Chapter 17 - Cornered on the Gallery
From the shadows of the master corridor emerged Vivienne Ashford.
She did not look hurried. She wore a midnight-blue dressing gown of heavy silk, her hair perfectly brushed, holding a sleek silver tablet in one hand. But in her other hand, hanging loosely by her side, was a compact, matte-black handgun.
"How predictably sentimental," Vivienne said, her voice echoing off the cavernous ceiling and descending down into the marble abyss below. "The devoted stepbrother, the heroic housekeeper, and the tragic, unstable mother. Did you really think you could bypass the biometric sensors on the west wing without alerting my phone?"
Claire shrank behind Ethan, her body shaking violently at the sight of her stepmother. "Vivienne... please. Take the maritime trust. Take the shares. Take everything my mother left me. Just let me take my daughter and leave."
Vivienne sighed, shaking her head with theatrical sorrow as she stepped toward the glass barrier of the upper mezzanine. "You never understood the world, Claire. It isn't about the money. Money is a tool for peasants who trade hours for coins. It's about authority. It's about the Ashford name, the legacy, and the simple fact that I will never allow a weak, sniveling child of another woman to dictate the terms of my life."
She leveled the firearm directly at Nora's chest—precisely where Lily lay sleeping.
"Step away from the baby, Miss Ellis," Vivienne commanded, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "Unstrap the carrier and place her on the floor. Now."
"You won't shoot," Nora said, her voice shaking but her feet refusing to budge. "The noise will wake Richard. The entire security team will be here in two minutes."
"Richard took three times his normal dose of sedative tonight," Vivienne said, a cold, terrifying smile curving her lips. "And as for the security team? I gave them the night off for maintenance. If a gun discharges tonight, the story will be remarkably simple: Claire, deep in the throes of postpartum psychosis, attacked the housekeeper, seized the child, and in the ensuing struggle, a tragic accident occurred. A grieving stepmother had to defend herself."
Ethan stepped directly in front of the gun’s barrel. "You're a monster."
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"I am a survivor, Ethan," Vivienne snapped, cocking the hammer of the pistol. "Something you have never had the spine to become. Move!"
***
