I have more money than I know what to do with. And after what they’ve put me through, I’m willing to go pretty far. Maria smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant expression.
In that case, you and I need to have a very interesting conversation. The bail hearing was a media circus. News bands lined the street outside the courthouse, and reporters shouted questions as Marcus escorted me through the crowd.
Oil heiress accused of poisoning daughter-in-law was the headline on every local news station, and I could see the story spreading to national outlets. Blake and Skylar were in the courtroom, sitting in the front row with their attorney. Skylar looked appropriately frail and victimized, while Blake played the role of the devastated son torn between loyalty to his mother and justice for his wife.
Judge Patricia Williams presided over the hearing with the no-nonsense efficiency I remembered from my prosecutorial days. She listened to the arguments from both sides, reviewed the evidence, and set bail at $2 million, high enough to make a statement, but not so high as to be punitive. The defendant will surrender her passport and submit to electronic monitoring, Judge Williams announced.
She is not to have any contact with the alleged victim or any witnesses in this case. As I was processed for release, Marcus pulled me aside with urgent news. Harrison found something big, he said quietly.
Victoria Sterling’s real name is Rebecca Martinez, and she’s wanted by the FBI for a string of similar crimes across multiple states. The FBI? She’s been running this scam for over a decade. Elderly victims in Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and California.
Always the same pattern, marry into money, kill the spouse, inherit the wealth and estate. How many victims? At least seven that we can confirm, maybe more. The scope of Victoria’s criminal enterprise was staggering.
She wasn’t just a con artist, she was a serial killer who’d turn murder into a business model. Where is she now? That’s the problem. After your arrest, both Blake and Victoria disappeared.
Their house is empty, bank accounts are closed, and nobody knows where they went. My blood ran They’re running. It looks that way.
But here’s the thing, we’ve been in contact with the FBI, and they’re very interested in finally catching Rebecca Martinez. They’re willing to work with us. What does that mean for my case? If we can prove that Rebecca Martinez poisoned herself as part of an elaborate framed job, your charges will be dropped immediately.
But we need to find her first. That evening, I sat in my study with an electronic monitoring bracelet around my ankle, feeling like a prisoner in my own home. The media attention had been overwhelming.
Reporters camping outside my gates, helicopters circling overhead, and a constant stream of phone calls from journalists wanting my side of the story. I refused all interviews, but I watched the coverage with growing anger. Blake was giving carefully orchestrated statements to sympathetic reporters, painting himself as the tragic son of a mentally unstable mother who’d finally snapped under the pressure of aging and wealth.
My mother has been increasingly paranoid over the past year, Blake told Channel 5 News. She’s made accusations against multiple family members and friends, claiming they’re after her money. I think the stress of managing such a large estate has affected her judgment.
It was a masterful performance designed to support the prosecution’s theory that I was suffering from age-related mental decline that had led to irrational and violent behavior. But Blake had made one crucial mistake. In his eagerness to appear on television, he’d revealed that he and Victoria were still in the area.
The interview had been conducted at a local hotel, which meant they hadn’t fled as far as we’d thought. I called Marcus immediately. Did you see Blake’s interview? I saw it.
Harrison is already working with the FBI to trace their location. Marcus, I want to end this. All of it.
I’m tired of being reactive. It’s time to go on the offensive. What did you have in mind? I’ve been thinking about this since my conversation with Maria in jail.
I want to set a trap. Use myself as bait to draw them out into the open. Colleen, that’s incredibly dangerous.
If Rebecca Martinez is willing to commit murder, she won’t hesitate to try again. That’s exactly what I’m counting on. The plan I outlined to Marcus was elegant in its simplicity.
We would leak information suggesting that I’d hidden evidence that could clear my name, documents or recordings that proved Blake and Victoria had framed me. The bait would be irresistible to them because as long as that evidence existed, they would never be safe. They’ll have to come after me.
I explained either to steal the evidence or to kill me before I can use it. And when they do, the FBI will be waiting. Marcus was quiet for a long moment.
This is either brilliant or suicidal. I’m not sure which. After what they’ve put me through, I’m not sure I care.
The leak was carefully orchestrated through Harrison’s media contacts. By the next morning, rumors were circulating that Colleen Princewill had discovered evidence proving her innocence and was planning to present it to authorities within 48 hours. The story was vague enough to be believable but specific enough to create urgency.
If Blake and Victoria thought I had evidence that could expose them, they would have to act quickly. All I had to do was wait for them to come to me. The waiting was the hardest part.
For two days, I went through the motions of normal life while wearing a wire and knowing that FBI agents were positioned around my property. Every phone call could be the setup for an ambush. Every visitor could be a potential assassin.
Marcus had wanted to evacuate me to a safe house, but I’d insisted on staying at the estate. If Blake and Victoria were going to make a move, it would be on familiar ground where they felt confident and I appeared vulnerable. On the third night, they took the bait.
I was in my study, pretending to review documents while actually reading a novel, when the motion sensors detected movement near the back of the house. The FBI had installed additional security equipment that would alert them to any intrusion, but I was on my own until they could respond. Blake appeared first, slipping through the French doors that led from the garden to my living room.
He moved with practice stealth, clearly familiar with the house’s layout and security blind spots. Victoria followed a moment later, carrying what looked like a small medical bag. I remained in my study, but I could hear their whispered conversation through the thin walls.
Where would she hide it? Victoria asked, her voice carrying a slight accent that hadn’t been present when she was playing the role of sweet daughter-in-law. Probably in the safe, Blake replied. She keeps all her important documents there.
What’s the combination? My birthday. She’s sentimental like that. They moved through my house like they owned it, searching methodically for evidence that didn’t exist.
I could hear drawers being opened, papers being shuffled, and the occasional curse when they came up empty-handed. Blake. Victoria said after 20 minutes of fruitless searching, are you sure she has something? This could be a trap.
She has to have something. How else would she know to switch the coffee cups? Maybe she got lucky. No.
My mother’s too smart for luck. She figured something out, and now she’s planning to use it against us. The grudging respect in Blake’s voice might have been flattering under different circumstances.
Even after trying to murder me, he still recognized that he’d underestimated his opponent. We need to find her, Victoria said. Make her tell us where it is.
And then, then we finish what we started. They found me exactly where I wanted them to, sitting in my study with my back to the door, apparently absorbed in reading documents. Blake entered first, moving with the confidence of someone who thought he had the upper hand.
Hello, mother. I turned slowly, letting surprise and fear show on my face. Blake, what are you doing here? You’re not supposed to contact me.
We need to talk, Blake said, while Victoria positioned herself near the door to block any escape attempt, about the evidence you think you have. I don’t know what you mean. Victoria stepped forward, and I saw that she was holding a syringe.