Chapter 8 - THE RECKONINGThe sound of the gunshot rang in my ears.
I hit the mahogany desk hard, knocking the heavy brass lamp to the floor.
I scrambled to my feet, terrified of what I would see.
Victoria was on the floor, clutching her dress.
But there was no blood.
I turned.
My father was on his knees, gripping his wrist. The gun lay on the Persian rug five feet away.
Lily stood over him. She had grabbed a heavy bronze bookend from the shelf and struck his wrist before he could fire accurately. The bullet had lodged safely in the ceiling.
My sister dropped the bookend. She looked down at the man who had stolen her brother.
“You’re pathetic,” Lily said.
Sirens wailed in the distance. They were getting louder. Fast.
Charles slumped back into his leather chair, holding his chest. He was hyperventilating. The reality of his total ruin was finally setting in.
I rushed over to Victoria and helped her up.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded, sobbing, clinging to my arm. “I called the police before we came in,” she whispered. “I couldn't let them do this to you. I’m so sorry, Ethan. I’m so sorry.”
I looked at her. The woman I had almost married. She had lied to me, yes. But in the end, she had risked her own life to save mine.
The library doors burst open again.
This time, it wasn't a family member. It was Greenwich Police.
Within seconds, they had my father in handcuffs. He didn't fight back. He just stared at the floor, a broken, defeated old man.
Charles Ashford was flanked by officers, though they had to call paramedics for his chest pain.
As they dragged my father past me, he stopped.
He looked at me, then at my mother.
“I did it for the legacy, Ethan,” he whispered. “You’ll understand one day.”
I looked him dead in the eye.
“I understand perfectly,” I said. “I understand that I am not your legacy. I am her son.”
I turned my back on him.
The officers led him away.
The room suddenly felt incredibly quiet.
I turned around.
My mother was standing by the window. Lily was standing a few feet away from her. The two of them were looking at each other, thirty years of stolen time bridging the gap between them.
My mother reached into her coat pocket.
She pulled out a small, faded wooden teething ring.
She held it out to Lily.
“I bought this for you,” Sarah whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. “The day before they took you away. I kept it every single day.”
Lily’s tough facade shattered.
She let out a choked sob and ran into our mother’s arms.
I stood there, watching them hold each other. The family I never knew I had.
Then, I heard a quiet cough from the doorway.
I turned.
Margaret Bell was standing there, leaning on a cane, accompanied by a police officer.
May you like
She smiled at me.
“I told you she was alive,” Margaret said.
