Chapter 6 - The Saboteur
With Robert Bennett’s signed confession and full restitution surrender, the civil case was effectively won. However, desperate people in dark corners do desperate things, and Richard Sterling was running out of options.
It was a Thursday evening, two weeks before the preliminary criminal hearing for Vanessa and Richard. I was sitting at my dining table working through legal filings while Lily and Ethan did their homework in the living room.
Suddenly, my laptop screen flickered violently and went black. A high-pitched chime sounded from my phone, followed by a flurry of urgent security alerts from my bank app.
ALERT: Unauthorized attempt to access primary account.
ALERT: Password reset requested for Bennett Trust Escrow.
ALERT: Security credentials compromised.
My heart surged into my throat. I grabbed my phone, immediately attempting to log into my secure banking portal, but my password was rejected.
"David!" I yelled into my phone as I speed-dialed my attorney. "David, someone is hacking into the trust escrow account right now! I'm locked out!"
"Don't touch anything!" David shouted over the line. "Richard’s associates are trying to pull a digital asset drain before the court’s formal seizure order takes effect at midnight! They're trying to wire the remaining liquid funds to an untraceable crypto wallet in Eastern Europe!"
"Can you stop it?!"
"I'm calling the bank's cyber-fraud unit now, but they need an emergency biometric override from the primary trustee—that’s you! You need to get to the central branch downtown within twenty minutes!"
"I'm on my way," I said.
I rushed into the living room, pulling on my boots. "Sarah!" I called out to my neighbor, who was upstairs. "I need you to step over right now—I have an emergency!"
Within five minutes, Sarah arrived to watch the children. I ran out to my sedan, throwing the car into reverse and speeding down the dark, rain-slicked suburban streets toward the highway.
As I merged onto the Interstate, I noticed a set of headlights behind me. A large, black pickup truck with dark tinted windows and an oversized front grill was tailgating my bumper, flashing its high beams blindingly in my rearview mirror.
I switched lanes. The truck switched lanes with me, accelerating rapidly.
My stomach dropped. "No, no, no..." I muttered, slamming my foot on the gas pedal.
The heavy truck roared, pulling up directly alongside my driver's side. Through the rain-streaked window, I couldn't see the driver, but the intent was clear: the truck swerved sharply to the right, slamming its heavy steel bumper into the side of my Honda!
CRASH!
Sparks flew into the night sky as my car lurched violently toward the guardrail. Metal screeched against metal. My steering wheel whipped wildly in my hands as I fought to maintain control on the slick pavement.
"Help!" I screamed aloud, though no one could hear me.
The truck pulled back and prepared to ram me a second time—clearly trying to force me off the highway bridge into the icy river below before I could reach the bank downtown.
Instead of hitting the brakes, I slammed my foot on the accelerator, executing a sharp emergency maneuver my father had taught me years ago when driving on ice. I let the Honda’s rear tires slide, spinning the wheel hard to the left, slipping right behind the truck’s rear tailgate just as it lunged forward to hit me.
The truck missed my car, swerving wildly, its heavy frame losing traction on the wet asphalt. The driver overcorrected, spinning out of control across three lanes of traffic before crashing violently into the concrete center divider!
Steam poured from the truck's crushed radiator as it came to a dead halt in the middle of the highway.
I didn't stop. With my car's side door dented and scraping against the tire, I kept my foot down, tearing off the exit ramp toward the financial district.
Ten minutes later, I burst through the front glass doors of the Central National Bank headquarters, my hair soaked, my coat torn, bleeding slightly from a small cut on my forehead.
Investigator Vance and David Miller were already standing in the lobby alongside two bank vice-presidents.
"Claire!" Vance yelled, rushing over. "What happened to you?!"
"Richard tried to stop me," I gasped, holding up my ID and pressing my thumb against the biometric scanner held by the bank manager. "Authorize the lock down! Freeze everything!"
The bank manager looked at the green light flashing on the scanner, then hit a rapid sequence of keys on his terminal.
A loud chime echoed through the quiet bank lobby.
"Transfer intercepted," the manager announced, looking up with a breath of relief. "Seven point four million dollars held in escrow. Access privileges completely revoked for Richard Sterling and all associated entities."
I let out a long, shuddering breath, collapsing into a chair in the lobby.
Vance’s radio buzzed. He held it to his ear, listening intently for a moment before looking up at me with a grim, triumphant smile.
May you like
"State police just secured the driver of the black pickup on Interstate 95," Vance said. "It was Richard Sterling’s personal head of security. And he’s already talking."
I leaned my head back against the wall, wiping a bead of rainwater from my cheek. The shadows were finally receding. Richard’s last desperate gamble had failed, and this time, there were no legal technicalities left for him to hide behind.
