The Setup

The trunk of Elena’s Volvo was clean, smelling faintly of carpet cleaner and disuse. But something wasn't right. The spare tire cover was slightly askew, a millimeter off from the perfect alignment she knew by heart.

Elena stood in the driveway of the charred manor, the police tape snapping in the wind behind her. Julian was still inside the house, retrieving the last of the evidence from the attic. She was alone.

She lifted the cover.

The spare tire was there. But tucked into the well, nestled against the jack, was a velvet pouch.

It was emerald green. Constance’s favorite color.

Elena recognized it instantly. It was the jewelry bag from the main safe. The one Vane had emptied.

She reached for it, her gloves trembling. The drawstring was loose. She pulled it open.

Inside, glittering in the morning sun, were the emeralds.

The necklace. The earrings. The bracelets. Millions of dollars in stolen gems.

And a note.

Elena unfolded the paper. It was typed, unsigned.

*Possession is nine-tenths of the law. And ten-tenths of a conviction.*

She dropped the note.

Someone had planted them.

She looked up at the road. A landscaping truck was parked fifty yards down, its engine idling. The logo on the side was for a company she didn't recognize. *Veritas Landscaping.*

Veritas. Vane’s shell company.

The truck wasn't there to cut the grass. It was there to watch the trap snap shut.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Not one siren. Many.

Elena slammed the trunk. She looked at the house.

"Julian!" she screamed.

He appeared in the doorway, holding the metal box. "What?"

"Run!" she yelled. "Get out the back! Go to the woods!"

"What about you?"

"I can't outrun them in this car," she said. "But I can lead them away."

"No!" Julian started down the steps.

"Go!" Elena shouted. "If they catch you with that box, we lose everything! Save the evidence, Jack!"

He stopped. He looked at her. He looked at the approaching sirens.

Then he turned and ran. Not toward her. Toward the tree line behind the manor.

Elena jumped into the Volvo. She threw it into reverse, tires spinning on the gravel. She didn't head for the gate. She headed for the service road that led past the stables.

She drove fast, reckless. She needed them to see her. She needed them to follow.

The first police cruiser appeared at the gate, lights flashing. Then another.

They spotted the Volvo. They turned, sirens screaming.

Elena floored it. She led them past the stables, past the old well, toward the east gate.

She checked the rearview mirror. Three cars. And the landscaping truck.

She reached the gate. It was closed.

She didn't slow down. She braced herself.

The Volvo smashed through the wooden barrier, splinters flying. The windshield cracked.

She was on the main road now. She pushed the car to eighty, ninety.

But the flashing lights were gaining.

She saw a turn ahead. The bridge over the river.

If she could make the bridge, she could lose them in the industrial district.

She turned the wheel.

The car shuddered. The front tire blew.

Vane’s backup plan. A sniper? A spike strip?

The Volvo spun. Elena fought the wheel, but physics won. The car slammed into the guardrail, metal screaming against metal.

It came to a stop, smoke pouring from the hood.

Elena sat in the driver's seat, dazed. Her head throbbed where it had hit the steering wheel.

She looked out the window.

The police cars surrounded her. Officers were out, guns drawn.

"Step out of the vehicle!"

Elena opened the door. She stumbled out, raising her hands.

"I didn't steal them," she whispered, the words lost in the wind.

Sheriff Brady walked toward her. He wasn't smiling. He looked grim.

"Pop the trunk, Mrs. Hawthorne," he said.

Elena looked at him. She looked at the officers. They were just doing their job. They didn't know they were actors in a play written by a dead man.

"It's a setup," she said.

"Pop the trunk."

She pressed the button on her key fob. The trunk clicked open.

Brady lifted the cover. He pulled out the green velvet pouch.

He poured the emeralds into his hand. They sparkled, brilliant and damning.

"Grand larceny," he said. "Possession of stolen property. And fleeing the scene."

He pulled out his cuffs.

"Turn around."

Elena turned. She felt the cold steel click around her wrists.

She looked toward the woods, toward the ridge where Julian was running with the real treasure.

She had lost the battle.

But the war was just beginning.