Chapter 4 - The Rat’s Trap
While my life was being rebuilt, Russell Harlan’s world was devolving into a frantic, chaotic nightmare.
Locked out of his condo, his bank accounts frozen by federal order, and his name plastered across the local business journals as a fraud, he had retreated to a cheap, run-down motel on the outskirts of Portland. Tessa Blake, realizing that the billionaire lifestyle she had traded her dignity for was a lie, had already packed her bags and left, taking what little cash Russell had left in his wallet.
But Russell wasn't done playing dirty.
On the fifth night, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. I hesitated, but with my guard standing just outside the glass door of my room, I answered.
"Callie," Russell’s voice was hoarse, smelling of cheap whiskey even through the receiver. "You think you've won, don't you? You think your high-and-mighty uncle can protect you forever?"
"Russell," I said, my voice cold and flat. "You shouldn't be calling this number. The restraining order was signed yesterday."
"I don't give a damn about a piece of paper!" he snarled, his breath ragged. "I built that company! I gave you those kids! And you think you can just cast me aside like trash? I have files, Callie. Private photos, medical records, things that would make the board of your precious new trust think twice about your stability as a mother."
My heart gave a painful thud, but I forced myself to remain calm. "You have nothing, Russell. You’ve spent the last three years trying to make me feel small, but I am done being afraid of you."
"We'll see about that," he hissed. "I'm meeting with a reporter from the Portland Daily in an hour. I'm going to tell them how your uncle used his military status to illegally seize my company and force me out of my own home. I'm going to tell them you're an unfit mother who had her babies weeks early because of your own neglect. By tomorrow morning, your name will be mud."
"Is that all, Mr. Harlan?"
A third voice cut into the line. It was smooth, professional, and entirely calm.
Russell gasped. "Who the hell is this?!"
"My name is Sarah Jenkins, Chief Legal Counsel for Whitaker Global," the voice replied. "And I would like to thank you for this phone call. Under Maine Revised Statutes, Title 17-A, Section 210, you have just committed the Class C felony of stalking and extortion. This entire call has been recorded, geolocated, and forwarded directly to the state police."
"You... you can't do this!" Russell screamed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched panic.
"Furthermore," Sarah continued, her tone conversational, "the reporter you were planning to meet, Mr. Davis of the Portland Daily, is currently sitting in our corporate offices. He was quite interested to learn about your offshore accounts in Belize, as well as the police report regarding your theft of your wife’s personal property. He will be running a story tomorrow, Russell, but I assure you, it won't be the one you wanted."
I heard the sound of a door being kicked open on the other end of the line, followed by the muffled, frantic shouts of police officers.
"Hands in the air! Step away from the phone! Do it now!"
"Callie! No! Please—" Russell’s voice was cut off by a sharp metallic clink, followed by the line going dead.
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I slowly lowered the phone to my lap, my shoulders dropping as a massive, invisible weight was finally lifted from my chest. I looked over at the door, where my uncle was standing, a quiet, triumphant smile on his face.
"He's gone, Callie," James said, walking over to squeeze my shoulder. "He's never coming back."
