Chapter 6 - The Trap is Sprung
For two days, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Delilah, Noah, and I stayed at my house in Westerville. Noah spent his afternoons playing with wooden train sets on my living room rug, his small, joyful laugh echoing through the house like music that had been restored after a long, dark winter.
Delilah was changing too. She slept ten hours a night, the dark circles under her eyes slowly fading. She began helping me in the garden, her natural warmth returning as the fear receded.
On Thursday morning, Victoria called my cell phone.
"Margaret," Victoria’s sharp voice came through the speaker. "The federal magistrate judge just signed the arrest warrants for Evan Mercer and Brenda Mercer. The FBI and IRS Criminal Investigation division are moving in today."
"Where are they?" I asked.
"They tracked Evan and Brenda to an extended-stay motel near the airport," Victoria chuckled darkly. "Evan’s credit cards were frozen yesterday afternoon, so he’s been paying for the room with cash from his pocket. They were preparing to buy two one-way tickets to the Bahamas using fake passports."
"Are they arresting them at the motel?"
"The federal agents are setting up a perimeter right now," Victoria said. "But Evan just did something extraordinarily stupid. He called my office ten minutes ago, demanding to speak with Delilah. He thinks he can intimidate her into dropping the domestic court filings before he runs."
"He doesn't know the feds are on him yet?"
"Not yet," Victoria smirked. "He demanded a meeting with Delilah at two o'clock today at the house on Elm Street. He claimed he has 'important documents' that belong to her, and promised he would leave the state forever if she meets him alone."
I felt a cold surge of rage in my chest. "He’s trying to corner her one last time."
"He is," Victoria agreed. "And that is exactly where the FBI wants him."
I walked into the kitchen where Delilah was buttering toast for Noah. I placed my hands gently on her shoulders.
"Delilah," I said softly. "Evan wants to meet you at the house at two o'clock."
May you like
Delilah froze, her butter knife hovering over the bread. A flash of hesitation passed over her eyes, but then she looked down at Noah—who was happily giggling at a cartoon on his tablet—and her jaw set into a firm, unshakeable line.
"I'll go, Mom," Delilah said quietly, her voice ringing with a strength I hadn't heard in five years. "I'm not scared of him anymore."
