Chapter 4: Wearing the Wire
Diane called at seven the next morning before I had a chance to change my mind.
"We'll brief you this afternoon," she said.
"The meeting with Ellis — we'll set it up as a conversation about Noah's schooling.
Something he'd believe you'd reach out about."
"He won't believe I'm reaching out," I said.
"He thinks I'm broken."
"Good," Diane said.
"Let him keep thinking that."
They came to my apartment at two o'clock — Diane and a younger agent named Carver who barely spoke.
Carver set a small device on my kitchen table.
It looked like a shirt button.
"It transmits to a receiver in our vehicle," Carver said.
"Range is about three hundred feet.
We'll be parked outside."
"What do I say to him?" I asked.
"You don't need a script," Diane said.
"You're a mother worried about her son.
That's true.
Use it.
Ask about Noah's school schedule, his adjustment, whether he's eating well.
Let Ellis talk.
He likes to talk."
"He likes to feel superior," I said.
"Even better.
Let him feel it."
I called Ellis that evening.
My hand was steady.
I was surprised by that.
"Sabrina." His voice carried the same mild contempt it always had when I called about something he considered beneath him.
"What is it?"
"I want to talk about Noah," I said.
"His school, his routine.
I'm still his mother.
I'd like to know he's adjusting."
A pause.
"Fine.
Come to the Riverside office Thursday.
Noon.
Don't be late."
He hung up before I could respond.
Thursday came gray and cold.
I wore a plain navy blouse.
Carver attached the device to the second button from the top.
His hands were professional and quick.
"Don't look at our vehicle when you walk in," Diane said.
"Don't look for us."
"I won't."
"If at any point you feel unsafe, say the words *I should go*.
We'll be inside in under a minute."
I nodded.
"Mrs.
Chappell." Diane put her hand briefly on my arm.
"You're not doing anything wrong.
You're just having a conversation."
Ellis's office building was glass and steel on the Scioto riverfront.
A receptionist led me to a private conference room on the fourteenth floor.
Ellis was already there, jacket off, sleeves rolled, looking like a man who owned the afternoon.
"You look tired," he said.
"I'm fine," I said.
I sat down across from him.
"How's the apartment?" The way he said *apartment* made it sound like a punishment he had assigned me.
"It's enough," I said.
"I want to talk about Noah."
"Noah is thriving," Ellis said.
"His new school in Atlanta is excellent.
He's already ahead of his class."
"Is he happy?"
Something moved behind Ellis's eyes.
"He's adjusting."
"That's not what I asked."
Ellis leaned back.
"He misses you sometimes.
That's natural.
He'll get over it."
*He'll get over it.* I kept my face still.
"Ellis, I've been thinking about the trust you set up in Noah's name."
The room changed temperature.
Ellis didn't move, but something in him went very quiet.
"What about it?" he said.
"I'd like to understand it better.
As his mother.
What's in it, how it's structured."
"That's not your concern anymore, Sabrina.
The divorce settlement was clear."
"Noah is always my concern."
Ellis stood up.
He walked to the window.
His back was to me.
"The trust is for his future," he said.
"Education, investment.
Standard."
"How much is in it?"
He turned around.
His expression had shifted — not angry, not yet, but calculating.
"Why are you asking about this?"
"Because I'm his mother."
"Because someone told you something." He took one step toward the table.
"Who have you been talking to?"
"I haven't been talking to anyone."
"Sabrina." His voice dropped.
"I want you to be very careful right now.
You have nothing.
You have a small apartment and whatever pride you're holding onto.
Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"I'm just asking about my son's trust fund, Ellis."
He placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward.
"That money is structured in a way that protects Noah from people who might try to access it inappropriately." His eyes didn't leave mine.
"People like a bitter ex-wife looking for leverage."
"Is that what I am?"
"That's what you're becoming." He straightened up.
"Go home, Sabrina.
Don't call me again about financial matters.
The next call goes to my attorney."
I stood up.
I picked up my bag.
"I should go," I said.
His eyes narrowed — just slightly, just for a moment — as if the phrase had landed somewhere unexpected.
"Yes," he said.
"You should."
I walked out.
I did not look at the parking structure across the street.
I walked to the elevator, rode it down, crossed the lobby, and pushed through the glass door into the cold air.
My phone buzzed thirty seconds later.
Diane.
"We got it," she said.
"All of it.
Come to the vehicle."
I walked toward the corner.
My legs were shaking now, finally, because there was no reason to hold them still anymore.
Inside the car, Carver was already replaying the audio.
Ellis's voice came through the small speaker, flat and clear.
*That money is structured in a way that protects Noah from people who might try to access it inappropriately.*
Diane looked at me.
"He just described a trust built around concealed assets and implied you were a threat to them," she said.
"His own words."
"Is it enough?"
She looked at Carver.
Carver nodded once.
"Combined with what we already have," Diane said, "yes.
It's enough."
I looked out the window at the glass building.
May you like
Somewhere on the fourteenth floor, Ellis was probably already calling his attorney.
He just didn't know it was already too late.
