“The Dubai trip. That’s his exit strategy. He files while you’re gone. By the time you return the hearing’s scheduled. He has you testify with the notebook. Then he liquidates everything and disappears.”
“What do we do?”
“We stop him. But Lauren, are you with me? This will get ugly. Police. Court. Public record. Your marriage ends. Everything changes.”
Lauren closed the folder. Wiped her tears. When she looked at me, I saw Catherine. That fierce determination.
“He used me to hurt you. Made me document lies about my own father. He’s stealing everything mom and you built.” Her voice hardened. “Tell me what we need to do.”
I smiled for the first time in days. “First we call Vincent Clark. Then we set a trap.”
The knock came at 2 PM. Lauren had just left to meet Vincent at his office.
I opened the door to find Gary Mitchell on my porch, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Gary, what’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you. About the Charger. About Ryan.” His voice was rough. “I think I just figured out what he did. And it’s worse than we thought.”
I let him in. He paced the kitchen, hands shaking.
“Sit down. Tell me what happened.”
Gary collapsed into a chair.
“Monday… last Monday, before Lauren even brought the car to me, a man called my shop. Said his name was Ethan Shepard. Your son-in-law.”
My blood went cold.
“He told me Lauren was thinking about selling Catherine’s Charger. Said he knew I’d been friends with Catherine. That the car had sentimental value. Asked if I’d be interested in buying it.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes. Of course. For Catherine’s sake. To protect it.” Gary rubbed his face. “Then he said he had a collector client willing to pay top dollar, maybe $250,000. But the sale needed to be discreet. Family dynamics, he said.”
My stomach dropped.
“He said if I bought the car from Lauren at a reasonable price… he suggested $25,000… he’d facilitate the sale to his collector. We’d split the profit. I’d make good money, the family would be happy, everyone wins.”
Gary’s voice cracked. “He knew exactly what to say. Mentioned Catherine. Said you were struggling with grief. Made it sound like I’d be helping everyone.”
“When did Lauren bring the car?”
“Tuesday afternoon. She had no idea about any of this. She quoted $25,500, exactly what Ryan had suggested. I paid her with a certified check right there.”
“And then?”
“Wednesday morning, Ryan called. Said his collector was ready. Needed payment immediately. Wire transfer. $200,000. To an escrow account he provided. He’d handle everything. I’d get my cut after the sale finalized.”
I closed my eyes. “You paid him.”
“I wired $200,000 Wednesday afternoon. He said the collector would pick up the car Friday. But Friday came and went. No collector, no Ryan, no calls. I tried calling him. Voicemail.”
“I drove to your daughter’s apartment this morning. The landlord said they’d given notice. Moving out next week. He played us both.”
“He didn’t just steal from you, Scott. He stole from me too. $200,000 for a fake collector who doesn’t exist. Plus Lauren got $25,000 from me. He walked away with $225,000 total.”
I did the math. Catherine’s Charger was worth $306,000. Ryan convinced Gary to pay $200,000 for a fake sale. Lauren got $25,500.
Ryan pocketed Gary’s $200,000 while ensuring the car was sold far below value so he could later claim it wasn’t worth much when liquidating my assets through conservatorship.
“It’s not just theft,” I said slowly. “It’s layered fraud. He gets your $200,000 immediately. He gets the car out of the house. And when he files for conservatorship Monday, he can point to the low sale price as evidence of my poor judgment.”
Gary stared at me. “Conservatorship?”
I showed him the petition form. Gary read it, his face going pale.
“Jesus Christ, how long has he been planning this?”
“18 months? Maybe longer. I showed him Catherine’s folder. He’s done it before. Multiple times. You’re victim number six. And I was supposed to be number seven.”
“Was?”
“Lauren knows now. She’s with Vincent Clark, Catherine’s private investigator. We’re building a case.”
“But Gary, I need to ask, are you willing to testify? To go on record about what Ryan did?”
“Testify?” Gary laughed bitterly. “Scott, I’ll do more than testify. He used Catherine’s memory to scam me. Used my grief, my respect for your wife to steal $200,000. You’re damn right I’ll testify.”
My phone buzzed. Text from Vincent. I looked at the screen and my blood ran cold.
“What is it?” Gary asked.
I turned the phone so he could see. URGENT. Ryan just booked tickets. Dubai flight, Monday 6 AM. Sacramento International. Not Friday, like he told Lauren. He’s running.
Monday morning. Two days from now.
We had 60 hours. 60 hours before Ryan Wells boarded a plane to Dubai with $200,000 of Gary’s money and whatever else he could drain from Lauren’s accounts.
My kitchen table became our war room.
Vincent Clark arrived first, spreading documents across the surface. Then Gary, still pale from filing the police report. Lauren sat in Catherine’s chair, jaw set with determination.
And Frank Morrison, my fishing buddy, retired firefighter. The man who’d been checking on me since Catherine died stood by the counter with his arms crossed, ready to help however he could.
“Let’s be clear about what we’re facing,” Vincent said, pulling up his laptop. “Gary filed a fraud report with Sacramento PD. Detective Bradley is on it. But here’s the problem. Gary willingly wired the money. Ryan promised a business transaction that didn’t materialize.”
“Without evidence of intent to defraud or proof he’s fleeing, it’s a civil matter, not criminal.”
“He’s booked a one-way ticket to Dubai,” I said. “That’s fleeing.”
“Booking a ticket isn’t illegal. People travel internationally all the time. We need something concrete. Admission of fraud. Proof of the conservatorship scheme. Something that gives Bradley grounds for arrest.”
Lauren looked up. “What if he confesses?”
Vincent turned to her. “If Ryan admitted his plan on record, that would work. But he’s not going to confess to the police.”
“He might confess to me.”
The room went silent.
“Lauren,” I started.
“He thinks I don’t know anything. He thinks I’m still his naive wife who believes Dad’s declining.” Her voice was steady.
“What if I go home tonight? Tell him I’m worried about the Dubai trip. That I’ve been thinking about Dad. That maybe Ethan was right about the conservatorship.”
Vincent leaned forward. “You want to wear a wire.”
“I want to record him admitting what he’s planning. Give you evidence Bradley can use.”
“That’s dangerous,” Gary said. “If he suspects…”
“He won’t suspect. I’m his victim, his tool. He spent two years molding me into exactly what he needs.” Lauren’s hands clenched. “Let me use that. Let me get you what you need to stop him.”
I looked at my daughter, 33 years old, realizing her husband was a predator, volunteering to walk back into the lion’s den. Catherine’s daughter, brave and fierce.
“Vincent,” I said quietly. “Can this work legally?”
“California is a two-party consent state for recordings. But there’s an exception. If one party reasonably believes a crime is being planned or committed, single-party consent recording is admissible.”
“Given the conservatorship petition, the fraud against Gary and Ryan’s flight booking, we have reasonable belief.”
Vincent pulled out a small device. “This is a digital recorder. Voice activated. Clips to your bra. Records up to eight hours.”
“What do I say to him?” Lauren asked.
“Nothing direct. Don’t accuse. Don’t confront.” Vincent opened a notepad. “You’re confused. Emotional. You say things like, ‘I’ve been looking at dad’s behavior and you’re right, he does seem off.’ You express worry about the trip.”
“What if something happens to dad while we’re gone? You let Ryan comfort you. And when he’s comfortable, when he thinks you’re back under his control, you ask the right questions.”
“What questions?”
“What happens after Dubai? What’s the next step with dad? Let him explain the conservatorship.”
“How will that help?”
“Let him lay out the plan. What about the house, the assets? Let him tell you how he’ll liquidate everything.”