Chapter 3 - The Trap
A shadow moved across the frosted glass panel of the front door.
I snapped the iPad shut, sliding it back onto the granite counter right beside the coffee cup, and stepped backward into the hallway alcove.
The heavy oak front door unlocked with a sharp clack.
Paige walked in, carrying two brown paper grocery bags filled with fresh produce, flowers, and expensive wine. She was wearing her favorite cream cashmere sweater, her hair pulled back into a flawless gold clip. She looked serene, beautiful, and completely undisturbed by the fact that her sister’s home had been turned into a charred ruin four days prior.
"Claire?" Paige called out, setting the bags on the island. "Honey, I bought those organic strawberries Lucy likes! Is she awake?"
I stepped out from the hallway, holding my phone in my right hand.
"She's downstairs, Paige," I said. My voice didn't sound like mine—it was flat, ice-cold, and perfectly clear.
Paige turned around, a warm, practiced smile spreading across her face. "Oh, good! I thought we could make a nice lunch today. You look so pale, sweetie. Have you been sleeping?"
"Why did you open the joint trust account in Nassau, Paige?" I asked.
The smile on Paige’s face didn't vanish immediately—it glitched. Her eyelids fluttered once, her hands freezing on the top of the grocery bag.
"What... what are you talking about, Claire?" she laughed nervously, taking a step toward me. "What trust account?"
"Six hundred thousand dollars," I continued, taking a step back to keep the kitchen island between us. "Transferred at six o'clock this morning. From Graham's commercial account into a joint entity registered to Paige Elizabeth Miller."
Paige’s face slowly lost its warmth, the soft, maternal expression hardening into something sharp, calculated, and bitter.
"You've been snooping," she said softly.
"The police called, Paige," I said, holding up my phone. "Captain Briggs told me about the loosened gas valve. He told me about the traffic cameras. And I saw your deleted messages."
Paige stood erect, her posture straightening as if dropping a heavy, tiresome performance. She didn't cry. She didn't beg for forgiveness. She simply reached into her handbag, pulled out a small, sleek set of car keys, and set them on the granite counter.
"You were always the lucky one, Claire," Paige said, her tone dripping with years of quiet, venomous envy. "Our parents gave you the down payment for your first house. You got the sweet, successful husband. You got the perfect little girl. And what did I get? A messy divorce from a cheat who left me with a mountain of debt and an event business that was bleeding cash."
"Graham is a monster, Paige!" I shouted, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes. "He tried to kill his own daughter! He tried to kill Lucy!"
"Graham loves me!" Paige snapped, her eyes flashing with sudden, wild anger. "He’s been mine for three years! Do you really think he wanted to come home to your boring, domestic life every night? He wanted out, Claire! But he didn't want to give you half of everything in a messy divorce court!"
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"So you decided to burn us alive?" I whispered.
"It was supposed to be fast!" Paige yelled, taking a sudden step around the island toward me. "It was supposed to be over in a second! You weren't even supposed to feel it!"
