Chapter 3 - The Secret Inside the Trophy
I left the hospital the following afternoon.
Daniel wanted to take me home.
I let him.
That sounds insane.
It may have been.
But by then Maya had already arranged something Daniel couldn't see.
Protection.
Every account connected to my company had been placed under enhanced authorization.
No transfer over ten thousand dollars could move without two independent confirmations.
My personal accounts were quietly restricted too.
Daniel could initiate transactions.
He simply couldn't complete them.
Most importantly, he didn't know that.
I needed him to believe his plan was working.
The drive home was almost unbearable.
Daniel kept one hand on the steering wheel and occasionally reached toward me with the other.
Each time, I forced myself not to recoil.
“You scared me,” he said.
I stared through the windshield.
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't have anything to apologize for.”
That sentence nearly made me laugh.
He glanced toward me.
“What do you remember?”
“Not much.”
“Nothing about Claire?”
I waited three seconds.
“I remember her red dress.”
His fingers tightened around the wheel.
“From the dinner?”
“I guess.”
“Anything else?”
I shook my head.
Daniel relaxed.
When we arrived, Claire was waiting.
Of course she was.
She had cleaned the living room.
The broken glass was gone.
The blood was gone.
Even the rug had been replaced.
But the trophy remained.
It sat on the mantel.
Polished.
Centered.
Like nothing had happened.
Claire hugged me.
“I've been so worried.”
I let her.
Her cheek touched mine.
I remembered seventeen years of friendship.
College apartments.
Bad dates.
Her father's funeral.
My mother's cancer.
Claire had been woven into nearly every important memory of my adult life.
Now I wondered which memories had been real.
Daniel carried my bag upstairs.
Claire made tea.
I sat at the kitchen island.
“You really don't remember?” she asked.
I looked confused.
“Remember what?”
Her smile appeared.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
“Nothing.”
That night Daniel slept beside me.
I did not sleep at all.
At 2:14 a.m., his breathing became deep and regular.
I waited another twenty minutes.
Then I slipped out of bed.
The trophy was downstairs.
I removed the recorder.
Its internal memory contained local backups.
But I couldn't risk playing them.
Instead, I connected it briefly to the secure tablet hidden in my home office.
Seven recordings.
I put in earbuds.
Recording one began eighteen days earlier.
Daniel's voice.
“Owen says the signature won't be enough.”
Claire answered.
“Then use the medical authorization.”
My stomach turned.
Recording two.
Daniel again.
“She trusts me.”
Then Owen.
“Trust isn't authorization.”
Daniel laughed.
“It will be when she can't make decisions for herself.”
I paused the recording.
My hands were shaking.
They weren't merely planning theft.
They were planning to have me declared incapable of managing my own affairs.
Recording three revealed something worse.
A woman spoke.
“I told you this was going too far.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
Eleanor Shaw.
My executive assistant.
Eleanor had worked beside me for nine years.
She knew my calendar.
My passwords.
My medical appointments.
My attorney.
Everything.
Daniel said, “You're already involved.”
Eleanor answered, “I changed the appointment. That's all.”
“Exactly.”
My neurologist appointment.
The one Daniel had encouraged after I misplaced my keys.
Eleanor had scheduled it.
Apparently at Daniel's request.
The betrayal spread outward like cracks in glass.
I continued listening.
Recording four.
Owen sounded nervous.
“I can flag the transfer as routine, but if Rachel calls personally, I'm done.”
Daniel replied, “She won't.”
“How can you guarantee that?”
Claire answered.
“Because by then everyone will think she's confused.”
I stopped breathing.
Recording five.
They discussed my board.
Recording six.
They discussed my insurance.
Recording seven was tonight.
The attack.
The kiss.
The accounts.
Everything.
Then I noticed something strange.
An eighth file was uploading.
Live.
The trophy had begun recording again.
I removed one earbud.
Voices downstairs.
Daniel.
And Claire.
At nearly three in the morning.
I quietly opened the live feed.
Claire whispered, “How long are we supposed to keep pretending?”
“Until Friday.”
“Why Friday?”
“Because that's when the board receives the medical petition.”
My hand tightened around the tablet.
Medical petition.
Claire asked, “And after that?”
Daniel answered calmly.
“Rachel won't control anything.”
I stared at the screen.
Then another voice spoke.
Male.
Not Owen.
“Assuming she signs tomorrow.”
Daniel replied, “She will.”
My blood ran cold.
Whoever was downstairs had entered my home after midnight.
I moved toward the office door.
Then stopped.
Footsteps were coming upstairs.
I barely had time to hide the tablet before Daniel opened the bedroom door.
He saw my empty side of the bed.
“Rachel?”
I stepped from the bathroom.
He stared at me.
“What are you doing awake?”
I touched my bandage.
“My head hurts.”
His expression softened instantly.
“Come back to bed.”
I followed him.
As he turned away, I noticed something protruding from his jacket pocket.
A folded document.
At the top were three words.
DURABLE POWER OF ATTORNEY.
May you like
Daniel wasn't waiting until Friday.
He intended to make me sign away control of my life the next morning.
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