Chapter 27 - The Prodigal Daughter's Trap
The wind howled through the mountain pass, driving the stinging snow against the reinforced windows of our SUV like a volley of tiny ice pellets. Victoria stood motionless in the center of the road, her charcoal overcoat flapping wildly in the gale, leaning heavily on her silver-headed cane. Even from fifty feet away, I could see the unmistakable family resemblance—the sharp cheekbones, the piercing, calculating eyes, and that terrifying, absolute stillness under pressure.
"Should I reverse, Mrs. Vance?" the driver asked, his hand hovering anxiously over the gearshift, his eyes darting between Victoria and the dense pine forest lining the drop-off. "We can take the logging road behind the ridge."
"No," I said, pushing the button to lower my window just a fraction. The arctic air rushed in, smelling of pine, ozone, and old deceit. "If we turn back now, we're running. And Evelyn Vance does not run from her own flesh and blood."
I pressed the wheelchair release button, locking my legs into place before rolling smoothly out of the SUV and onto the slush-covered asphalt. Sarah was right behind me, her coat buttoned to her chin, her hand resting reassuringly near the concealed holster at her hip.
Victoria didn't flinch as my wheelchair crunched across the icy gravel, stopping ten feet away from her. She simply leaned down slightly, resting both hands on the silver handle of her cane, and let out a low, dark laugh that was almost entirely swallowed by the wind.
"Well, mother," Victoria called out, her voice cutting cleanly through the howling gale. "They told me the lake was deep enough to keep you down. They told me the current near the quarry was strong enough to wash away any troublesome old memories. But I suppose stubbornness runs thicker than blood in our family, doesn't it?"
"You knew," I stated plainly, my voice steady, carrying no trace of surprise. The pieces were finally snapping together in my mind, forming a picture so dark and twisted it made the corporate greed of Marcus Sterling look like child's play. "You weren't in Europe, Victoria. You never left the state. You were the one orchestrating the entire collapse from the shadows, using Jonathan as your blunt instrument while you held the real leverage."
Victoria smiled, a slow, predatory stretching of her lips that didn't reach her eyes. "Jonathan is a pathetic, greedy little boy who couldn't manage a lemonade stand without blowing it up. But he had one useful quality—he hated you almost as much as I did."
"Where is Helen?" I demanded, leaning forward in my wheelchair, the metal frame groaning under the force of my grip. "Where is your sister?"
Victoria’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a sudden, bitter flash of raw hatred. "Helen? Oh, mother... you always did have a favorite, didn't you? Even after all these years, you still think of her as the delicate little flower who needed protecting from the big, bad world."
"She is your sister!" I shouted, the wind nearly carrying the words away.
"She is a loose end," Victoria corrected sharply, stepping closer, her cane tapping rhythmically against the icy asphalt. "Just like you were supposed to be. And just like everyone else who ever stood between me and the true inheritance of the Vance empire."
Before I could answer, the forest behind Victoria came alive with the low, ominous rumble of heavy machinery. Headlights cut through the blinding snow as two massive logging trucks rolled out from the tree line, blocking our path from behind as well, trapping our SUV in a literal iron pincer between the cliffs and the falling timber.
Sarah instantly drew her sidearm, pointing it squarely at Victoria’s chest. "Don't move another inch, Victoria. One more step and I put a federal round right through your kneecap."
Victoria didn't even look at the gun. Instead, she slowly raised her left hand and clicked a small, metallic remote control attached to her coat pocket.
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From the top of the cliff directly above us, a massive wall of snow, ice, and sheared pine logs suddenly broke loose, beginning its thunderous, unstoppable descent straight toward the road where our vehicle—and my wheelchair—was parked.
***
