Chapter 3 - The Snapping of the Trap
The chapel descended into absolute chaos. Local guests began filming on their phones, the live feeds instantly flooding Facebook with the most shocking twist the Aspen elite had ever witnessed. Within minutes, the video of the "dead wife" walking into her own funeral gathered tens of thousands of views, the Facebook algorithms instantly picking up the massive engagement spike and turning it into a national breaking news event.
“Marshals, arrest him,” Adrian commanded, pointing a finger at Victor.
“Wait! You can't do this!” Victor’s lawyer shouted, stepping between the marshals and his client. “This is a civil matter! My client hasn't committed any crime! If his wife survived, it's a miracle, not a federal offense!”
“He just signed a digital release collecting fifty million dollars for a death he knew didn't happen,” one of the federal marshals replied, pushing the lawyer aside. “That is first-degree insurance fraud, grand larceny, and given the statement his wife just provided to the FBI this morning, it is also attempted first-degree murder of a federal citizen and an unborn child.”
Victor didn't look at his lawyer. His eyes were fixed on my stomach, watching the subtle movement of my baby kicking beneath my sweater. The realization that his entire plan had been an illusion—that he had handed his financial freedom directly into the hands of the company he was trying to rob—completely broke his mind.
“You set me up,” Victor hissed, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and panic as the marshals forced his hands behind his back, the heavy steel handcuffs clicking shut. “You stayed alive just to ruin me!”
“You threw me off a mountain for money, Victor,” I said, stepping closer until I could smell the expensive cologne he had worn to my funeral. “I didn't set you up. I just let your greed do the digging. Oh, and by the way... the Cayman account you just transferred that fifty million into? Adrian bought that bank yesterday morning. Your assets aren't just frozen; they belong to me now.”
Serena tried to slip through the side exit of the chapel, her head down, but two female police officers blocked her path.
“Serena Vance,” an officer said, pulling her hands back. “You are being detained as an accessory to attempted murder and corporate conspiracy.”
“I didn't do anything!” Serena screamed, her voice cracking as she looked at the crowd of her high-society friends who were currently broadcasting her arrest live to the internet. “It was Victor! He told me she was clumsy! He told me she slipped! Don't touch me!”
As they were dragged down the center aisle of the church in chains, the very people who had been crying for Victor five minutes ago turned their phones on him, shouting insults, their sympathy instantly souring into disgust.
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I stood at the altar, leaning against Adrian’s strong, supportive shoulder. The physical pain from my broken ribs was intense, but the relief was greater. The man who had isolated me, controlled me, and tried to bury my child in the snow was finally wearing the chains he deserved.
“Come on, Elena,” Adrian said softly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Let's get you back to the hospital. Our boy has a lot of growing to do, and his grandfather has a nursery to build.”
