Chapter 6 - The Trap We Set For The Most Powerful Man In Dallas
We spent the next 20 hours planning. The DA’s team wired both me and Claire with tiny, undetectable mics sewn into the lining of our clothes, and Marcus hid three high-def cameras in the private dining room of the French restaurant Roger had chosen for the meeting—one in the chandelier, one in the plant by the window, one in the fake salt shaker on the table. Javi would be in the van outside, listening to every word, and the DA and a team of undercover cops would be two tables over, pretending to be on a date, ready to move the second Roger admitted to anything.
“Remember,” the DA said, going over the plan one last time in the parking lot before we went in. “Let him talk. Don’t push. Act scared. Act like you’re ready to take the deal. The more he brags, the more he admits, the better. And if Margaret shows up? Don’t panic. We’ve got extra officers posted outside just in case.”
I nodded, squeezing Claire’s hand. She was wearing a simple black dress, her hair down, no makeup, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in a week—perfect for the part of the scared, defeated wife Roger expected to see. I wore a rumpled suit, my tie loose, the same suit I’d worn to the office the night I’d seen the camera feed. We looked broken. We looked like we’d give anything to make the pain stop.
Roger was already at the table when we walked in, sitting in the head chair, a bottle of expensive wine open in front of him, Margaret’s sleazy lawyer, Stan, next to him. He stood up when he saw us, smiling that fake politician smile, and held out his hand. I shook it. It was cold, clammy, like holding a dead fish.
“Ethan. Claire. So glad you could make it.” He gestured to the chairs across from him. “Sit. Let’s talk like reasonable people.”
We sat. Claire kept her eyes down, her hands folded in her lap, shaking a little on purpose. I leaned forward, my voice tight, like I was holding back tears.
“We’ll take the deal,” I said. “Just… make it all go away. Please. I can’t lose my family.”
Roger beamed, pouring us each a glass of wine. “That’s what I like to hear. Smart. You always were the smart one, Ethan, even when your mother was making you act like an idiot. Now—here’s how this works. You sign this retraction tonight.” He slid a stack of papers across the table. “Says you fabricated all the evidence against Margaret, that you were under extreme work stress, that Claire’s postpartum depression made you lash out. Stan will file it with the DA first thing tomorrow. By noon, all charges against Margaret are dropped. In exchange, I’ll have the bribe files burned tonight. And Victoria will send over a full retraction of the design theft claims against Claire, plus a $500k settlement for the trouble. Everyone walks away clean.”
“Just like that?” Claire said, her voice small, looking up at him for the first time. “No more threats? No more coming after us?”
Roger laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Honey, I don’t make threats. I make promises. And I promise you—if you sign those papers, you never hear from me or Margaret again. You get your little life back. You raise your little boy. You forget any of this ever happened. But if you don’t…” He shrugged, his smile turning cold. “Well. You know what happens. And trust me—you don’t want to find out how far I’ll go to protect my sister. I covered up one murder for her. What’s one more, if it means keeping her out of prison?”
The room went quiet. Claire’s hand tightened around mine under the table. This was it. The admission we needed.
I stood up, slow, pulling the retraction papers out of my pocket and dropping them on the table. “Actually, Roger. We’re not signing anything.”
His smile faded. “What?”
“Everything you just said,” I said, tapping the mic sewn into my shirt. “It’s on tape. Every word. The bribes. Covering up my dad’s murder. Threatening to kill us. The DA’s been listening this whole time. And so have the cops sitting two tables over.”
Roger’s face went white. He stood up so fast his chair tipped over, and Stan scrambled back, his hands up. “You little son of a bitch. You set me up.”
He reached for his pocket, and before I could move, the door to the dining room burst open. Margaret stood there, her face bruised from hitting the desk, wearing a hospital gown and a leather jacket she must’ve stolen from a nurse, a small silver gun in her hand. She’d paid off the guard at the hospital, snuck out, and followed Roger to the meeting. She was wild, her hair sticking up, her eyes bloodshot, and when she saw me and Claire she screamed, raising the gun.
“You!” she yelled, pointing it straight at Claire. “You took everything from me! My son! My grandson! My life! I’m going to kill you, you little bitch!”
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Time slowed down. I saw the undercover cops stand up, their guns drawn. I saw Roger dive under the table. I saw Claire freeze, her eyes wide, and I didn’t think. I just moved, stepping in front of her, my arms out, shielding her body with mine.
The gun went off.
