But recordings weren’t enough. I needed a legal strike force.
During my mandated daily “naps,” when Pamela and Logan thought I was heavily medicated and asleep, I locked myself in the master bathroom. I reached under the sink cabinet, peeling back a strip of duct tape, and retrieved a cheap, prepaid burner phone I had managed to order online and have delivered to a secure locker down the street, which I retrieved during a supposed “walk for fresh air.”
I sat on the bathroom tiles, the shower running to muffle any accidental noise, and texted Mr. Sterling.
Sterling was a high-powered, ruthlessly aggressive attorney who specialized in dismantling corporate fraudsters and navigating complex, high-net-worth divorces. I had paid his massive retainer using a hidden cryptocurrency account Logan knew nothing about.
“They are moving the settlement funds on Friday at 2:00 PM,” I texted him, my thumbs flying across the small screen. “He plans to sign the transfer documents at the mediator’s office using the fraudulent Power of Attorney.”
“Understood,” Sterling replied a minute later. “The forensic accountants have already traced the offshore LLC back to Pamela. We have the wire fraud evidence. I will be at the mediator’s office on Friday. Are you ready for the execution?”
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” I replied.
I hid the phone, turned off the shower, and wrapped a towel around my head.
The tension of the long con nearly broke the very next evening.
