Chapter 7 - The Midnight Switch
The click of the revolver's hammer being pulled back echoed through the high-vaulted library like breaking glass.
Christopher stepped into the moonlight, his face twisted into an ugly, triumphant sneer.
"I knew you were too clever for your own good, little girl," Christopher whispered, pointing the barrel straight at my forehead.
"A common gutter rat shouldn't poke her nose into affairs of high finance."
My knees shook violently, but I kept my back straight, shielding the open safe with my body.
"Your uncle knows everything, Christopher," I said, trying to buy every second I could.
"He knows about the brake lines."
"He knows about the forty-two million dollars."
Christopher let out a mocking, arrogant laugh that sent shivers down my spine.
"My uncle is a vegetable who will be declared dead before sunrise."
"And as for you and that miserable brat downstairs, a terrible accident is about to occur."
"A house fire caused by an unattended space heater in the servant's quarters."
"Tragic, really."
He took three steps toward me, raising the gun to strike me across the face with the heavy barrel.
Suddenly, a deafening crash shattered the silence downstairs.
The mansion's perimeter alarm began to wail, blue and red emergency lights strobing violently through the library windows.
Christopher froze, his eyes widening in sudden panic.
"What did you do?" he roared, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the hallway.
"That isn't local police, Christopher," I said through gritted teeth, using his moment of distraction to slam my heel onto his foot.
He grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to pull free.
I grabbed the heavy bronze bookend from the nearest shelf and swung it with all my might into his forearm.
The silver revolver clattered across the parquet floor, sliding beneath a heavy sofa.
Christopher cursed, lunging toward me, but I sprinted past him down the stairs.
The thumb drive and the red ledger were clutched tightly against my ribs.
As I reached the second-floor landing, the double doors of the master bedroom burst open.
Dr. Wallace was standing over Raymond’s bed, holding a massive syringe filled with dark fluid.
"Christopher, the front gates have been rammed!" Wallace screamed in pure hysteria.
"We have to end this right now!"
Wallace raised the syringe to drive it straight into Raymond's neck.
I dropped the book and charged into the room like a wounded lioness defending her young.
I tackled Wallace from behind, driving my shoulder into his kidneys.
The doctor tumbled onto the floor, the syringe flying from his hand and shattering against the marble fireplace hearth.
Wallace scrambled to his feet, his face red with murderous fury, raising his heavy leather bag to bash my skull.
"Get away from her!" a thunderous voice boomed across the room.
Wallace froze in sheer terror.
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Standing upright beside the mahogany bed, his legs trembling but solid, was Raymond Winslow.
He held the heavy brass IV pole like a medieval battle spear, his eyes burning with the wrath of a betrayed king.
