Chapter 2 - THE FIRE ON THE HEARTH
I didn't rush into the room. A reckless confrontation with a woman who had already shown a willingness to use torture and military-grade weaponry was a quick way to get a bullet through the chest.
I took a deep breath, lowering my center of gravity, and pushed the heavy study door open with the tip of my sock-clad foot.
The oak door swung inward silently on its freshly oiled hinges.
Vanessa didn't hear it. She was entirely engrossed in the contents of the iron box. She was rapidly flipping through the yellowed, handwritten pages of my father’s ledger, her pen-light beam sweeping over rows of dates, serial numbers, and account codes dating back to the late 1990s.
“Looking for something specific, Victoria?” I asked softly.
She flinched violently, dropping the ledger onto the hearth. In a flash, her hand reached into her jacket pocket, pulling a compact, silver snub-nosed revolver from her coat.
She spun around on her knees, raising the weapon toward the doorway.
I didn't step into her line of fire. I remained pressed against the thick doorframe, holding the aluminum Maglite at arm's length to her left and flashing the blinding twelve-hundred-lumen beam directly into her eyes.
“Drop the gun!” I commanded, my voice echoing through the high-ceilinged room like a gunshot.
The intense, concentrated light blinded her instantly. She screamed in frustration, shielding her eyes with her left forearm, her thumb frantically cocking the hammer of the revolver.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. A heavy lead bullet tore through the oak doorframe three inches above my head, showering my hair with splintered wood and plaster dust.
Before she could adjust her aim and fire a second shot, I stepped into the room, stepping under her outstretched arm, and brought the heavy aluminum flashlight down onto her wrist with crushing force.
CRACK.
Vanessa shrieked in genuine pain as the metal casing struck her radius bone. The silver revolver flew from her numb fingers, clattering across the hardwood floor and sliding under the heavy leather sofa near the window.
She reacted with frantic, desperate energy. Instead of trying to recover the gun, she grabbed the heavy iron document box with both hands and swung it violently upward toward my face.
I raised my left forearm to block the blow. The iron corner of the box slammed into my arm, sending a dull, numbing pain shooting up to my shoulder. The impact knocked the flashlight from my grip, sending it rolling across the rug, its beam illuminating the lower half of the room in chaotic angles.
Vanessa scrambled to her feet, kicking wildly at my legs. Her heel caught me in the shin, but I barely felt it through the adrenaline surging through my blood.
I lunged forward, grabbing her by her collar, and shoved her backward against the stone fireplace.
“It’s over!” I yelled, pinning her shoulders against the cold granite. “It’s over, Vanessa!”
She was breathing heavily, her nose bleeding slightly from the sudden impact, her dark eyes wide with unadulterated malice. She stared up at me, her chest heaving, a bitter, crimson-stained grin spreading across her teeth.
“You think... you think this was about your money?” she wheezed, her voice raspy and broken. “You arrogant, self-righteous bastard. You think I spent eighteen months listening to your boring stories about your father’s garage just for a piece of your estate?”
I tightened my grip on her collar, leaning in close until my face was inches from hers.
“Why are you here?” I demanded. “What was in that box?”
She let out a wet, hysterical laugh that turned into a cough.
“Ask your father,” she sneered, spitting a tiny droplet of blood onto my lapel. “Ask him why he ruined my family twenty years ago. Ask him whose design patents he stole to start Mercer Aerospace!”
The breath caught in my throat.
The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“What are you talking about?” I whispered.
Vanessa’s grin broadened, filled with a deep, toxic triumph.
“Richard Carlyle didn't just crash on Wall Street, Elijah,” she whispered, her eyes burning into mine. “Your father framed him. Your father took his propulsion designs, passed them off as his own, and watched my father go to prison so Mercer Aerospace could get its first military contract.”
She leaned her head back against the stone, her eyes wild.
May you like
“I didn't come here to steal your wealth, Elijah,” she murmured softly. “I came here to tear your entire legacy down to the ground. And Maria... poor, loyal Maria... she found the Carlyle original schematics in your father’s chest three days ago while cleaning.”
I stood frozen in place, my hands still holding her shoulders, as the world I thought I knew fractured into a thousand jagged pieces.
