Chapter 4 - The Web Expands
By Thursday morning, the machinery of Margaret’s double life was operating with terrifying precision.
The Garfield Preservation Trust had officially claimed the two-hundred-million-dollar jackpot. Through Arthur Vance’s legal wizardry, the story in the news was merely a short paragraph announcing that an anonymous trust had claimed the prize and opted for a lump-sum payout of $112,450,000. Not a single reporter knew Margaret’s name.
Meanwhile, Margaret sat in a high-tech surveillance van parked three blocks from St. Joseph Medical Center, wearing dark sunglasses and listening to high-definition audio feeds provided by Richard Cole’s team.
Next to her sat Cole—a broad-shouldered man with grey hair, a thick mustache, and sharp, calculating eyes.
"Listen to this," Cole said, pressing a button on a control panel.
Audio played through the speakers:
“She’s pulling sixty grand from her equity line today,” Ethan’s voice chimed in, clear and arrogant. “And Sterling is having her sign the power of attorney papers under the guise of 'clinical consent forms'. Once she signs, Victor buys the Garfield house for cash—three hundred thousand below market value. Victor gets the land, I get the liquid cash, and Sterling gets his twenty percent cut to clear his debt with the syndicate.”
A second voice—Victor Vance, the shady real estate developer—responded: “Is the old lady going quietly to the care facility?”
“She’ll go wherever I tell her to go,” Ethan laughed. “I’ll tell her it’s a 'resort recovery center' where she can rest while I get my treatment. She’ll pack her bags and thank me for thinking of her.”
Margaret listened, her face completely expressionless.
"They are moving fast," Cole remarked, looking at Margaret. "They want the property deal closed by next Tuesday. If you sign those documents today, Mrs. Collins, they will legally have control over your home."
"I won't be signing those documents," Margaret said smoothly. "Arthur Vance prepared substituted legal documents for me this morning. The paperwork looks identical to Sterling’s consent forms, but the clauses inside actually transfer Ethan’s remaining legal rights to his personal LLC back to me as a creditor."
"A legal Trojan horse," Cole smirked. "I love it."
"What about Laura?" Margaret asked. "Is she safe?"
"She’s holding up," Cole said, pulling up a secondary video monitor showing Laura working at her desk in a rented office downtown. "Ethan thinks she’s still organizing his shell companies. But she just gave us access to Ethan’s encrypted cloud server. Mrs. Collins... you need to see this."
Cole brought up a file folder labeled Project Sunset.
Margaret leaned in closer. As Cole scrolled through the documents, Margaret’s blood ran cold.
Project Sunset was not just a plan to defraud Margaret. It was a comprehensive scheme that Ethan had executed twice before.
Four years ago, in San Diego, an elderly widow named Eleanor Vance (no relation) had suddenly signed over her estate to a "devoted young business partner" before passing away in an unaccredited private care facility from an "accidental prescription overdose."
Two years ago, in Denver, a wealthy retired architect had suffered the exact same fate, leaving his assets to a shell company controlled by Ethan Collins.
Ethan was not just a lazy, greedy son who took advantage of his mother’s love. He was a professional, predatory serial killer who targeted vulnerable older people—and Margaret had simply been his latest long-term mark.
Margaret’s hands began to shake, not from fear, but from a profound, terrifying rage.
"He didn't just target me because I’m his mother," Margaret whispered, her voice barely audible. "He targeted me because my husband died, leaving me alone. He’s been planning this since Arthur passed away."
"Yes," Cole said grimly. "He let you exhaust your savings first to break your spirit, so you wouldn't have the financial resources to hire lawyers or private investigators when he moved you into the facility."
Margaret stood up in the narrow space of the surveillance van. The air around her seemed to charge with a lethal energy.
"He killed those women, Cole," Margaret said, her voice dropping into a deadly register. "He killed Eleanor Vance. He killed that man in Denver. And he was going to kill me."
"We don't have enough admissible evidence on the previous two cases yet," Cole cautioned. "The Denver and San Diego deaths were ruled natural causes by corrupt local coroners who were likely paid off. If we strike now on the fraud charges alone, Ethan might only get ten to fifteen years in prison."
Margaret looked at the screen showing her son’s smug face on the hospital monitor.
"Ten years is not enough," Margaret said quietly. "He stays free until we tie him directly to those murders. I want him in a maximum-security prison for the rest of his life."
"How do we get that evidence?" Cole asked.
May you like
Margaret turned to him, her eyes burning like white-hot iron.
"We give him what he wants," Margaret said. "We let him think I am signing over my life. We let him initiate Project Sunset. And when he reaches for the final prize, we pull the rug out from beneath him and drop him into the abyss."
