CHAPTER 8
Abigail spent the night in Arthur's office.
He had a couch in the back room. It wasn't comfortable, but it was safe.
She didn't sleep.
She sat at his desk, going through the voice recorder again and again, transcribing every word of the confrontation in the hallway.
Each time she heard Spencer's voice—cold, threatening, unrecognizable—a little piece of the mother inside her died.
But with each word she wrote down, the woman inside her grew stronger.
At six in the morning, Arthur's investigator arrived. His name was Jake. He was in his thirties, with a scar across his left cheek and eyes that missed nothing.
“I've been watching Victoria's apartment all night,” he said. “Marcus showed up around midnight. They're all in there together. Spencer checked himself out of the hospital an hour ago. Against medical advice.”
Abigail's heart sank. “He left the hospital?”
“Yep. Dumped the IVs, changed into regular clothes, and walked out like nothing was wrong. Told the nurses he was going home with family. Didn't mention you.”
Of course he didn't.
The mask was off. The performance was over.
“They know I'm not going to just hand over the money,” she said. “They're going to try to take it.”
Jake nodded. “That's why we're going to be ready. Arthur has arranged for two plainclothes officers to be at the lottery headquarters. They'll be posing as office workers. And we'll have more waiting outside. As soon as they make their move, we move in.”
Abigail looked at Arthur. “And the trust?”
“Already drawn up. The moment you sign the claim forms, the money goes into an irrevocable trust. You are the sole trustee. No one else can touch it. Not Spencer. Not Victoria. Not anyone.”
He slid a document across the desk.
“Read it. Sign it. And it becomes effective the second the lottery deposits the funds.”
Abigail read through the document carefully. Every word was a shield. Every clause was a wall between her and the people who wanted to destroy her.
She signed it.
At seven thirty, they left for the lottery headquarters.
Abigail wore her best dress. The one she'd worn to her husband's funeral. It felt appropriate.
She was burying the mother she used to be.
The lottery headquarters was in a modern glass building downtown. Bright lights. Clean floors. People smiling like they had the best jobs in the world.
Arthur had called ahead. They were expected.
The claiming process took two hours.
She had to show her ID. Verify the ticket. Answer questions. Pose for photos that would be released to the press.
“Are you sure you want your name made public?” the official asked. “Some winners prefer to stay anonymous.”
Abigail looked at Arthur. He gave a tiny nod.
“I want my name out there,” she said. “I want everyone to know.”
The official smiled. “Wonderful. And what do you plan to do with the money, Mrs. Riley?”
She thought of Spencer. Of Victoria. Of Marcus. Of Naomi.
“I plan to take care of myself,” she said. “For the first time in a very long time.”
The official beamed. “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”
By ten o'clock, it was done.
Abigail Riley was officially twenty million dollars richer.
And the money was safely locked away in a trust no one could touch.
They walked out of the building.
The press release would go out in an hour. The news would spread fast.
Spencer would hear about it. And he would come.
“Now what?” Abigail asked.
“Now we wait,” Arthur said. “We go back to my office. And we let them make the first move.”
The drive back to Arthur's office was quiet.
Abigail's phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times.
She didn't need to look to know who was calling.
The press release hit at eleven.
By eleven fifteen, her phone was ringing nonstop.
Friends. Neighbors. Distant relatives she hadn't spoken to in years.
And Spencer.
Finally, at eleven thirty, a text came through.
“Mom. We need to talk. Now. I'm outside Arthur's office building. Come down. Or I come up.”
Abigail's hands shook.
“He's here.”
Arthur stood up. “The police are in position. Jake is downstairs. Everything is going to be fine. Just remember—keep him talking. Get him to say what he wants. Get him to threaten you again. And we've got him.”
She took a deep breath.
“I can do this.”
She walked down to the lobby.
Spencer was standing by the front doors. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. No hospital gown. No pale makeup.
He looked healthy. Strong.
The truth of it hit her all over again.
He had never been sick. Not once.
“Mom,” he said, his voice tight. “Congratulations. Twenty million dollars. You must be thrilled.”
“Spencer. What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? I'm here to collect what's mine. We had an agreement.”
“We had no agreement. You threatened me.”
He laughed. A harsh, bitter sound.
“Threatened you? Please. I was just trying to make you understand the situation. You have all this money now. And you're getting older. What are you going to do with it? You can't take it with you.”
He stepped closer.
“Give me what I'm owed, Mom. And we can all walk away happy.”
“Owed? What do I owe you? After everything you've taken from me already? After the lies? The manipulation?”
Spencer's face darkened.
“Don't start with me, Mom. I'm not in the mood. You have two choices. Either you sign over control of that trust to me right now, or things get very unpleasant for you.”
“Is that a threat, Spencer?”
He leaned in. His voice was low. Dangerous.
“Consider it a promise. I have people who can make your life miserable. People who can make sure you never enjoy a single penny of that money. Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder? Wondering if today is the day someone breaks into your house? Or worse?”
Abigail's heart was pounding. But she held his gaze.
“Or what, Spencer? What will you do to me? Your own mother?”
He smiled. And it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.
“Whatever it takes.”
From the corner of the lobby, two men stepped forward.
They weren't office workers.
“Spencer Riley?” one of them said, pulling out a badge. “You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit extortion, fraud, and making terroristic threats.”
Spencer's face went white.
“What? What is this?”
The second officer moved forward and placed him in handcuffs.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Spencer looked at Abigail. His eyes were wide with shock and rage.
“You set me up! You bitch! You set me up!”
The officers led him away. He was still screaming. Still threatening.
Abigail stood alone in the lobby, her legs trembling.
It was over.
Or so she thought.
Arthur came down the stairs. Jake was with him.
“Where are Victoria and Marcus?” Abigail asked.
Jake's face was grim.
“They're not here. My team was watching Victoria's apartment. They left an hour ago. They knew something was wrong. They're gone.”
Abigail's blood ran cold.
“Gone where?”
“We don't know yet. But they're still out there. And they know you have the money. And they know Spencer is in custody.”
Arthur put a hand on her shoulder.
“It's okay, Abigail. The police will find them. They can't run forever.”
But Abigail wasn't so sure.
Because Victoria Marsh was a convicted fraudster. A woman who had scammed elderly people out of their life savings. A woman who had blackmailed her own boyfriend.
A woman who had nothing left to lose.
And she was still out there.
With Marcus.
And they knew everything about Abigail.
Where she lived. What she looked like. Who she was.
Abigail walked to the window and looked out at the street.
Somewhere out there, two dangerous people were free.
May you like
And they had every reason to want her dead.
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