Chapter 13 - The Broken Matriarch
The heavy front doors of the Mitchell mansion were breached with a battering ram that shattered the leaded stained glass Eleanor had imported from Venice. Tactical officers in tactical gear flooded the cavernous foyer, their weapon lights piercing the gloom.
""Eleanor Mitchell! Step out with your hands visible!""
Eleanor didn't surrender quietly. She stood at the top of the grand sweeping staircase, clutching a pearl-handled revolver Julian’s father had kept in the study display case. Her hair was wild, her expensive silk robes disheveled, her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated madness. ""Stay back! This is private property! I am a Mitchell!""
Agent Harris strode into the foyer, his weapon lowered, flanked by two marshals carrying ballistic shields. Behind them, stepping into the grand hall she had been forced to scrub on her hands and knees, walked Ava. Ava wore a simple black suit provided by the bureau, her forehead freshly stitched and bandaged, her gaze unblinking.
Eleanor locked eyes with her daughter-in-law, her hand trembling violently on the revolver’s grip. ""You... you ruined everything! He would have forgiven me! He was my son!""
""He tried to save you from yourself, Eleanor,"" Ava said, her voice echoing clearly up the grand stairwell. ""You chose the money over Julian’s life. You sent Marcus to kill him. You looked me in the eyes every single day, knowing you had Julian murdered, and you made me cook your meals.""
""You deserved it!"" Eleanor shrieked, raising the revolver toward Ava’s chest. ""You stole him from me!""
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Before Eleanor could pull the trigger, a sharp crack echoed from the second-floor balcony. Marcus Vance, bleeding heavily from a gunshot wound to his shoulder and flanked by federal snipers, tackled Eleanor from behind, slamming her down onto the hardwood landing. The pearl-handled gun clattered down the stairs, landing harmlessly at Ava’s feet.
Eleanor was pinned to the floor, screeching obscenities as zip-ties bound her wrists behind her back. As the marshals hauled her to her feet, she glared at Ava with venomous hatred. Ava didn't look away. She picked up the revolver, handed it to Agent Harris, and whispered, ""Take her away.""
