”
“Arthur told me about her record. The fraud. The embezzlement.”
Naomi nodded. “I heard her talking to Spencer once about Florida. About how she used to 'help' old people with their finances. I didn't realize at the time what she really meant.”
She sat down on a bench beside Abigail.
“I need to tell you something else. Something I saw last night. After you left the hospital.”
“What?”
“Victoria came to visit Spencer. They didn't know I was still on duty. I was restocking the supply closet down the hall. I heard them arguing.”
“About what?”
“About you. About the lottery. Victoria was pushing Spencer to do something. Something he didn't want to do. She kept saying it was the only way to be sure. That if you claimed the prize in your own name, you might change your mind about giving him anything.”
Naomi's hands were shaking.
“Spencer kept saying it was too much. That he couldn't go that far. And then Victoria said something that made my blood run cold.”
“What did she say?”
Naomi looked her directly in the eyes.
“She said, 'You don't have a choice anymore. If she wins that money and doesn't need you, what's to stop her from finding out the truth? And if she finds out, we both go to prison. Do you want that? Because I don't. So either you do what I say, or I'll tell her everything myself. And then I'll tell the police you were the mastermind. I'll make sure you're the one who goes away for a long time.'”
Abigail felt sick.
“She's blackmailing him.”
“Or he's letting her blackmail him. Either way, it means the stakes just got a lot higher. Victoria is cornered. And cornered people do desperate things.”
Naomi reached into her pocket and pulled out another piece of paper.
“I wrote down the license plate number of her car. It's parked in the hospital lot most days. And I found out where she lives. An apartment complex on the west side. Building C, apartment 312.”
Abigail took the paper. “Why are you doing this? You're risking so much.”
“Because I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you. Not when I could have stopped it.”
Naomi stood up. Her lunch break was almost over.
“Be careful, Mrs. Riley. And whatever you do—don't let them see you coming.”
She left quickly, blending into the crowd of people walking through the park.
Abigail sat alone on the bench, the new information swirling in her head.
Victoria Marsh. Convicted fraudster. Blackmailer.
Spencer. Her son. Caught in a web of his own making, or spinning it himself?
And twenty million dollars hanging over all of it like a sword.
She pulled out her phone and called Arthur again.
“I need you to have your investigator watch Victoria. Everywhere she goes. Everyone she talks to. I want to know everything she does.”
“Already on it,” Arthur said. “And Abigail? I think it's time we moved up the timeline. If they're getting desperate, we need to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to claim that prize. And ready to spring the trap.”
That afternoon, Abigail went back to the hospital.
She had a performance to give.
Spencer was awake when she entered, looking even paler than before. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was genuinely getting worse.
“Mom,” he whispered. “I don't feel good. Something's wrong.”
She sat beside him and took his hand. It was cold. Clammy.
He was really committing to this.
“What is it, baby? What hurts?”
“Everything,” he said, his voice trembling. “And I keep having these thoughts. These terrible thoughts. What if something happens to me? What if I never get to see you happy again?”
He looked at her with those big, wet eyes. The eyes that had always made her weak.
“Mom, that good news you mentioned yesterday... is it about money? Did you get some kind of inheritance or something?”
There it was.
The trap.
She let her face fall. Let her shoulders slump. Let him see what he wanted to see—fear. Uncertainty.
“I... I don't want to talk about it right now. Not when you're feeling this way.”
“Please, Mom. I need to know. If there's money, maybe it could help. Maybe we could get the best doctors. The best treatments.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I just want to make sure you're taken care of too. If something happens to me, I don't want you to struggle.”
The lies tasted like ash. But she kept her face soft. Vulnerable.
“I did come into some money,” she said quietly. “A lot of money. But I don't know what to do about it. I've never had this kind of responsibility before. I need you, Spencer. I need your help to figure it out.”
His eyes lit up. Just for a second. Then he masked it with concern.
“Of course I'll help you, Mom. Whatever you need. We'll figure it out together.”
Perfect.
He thought he had her. He thought he was in control.
Let him think that.
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
“Thank you, baby. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
As she pulled back, she saw it again. That flicker of satisfaction. That cold calculation behind the loving son mask.
And for the first time since she'd overheard him in that hospital room, Abigail didn't feel like crying.
She felt like smiling.
Because the trap wasn't his.
May you like
It was hers.
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