Chapter 26 - The Poison in the Family Trust
Victoria didn’t gasp. She didn’t panic.
Even coming out of a chemically induced stupor, the matriarch of the Vance dynasty moved with the deadly, calculated precision of a viper.
From beneath the dark satin pillows, Victoria’s manicured fingers closed around the handle of a heavy silver paperweight she had hidden before the federal raid.
"Clara," Victoria’s voice croaked, raspy but dripping with pure venom.
Clara spun around in shock, raising the flare gun.
*Crack!*
Victoria swung the heavy silver block upward with terrifying speed, smashing it directly into Clara’s wrist.
The flare gun discharged instantly with an ear-splitting roar.
*BOOM!*
A blinding streak of magnesium fire tore across the stateroom, embedding itself into the mahogany paneling above the bed and exploding into a shower of white-hot embers.
Clara screamed, dropping the remote detonator onto the plush carpet as she clutched her shattered wrist.
Maya lunged forward.
She didn't reach for the detonator.
She tackled Clara away from the expanding wall of fire that was rapidly catching on the silk draperies.
The alarm system on the yacht erupted into life—a deafening, mechanical siren accompanied by flashing red strobe lights throughout the corridor.
Victoria rolled off the opposite side of the bed, landing on her feet with wild, unkempt elegance.
Her white evening gown was smeared with black soot, her gray hair tangled around her sunken, furious face.
She looked like a demon rising from a funeral pyre.
"You ungrateful little bastard," Victoria spat, glaring at Clara through the rolling gray smoke. "I kept you alive for twenty years! I gave you a private suite in Switzerland! I paid millions to keep you breathing!"
"You buried me!" Clara shrieked, clutching her broken wrist against her ribs, blood dripping through her fingers. "You buried me because I reminded you that you were nothing more than a thief who slept with the hired help!"
Victoria sneered, stepping toward the cabin door. "Your father was weak. Just like Julian is weak. Just like this pathetic little peasant Julian married."
Victoria turned her ice-cold gaze toward Maya.
"You think you’re clever, Maya?" Victoria hissed, coughing as the smoke thickened. "You think you survived me? You have no idea what Julian agreed to behind your back."
Maya froze, her hands still holding Clara down on the floor. "What are you talking about?"
"Ask him why he married you, little girl!" Victoria laughed, a shrill, mocking sound that cut through the blaring sirens. "Julian’s inheritance had a stipulation. My father’s trust required him to marry a descendant of Marcus Reed to consolidate the maritime shipping rights! He hunted you down! He courted you for two years because you were the key to sixty million dollars!"
The words felt like a physical blow to Maya’s chest.
The air left her lungs entirely.
Julian hadn't met her by chance at that gallery in Brooklyn.
Their entire relationship—the romantic dinners, the promises, the sweet, quiet life he offered her—was an orchestrated corporate acquisition.
Clara looked up at Maya, her face pale through the smoke, a twisted, tragic smile on her lips.
"I told you," Clara wheezed, blood flecking her lips. "Julian is our mother’s son. He’s one of them."
"He didn't know," Maya whispered, struggling to convince herself. "He didn't know about Marcus."
"He knew everything," Victoria sneered, reaching for the door handle. "And now, both of Marcus’s little bastards are going to burn together on my ship."
Victoria yanked the door open and sprinted down the corridor toward the upper deck.
The flames behind the bed had engulfed the entire wall, the heat radiating off the ceiling with suffocating intensity.
The fire was eating through the electrical conduits; sparks showered down from the recessed lights.
"Maya..." Clara gasped, grabbing Maya’s jacket. "The detonator... the fuel lines..."
Maya looked down at the carpet.
The black plastic remote had been crushed under Victoria’s heavy heels when she fled.
The tiny red LED light on the circuit board was blinking rapidly in an erratic, broken pattern.
The timer was malfunctioning.
The explosion wasn't going to wait for a five-minute countdown.
"We have to move! Now!" Maya screamed, hoisting Clara up by her uninjured arm.
Clara groaned in agony as Maya dragged her toward the door.
They stumbled out into the hallway, where thick, toxic black smoke rolled along the ceiling like a tidal wave.
Behind them, deep in the engine compartment beneath the floorboards, a low, rumbling groan resonated through the steel structure.
The fuel pumps were overloading.
May you like
The yacht was about to tear itself apart.
***
