Chapter 7 - The Midnight Investigation
By six in the evening, darkness had completely swallowed the estate. The storm rattled the panoramic glass of the master study, thunder echoing across the sprawling grounds.
Sabina sat in the formal living room, sipping wine and scrolling through luxury real-estate listings in Saint-Tropez on her tablet. She looked completely relaxed, anticipating the payoff of a three-year scheme.
In the bunker, Chadworth was joined by State Prosecutor David Harrison and two senior forensic investigators who had slipped through the underground service tunnel from the estate’s outer perimeter.
“We have everything, Chadworth,” Prosecutor Harrison whispered, reviewing the surveillance footage, the audio recordings of Sabina’s calls with Julian Croft, and the pharmaceutical distribution logs provided by Rosamund. “The wiretap on Croft’s office just intercepted him confirming the wire transfer of the Prescott Star diamond to an illegal fence in Antwerp. We can pick both of them up tonight.”
“Not yet, David,” Chadworth replied, his voice deadly quiet. “I want Sabina to execute the frame-up against Rosamund. I want her to make the false 911 call. I want every single felony stacked on her record until she spends the rest of her natural life in a maximum-security prison.”
“It’s risky,” Harrison cautioned. “If she realizes you’re in the house—”
“She won't,” Chadworth stated coldly. “She believes I’m halfway across Lake Ontario in a holding pattern due to the storm.”
On Monitor 3, Sabina set down her wine glass. She checked her gold Cartier watch. It was seven o'clock—the exact time Rosamund normally completed her evening inventory of the master wing.
Sabina stood up, smoothed her designer silk dress, and marched down toward the basement quarters.
At the same time, she pulled out her phone and dialed 911.
“Hello? Emergency services?” Sabina’s voice instantly transformed into a masterclass of hysterical, hyperventilating panic. “Please, you have to send units immediately! I’m alone at the Prescott Estate with my fiancé's two young daughters! I just caught our live-in housekeeper breaking into the master safe... she has a weapon, and she’s threatening the children! Please hurry!”
Chadworth clenched his fists so hard his nails drew blood from his palms. The sheer malice of the woman was boundless; she wasn't just accusing Rosamund of theft—she was fabricating a violent threat to ensure armed police would storm his home with guns drawn around his terrified daughters.
“Units are already dispatched, Miss Vance,” the 911 dispatcher responded.
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Sabina hung up the phone, her terrified expression instantly melting back into a cold, triumphant grin.
“Showtime,” she whispered to herself.
