Chapter 20 - The Revelation at the Edge of the Cliff
Julian Vance looked like a phantom resurrected from the grave.
He was in his late sixties, with sunken cheeks, wild, predatory eyes, and a cruel smile that stretched across his weathered face.
Greg stood beside him, clutching a semi-automatic handgun, his eyes dilated, shaking with unstable adrenaline.
"Hello, Raymond," Julian said, his voice a rasp of gravel and malice.
"Did you miss me?"
"Ten years hiding in the Mediterranean, waiting for Christopher to do the job properly."
"In the end, if you want an empire destroyed, you have to burn it down yourself."
Raymond stood firmly in front of me, leveling his pistol directly at Julian’s heart.
"Lower your weapons, Julian," Raymond commanded coldly.
"The federal marshals have already signaled local SWAT."
"You have five minutes before this estate is surrounded by fifty tactical officers."
"Five minutes is more than enough time to settle a thirty-year debt," Julian sneered.
Greg stepped forward, his eyes locking onto me, his face twisting with vile rage.
"Give me the boy, Nora," Greg snarled, raising his weapon toward my face.
"You think you can run away from me to live with this billionaire freak?"
"They promised me ten million dollars once the trust is voided."
"Give me Theodore, or I will put a bullet through your head right here!"
"You touch her, Greg," Raymond warned, his voice low and deadly, "and you will not leave this room alive."
Julian laughed, a terrifying, manic sound that echoed off the high plaster ceilings.
"Shoot him, Greg," Julian ordered casually.
"Shoot Raymond, take the girl and the binder."
"We end this tonight."
Greg raised his gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.
I didn't think.
I didn't hesitate.
I threw the heavy leather binder straight at Greg's face.
The binder struck Greg square between the eyes, knocking his aim off balance.
A gunshot deafened the room.
The bullet tore into the wall, shattering the massive oil portrait of Eleanor into flying splinters of wood and torn canvas.
Raymond fired two shots instantly.
Julian screamed as a round caught him in the shoulder, spinning him backward into the corridor.
Greg lunged forward like a rabid dog, tackling Raymond to the floor.
The two men grappled violently in the darkness, fighting for control of Raymond's pistol.
I scrambled across the floor, desperate to find a weapon, my hands sliding through shattered glass.
A second shot echoed through the enclosed room.
Both men froze.
Raymond’s hands went limp, falling back against the hardwood floor.
Greg staggered backward, clutching his chest, a dark stain spreading rapidly across his navy suit.
He collapsed onto his back, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling, coughing his last, ragged breath before going completely still.
"Raymond!" I screamed, crawling frantically toward him.
Raymond was bleeding from his side, his face white, but his eyes were open, breathing heavily.
"Nora... behind you..." Raymond choked out, his hand reaching out feebly.
I turned around.
Julian Vance had dragged himself back into the doorway, his face covered in blood, holding a detonator switch in his uninjured left hand.
"If I can't have Bellevue Crest," Julian whispered with demonic fury, "no one will."
Downstairs, Theodore’s piercing scream echoed through the mansion's ventilation ducts.
At that exact moment, a team of black-clad tactical operators breached the shattered French doors of the balcony behind us.
A voice roared through a bullhorn: "Federal agents! Drop the weapon!"
Julian pressed the detonator.
A deafening explosion ripped through the north wing below us, shaking the entire foundation of Bellevue Crest.
The floor beneath my feet gave way, collapsing into a chasm of fire, smoke, and falling stone.
As the darkness rushed up to swallow me, I heard Theodore crying in the distance, and a single, terrifying truth flashed through my mind:
The explosion hadn't come from Julian's bomb.
May you like
It had come from the locked vaults beneath the library.
And someone else was walking through the smoke.
