Chapter 4 - The Luxury Trap-4
The sun blazed brightly over the private infinity pool of Suite 1102 at the Oceanic Haven Resort.
Rachel Lawson lay on a velvet lounge chair wearing dark designer sunglasses, sipping a champagne cocktail. Her mother, Pamela, sat nearby flipping through a luxury jewelry catalog, while her father, Gregory, leaned against the balcony railing, checking his stock portfolio on an iPad.
Inside the air-conditioned living room, Derek sat at a glass table surrounded by four lawyers in sharp linen suits.
“The Cayman buyers are getting impatient, Derek,” one of the attorneys noted, tapping a finger on a thick contract. “They’ve already deposited the forty million into the escrow account at the Royal Bank of Scotland. They want the original land patent documents from Vault 408 by noon tomorrow. If those documents aren't delivered, the escrow expires and the funds revert to the buyers.”
Derek smiled arrogance, adjusting his gold wristwatch. “Don't worry about the documents. Gregory has the second key. Walter is currently... indisposed in Idaho. By tomorrow morning, the old man’s heart will have finally given out, Lucas will be panicking, and we will sign the final transfer papers right here in Nassau.”
Rachel walked inside, dropping her empty champagne glass onto a side table. “Are we sure Lucas won't suspect anything? He sounded stressed in his text message.”
Derek stood up, walked over, and wrapped his arms around Rachel’s waist, kissing her softly on the neck. “Lucas is a naive sawmill worker, darling. He spends his life staring at trees and diesel engines. He doesn't have the brains to understand international corporate finance. Right now, he’s probably crying in his mud boots trying to figure out why the conveyor belts at the mill aren't running.”
Pamela chuckled from the balcony. “The boy was always an idiot. I still can’t believe you married him, Rachel.”
“It was necessary, Mother,” Rachel replied, leaning into Derek’s embrace. “We needed someone trustworthy to sign the operational safety logs while we siphoned the corporate reserves. If the inspectors ever look into the illegal logging on Block 9, Lucas’s signature is on every single manifest. He’ll take the fall, go to prison for ten years, and we’ll be living in Tuscany.”
Gregory walked in from the balcony, holding a small velvet bag containing the second brass vault key.
“We go to the bank at nine-thirty tomorrow morning,” Gregory instructed, his voice cold and businesslike. “We open Vault 408, retrieve the 1890 land patent, deliver it to the Cayman representatives, and execute the final wire transfer of forty million dollars to our private accounts in Zurich.”
“And what about Lucas’s call regarding Walter?” Rachel asked, a tiny flicker of hesitation crossing her eyes. “What if he calls an ambulance before we finish the transfer?”
May you like
“If he calls an ambulance,” Derek said with a dark smile, “it won't matter. The coroner in our pay in Idaho will certify that Walter died of natural heart failure due to advanced age. Lucas will have no legal standing to challenge the land sale once the funds are cleared through Switzerland.”
They raised their champagne glasses together in a quiet, triumphant toast, completely unaware that three floors down, sitting in the resort lobby behind a newspaper, sat a private investigator hired by Marcus Thorne, recording every word of their conversation through a high-frequency directional microphone disguised as a pen.
