Chapter 183: The Final Trap

Justin’s POV

My lawyer literally jumped straight out of his executive chair.

Abandoning his polished composure, he scrambled right around the corner of the heavy mahogany desk and leaned over my shoulder, hovering so close to the glowing phone screen that I could hear his rapid breathing.

"Hold on. Hold on a second," he commanded, his eyes wide.

I looked up at him, a nervous, unbelievable surge of adrenaline making my stomach turn. "What?"

"Let me put the live CCTV feed onto the wall monitor."

A dark, breathless laugh scraped past my throat. "Why the hell are you so excited?"

He was already grabbing the HDMI cord and plugging it into my laptop. "I do corporate and criminal defense, Justin. I barely ever get to watch a real-time sting operation unfold live."

I stared at him for a beat, shaking my head in sheer disbelief. "I can’t believe we’re making dark jokes while a psycho is standing on my family’s property."

He tapped the display settings, instantly projecting the high-definition security stream onto the massive television mounted on his office wall. "Look, average people don’t have this kind of insanity going on," he muttered, stepping back. "Your life is apparently where all the chaos in the city lives."

I forced another short, humorless laugh. "That’s one hell of a way to put it."

But the faint thread of humor evaporated completely the very next second.

Because on the giant wall monitor, the shadow moved.

Diane’s father.

He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t running scared like a cornered animal. He was taking his time cautious, calculated, and terrifyingly deliberate.

He walked slowly along the stone perimeter of my grandparents’ estate, stopping every few feet to scan his surroundings. He peeked over the low iron fence. He stared down the long, empty driveway. He looked up at the quiet windows of the main house. Then he moved further down the line, paused again, and surveyed the treeline.

It was horrifyingly clear: he was studying the exact layout before executing his move.

My lawyer sank down into the chair beside me, his eyes glued to the display. "Okay," he whispered, his tone dropping all sarcasm. "Now let me see what his play is."

I leaned forward, my hands gripping the armrests so hard my knuckles turned white.

The man vanished past the dead angle of camera one for a few agonized seconds. Then, he reappeared on camera two.

This time, he was dragging something heavy.

I narrowed my eyes, straining to identify the object. "What the hell is he holding?"

It was a massive, solid piece of decorative carved stone. The second the sunlight hit the wet granite, my brain recognized it.

"That’s " My voice cracked as I sat bolt upright. "That’s my grandmother’s garden fountain."

My lawyer glanced at me sharply. "Your grandmother has a heavy stone fountain right outside?"

"Yes."

The man heaved the heavy slab of stone up into his arms, his posture hunching under the weight.

"Why the hell is he carrying that toward the front entrance?" I breathed out, dark dread pooling in my chest.

I watched in pure, stunned horror as he stepped onto the stone porch, marching directly toward the thick wooden front doors.

"No," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He raised the carved stone above his shoulder.

"Don’t you fucking dare."

He slammed the stone violently into the center of the wooden door.

CRACK!

The sharp, echoing splinter of solid oak vibrated through the audio feed. I jumped in my seat, my pulse spiking through the roof.

"What the hell is wrong with him?!" I roared.

He lifted the heavy stone again and drove it ruthlessly into the exact same spot. The thick paneling shattered inward with a sickening crunch.

My lawyer stared at the wall screen, his brow furrowing. "Oh, this man is not bright at all."

I whipped my head toward him, my chest heaving. "Are you supporting the criminal right now or are you supporting me?!"

"I am entirely on your side!" my lawyer insisted, pointing directly at the monitor. "I am simply making an tactical observation. If you are breaking into a high-value residence, why would you announce your arrival to the entire neighborhood by loudly pulverizing the front door with a rock?!"

I whipped my eyes back to the screen. "Because he’s completely out of his mind! There’s a ground-floor window right there!"

"Exactly!"

"There are side doors!"

"Exactly!"

"So why the hell smash the front entry?!"

My lawyer shook his head gravely. "I have no idea."

On screen, the man struck the shattered frame one final, brutal time. The lock mechanism gave way with a screech, and the heavy door swung wide open.

He dropped the stone with a dull thud and stepped into the main entryway.

I frowned, my eyebrows drawing tightly together as I watched him step over the broken wood. "Wait."

"What is it?"

"The security system," I whispered, my eyes locked onto the top left corner of the entryway feed. "Why isn’t the central alarm blaring? Why aren’t the strobe lights flashing?"

My lawyer thought for a silent second. "Your private investigator. He must have remotely bypassed the local siren so the guy wouldn’t take off running before the team closed the net."

I nodded slowly, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. "Yeah... yeah, that has to be it."

Inside the house, the man paused in the foyer, looking around the quiet space. Then he began to move cautiously, his steps deliberate as he navigated the dark hall. He checked the formal parlor. Then the study.

I tapped my laptop pad, switching the live feed to camera four the internal hallway.

The man moved through the estate with unsettling precision, like a ghost who had walked these halls a thousand times before. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t wander aimlessly searching for valuables. He crossed the formal dining room, cast a dark glance around the empty space, and headed straight toward the back kitchen corridor.

My stomach twisted into an agonizing knot. "Why is he going straight for the kitchen?"

My lawyer didn’t answer. He just held his breath.

On screen, the man pushed open the heavy kitchen door, strode across the tile floor, and unlocked the rear glass exit. He stepped out onto the back patio.

The system automatically switched to camera six the backyard feed.

My grandparents’ grounds stretched far beyond the main structure: a massive manicured lawn, ancient oak trees, a shaded patio, and a small wooden pavilion where my grandparents loved to drink their morning tea.

The man walked out onto the green grass, his eyes darting frantically across the empty landscape. He stepped deeper into the yard, looking toward the pavilion, then back toward the rear windows of the house.

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.