Chapter 58 - Shadows in the Courtyard
Evelyn reacted with primal savagery. She lunged forward, her fingers clawing toward the fallen pistol.
"Don't touch it!" I screamed, slamming my hands down onto the desk, vaulting past the chair with an agility I didn't know I possessed at my age.
I reached Evelyn just as her fingers wrapped around the checkered grip of the firearm. Without hesitating, I brought my heavy leather-bound ledger down across her wrist. Evelyn shrieked in pain as the gun slipped from her grasp, tumbling beneath the heavy mahogany sofa.
"You miserable old bitch!" Evelyn snarled, lunging at me with bared claws.
I did not flinch. For forty years I had held my tongue against the snobbery of high society, and for months I had endured this woman’s insolence, her snide laughter, her mocking whispers in front of twelve people at my own dinner table. With all the strength of a mother defending her family’s legacy, I drove my open palm straight across Evelyn’s cheek.
The crack echoed like a gunshot. Evelyn recoiled, stumbling backward against the bookshelves, her cheek blooming in crimson shock.
Behind us, the struggle on the hearth was violent and desperate. Julian, despite his age, fought with the frantic fury of a cornered beast. He grabbed a heavy bronze fire poker, swinging it violently at Derek’s head. Derek blocked the blow with his forearm, grunting in agony as the metal bruised bone, but Marcus rushed into the fray, driving the butt of his shotgun into Julian’s ribs.
Julian gasped, collapsing onto the flagstones, clutching his side as the iron poker fell from his bruised fingers. Marcus immediately pinned Julian down, pressing the cold steel barrel of the shotgun against the lawyer's temple.
"Move an inch," Marcus growled, his breathing heavy and ragged, "and you won't live to see the sunrise."
Derek pushed himself up, gasping for air, holding his injured arm. He looked at Julian, then turned his gaze toward Evelyn, who was trembling against the mahogany bookcase, her eyes darting toward the exits.
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"It’s over, Evelyn," Derek panted, wiping the blood from his cheek. "The estate is locked down. Marcus was supposed to check in every fifteen minutes. When he didn't answer his auxiliary radio, our second security detail in the carriage house automatically initiated a silent distress beacon to the State Police."
As if on cue, the distant wail of multiple sirens began to echo through the pine woods surrounding Oakridge, growing louder and closer with every passing second.
