Chapter 10 - The Ledger of the Dead
Elena skidded to a halt on the polished floorboards, her breath tearing through her throat in ragged gasps. Behind her, the heavy, uneven footsteps of Detective Vance echoed down the hallway, the sound of glass crunching beneath his boots. Trapped between the barrel of Beatrice’s shotgun and Vance’s revolver, Elena pressed her back against the wooden wainscoting, curling her entire torso over the baby.
"Put the gun down, Beatrice," Vance’s voice rang out from behind Elena, cold and breathless. "You pull that trigger, and every officer within five miles will descend on this house. I left my radio open on the tactical channel."
Beatrice didn't lower the barrel. Her manicured hands held the heavy firearm with practiced ease, her eyes fixed on Vance with venomous amusement. "You think you're clever, Marcus. You think you can use your dead sister's ghost to shake me down for the Sterling trust? I knew who was in that car the moment I ran her off the cliff."
Elena looked between the two predators. The baby let out a sharp cry, the deafening tension finally piercing his slumber.
"You killed an innocent woman just to call my bluff?" Vance said, taking another step forward, his revolver raised at Beatrice’s head.
"She was a vagrant from the lower slums," Beatrice scoffed, not an ounce of remorse in her aristocratic tone. "A replaceable chess piece. Just like you. Just like Julian."
"Julian is down at the precinct right now," Elena interjected, her voice cutting through the stalemate like a blade. "He’s giving a full statement. He knew about your offshore accounts, Beatrice. He sent a copy of the entire ledger to the federal prosecutor before we even left the maternity ward!"
Beatrice’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second—a micro-expression of doubt that Vance immediately recognized. In that split second of distraction, Vance raised his weapon to fire.
BOOM.
The shotgun roared, illuminating the gallery in an orange fireball of buckshot and smoke. Vance was thrown backward, the heavy pellets shredding through his coat and the plaster wall behind him. He collapsed to the floor with a violent crash, groaning as dark blood began to pool beneath his shoulders.
The shockwave knocked Elena to her knees. Her ears rang with a deafening whine, the smell of burnt gunpowder suffocating the air. Through the haze of gray smoke, Beatrice racked the shotgun, ejecting an empty shell that clattered onto the floor.
"One nuisance eliminated," Beatrice said, turning the smoking barrel down toward Elena. "Now, hand me that child, or I will tell the police that Vance shot you before I managed to take him down."
Elena looked down at the newborn. He was unharmed, but his wide, tearful eyes stared up at her in terror. She looked back at Beatrice, her jaw set, her hand slipping into the hidden fold of her sequined gown.
"You forgot one thing, Beatrice," Elena whispered.
May you like
From her dress, Elena pulled out Julian’s heavy gold fountain pen—the one with the concealed digital transmitter Julian used to record his board meetings—its red LED blinking steadily.
"Every word you spoke was broadcast directly to the precinct's dispatch."
