Chapter 4 - The House of Traps**
The doorknob rattled—once, twice, then twisted with sudden, violent force.
“Sally?” Eleanor’s voice called out, dangerously sweet, cutting through the silence of the bedroom. “Open the door, dear. We need to talk about your future. You can’t hide in there forever.”
My mind raced. The window? It was a two-story drop to the concrete patio below, and I was eight months pregnant; jumping was out of the question. The ensuite bathroom had a small frosted window, but it opened into the backyard where Eleanor’s car was parked.
I looked down at the letter in my lap, feeling the small, hard bump of the hidden flash drive taped to the back. This little piece of plastic was my armor. But I needed to get out of this house before Eleanor realized I had found it.
I quietly shoved the letter and flash drive deep into my jeans pocket. I pulled the dresser away from the door just enough to create a sliver of space, my heart hammering in my throat.
*Click.*
The bedroom door swung open. Eleanor stood in the threshold, holding a master key ring, a triumphant, terrifying smile plastered across her face.
“There you are,” she purred, stepping into the room. “Honestly, locking doors in this house is so childish, Sally. This is my son’s home. Everything in it belongs to the family—and by family, I mean me.”
“Get out of my room, Eleanor,” I said, standing up and trying to project a steadiness I didn't feel. I placed both hands protectively over my swollen belly.
“Your room?” Eleanor laughed, a sharp, cold sound that echoed off the walls. “Oh, poor, naive Sally. You really think you have any legal standing here? Without Mark’s signature on the updated trust—which, conveniently, vanished from his desk today—you have nothing. You are a penniless widow carrying a bastard child of a dead man.”
The insult stung, but beneath the pain flared a hot, white-hot rage. It was the same stubborn fire Mark had always loved in me.
“You didn’t find the trust, did you?” I challenged, raising my chin. “Because Mark gave it to someone else.”
Eleanor’s smile vanished. Her eyes flashed with predatory fury. She lunged forward with surprising speed, grabbing my wrist. “Give it to me, you little ungrateful parasite! Where is it?”
I cried out, trying to yank my arm back, but her grip was like a steel vise. She shoved me backward against the edge of the bed, sending me tumbling onto the mattress.
“You’re going to sign whatever papers I put in front of you, or I swear to God, I will make sure social services rips that baby out of your arms the second it’s born!” Eleanor shrieked, losing all pretense of civility.
At that exact moment, a loud, heavy pounding echoed from the front door downstairs.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
“Police! Open up!” a commanding voice shouted through the rain.
Eleanor froze, her head snapping toward the hallway. Panic flickered across her face for the first time. “What... who is that?”
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I scrambled backward off the bed, gasping for air. “That,” I whispered, pressing my hand against my pocket where Mark’s flash drive rested, “is the real family estate management.”
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