Part 3

By the time I got home, the rain had stopped. The house sat quiet, lights still on.

I stayed in the truck for a moment, looking at the window.

Then I went inside.

I checked everything—rooms, drawers, surfaces. Nothing looked out of place.

Until I felt something under the rug.

A small device.

A microphone.

Trevor hadn’t just planned. He’d been listening.

I removed it.

Then put it back.

If he wanted to listen, I’d let him hear exactly what I wanted him to hear.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I made a plan.

Protect Emma.

Stop the theft.

End Trevor’s leverage.

The next morning, Olivia called.

Her voice sounded normal. Careful.

“We might stop by tomorrow,” she said.

“Of course,” I replied.

After the call, I checked the workshop.

Something felt off.

The laptop had been moved.

They’d already been here.

I closed it slowly.

So that was it—they were speeding up.

I wrote one more line on my pad.

Under Protect: Secure assets.

Under Punish: Let him confess.

Because men like Trevor don’t just fall into traps.

They walk in convinced they’re smarter than everyone else.