Chapter 12 - The Switch Revealed
The warm, gentle cry of the living infant cut through the hum of the police cruisers like a sharp blade. Eleanor stared down in absolute bewilderment at the baby in Sarah’s arms, then looked back at the waterlogged, motionless bundle she was still cradling against her emerald dress.
Julianne stopped struggling against her handcuffs on the wet concrete, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of the baby Sarah was holding. A heartbreaking, strangled sob broke from Julianne’s throat.
“That’s... that’s him,” Julianne whispered, her voice cracking violently. “That’s my real son. You had him hidden in the guesthouse the entire time.”
Sarah looked down at the infant with a detached, clinical tenderness, rocking him slightly before shifting her gaze back to the lead officer. “Officer, as you can see, the child is entirely unharmed. The infant in Ms. Vance’s arms is merely a medical dummy used to secure the perimeter while we neutralized the threat of Mrs. Thorne’s volatile episodes.”
The officer stared at Sarah in utter disbelief, his hand resting on his holster as his brain struggled to process the illegal complexity of the maneuver. “You faked a drowning with a prop baby to trick a mentally unstable woman into confessing to a crime she didn’t commit? That’s entrapment of the highest order!”
“It’s not entrapment if she genuinely believed she did it,” Clara countered smoothly, stepping forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sarah. “Mrs. Thorne has been attempting to harm the child for weeks. We simply accelerated the timeline to ensure the boy’s permanent safety under state-mandated protective custody.”
David slumped down onto the flagstone next to his handcuffed wife, burying his face in his hands as dry, racking sobs shook his frame. The grand illusion of their wealthy, perfect life had completely disintegrated beneath the artificial blue lights of the swimming pool.
Eleanor carefully lowered the waterlogged dummy onto the edge of the patio, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She looked up at Sarah, the betrayal burning hot and bright in her chest.
“And what about me, Sarah?” Eleanor asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. “Where do I fit into your little corporate restructuring ledger? I own twenty percent of this estate.”
Sarah turned her head slowly, her silver-rimmed glasses catching the harsh red and blue strobe of the police lights. She offered Eleanor a thin, chilling smile.
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“You don’t fit into the ledger anymore, Eleanor,” Sarah said softly. “Which is why your signature was forged on the asset transfer documents three days ago.”
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