Chapter 3 - The Locksmith at SunsetâI am dispatching an emergency medical transport team and a private locksmith to your residence immediately,â Margaret declared, her voice sharp with professional outrage. âAnd Evelyn... I am freezing every account tied to your estate within ten minutes.â
Forty minutes later, the heavy front door unlocked.
A team of two paramedics and Margaret Sloan herself rushed up the stairs, carrying a fresh, state-of-the-art medical transport chair.
âEvelyn!â Margaret gasped, kneeling beside me on the carpet, wrapping a warm blanket around my shoulders. âMy God... he left you on the floor?!â
âHe sold my chair to pay for his vacation, Margaret,â I said, drinking the glass of water she handed me. âHe took my household cards. He thinks I am helpless.â
Margaret stood up, pulling her leather briefcase onto the bed. âHe is about to discover that his mother is the sole managing trustee of a forty-million-dollar estate.â
By six o'clock that evening, three commercial locksmith vans were parked in my driveway.
Every lock on the front gates, the main entrance, the garage doors, and the wine cellar was replaced with military-grade biometric smart locks.
In addition, two private security guards were stationed at the front gate, carrying a strict restraining order against Daniel Mercer and Kendra Vance.
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I sat in my new custom electric wheelchair in the sunlit living room, holding a cup of hot tea, watching my legal team work.
The trap was set. Now, we waited for CancĂșn.
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