Chapter 7
The morning sun broke through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom, casting long shadows across the floor. Claire hadn't slept a wink. She had spent the entire night packing two large suitcases, moving silently while Noah slept soundly in the center of her bed.
She checked her phone. A single text from Marcus sat on the screen: Accounts locked. The trap is sprung.
Claire took a deep breath, smoothing down her clean blouse. She walked out into the hallway just as the door to Madison’s bedroom swung open.
The sixteen-year-old stepped out, dressed in her expensive private school uniform, her backpack slung over one shoulder. The red mark on her cheek had faded slightly, expertly covered with expensive concealer. When she saw Claire standing in the hall, Madison’s face twisted into a smug, victorious smirk.
“Morning, Claire,” Madison sneered, adjusting her skirt. “Dad is taking me to the police station before school. I hope you have a good lawyer.”
“You aren't going to school, Madison,” Claire said, crossing her arms and blocking the top of the staircase.
“Move out of my way,” Madison demanded, trying to push past.
Claire didn't budge. “I told you yesterday. You are not going back to St. Jude’s. Your tuition check bounced this morning at eight A.M. The school has already been notified.”
Madison stopped, her smug expression faltering. “You’re lying. Dad said you couldn't touch the money.”
“Your dad is a fool who doesn't understand how the world works,” Claire said calmly.
The sound of heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Grant appeared on the landing, dressed in a sharp suit, holding a manila folder. He looked at Claire, his face a mask of arrogant confidence.
“Claire, step aside,” Grant ordered. “Madison and I have an appointment downtown. And when we get back, the police are going to be escorting you off the property.”
“There is no appointment, Grant,” Claire said, holding her ground. “And the police won't be coming for me today.”
“You really think you can talk your way out of this?” Grant laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Half the neighborhood saw you hit a minor. We have statements. We have photos. You fell right into the trap.”
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“I know about the trap, Grant,” Claire said, her voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register. “I heard you and your father on the patio last night. I heard everything.”
Grant’s laughter died instantly in his throat. His eyes widened, and he took a hesitant step backward, suddenly realizing the predator he thought he had cornered was actually the one holding the cage.
