Chapter 5 - THE SAPPHIRE BRACELET
“Give it to him, Emily!” Victoria screamed, her voice cracking with sheer terror as the cold barrel of Harold’s gun pressed harder against her temple. “Just give him the drawing!”
I stood frozen, Leo trembling violently in my arms. The paper crinkled in my sweaty grip.
Thirty-six guests were completely paralyzed. A few had ducked beneath the long dining table, their expensive gowns and tailored suits pooling on the marble floor.
Adrian hadn't moved an inch. His hands were raised slightly, palms open, but his eyes were calculating every possible angle of attack.
“Harold, think about this,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You can’t shoot her and make it out of this house alive. My men are stationed at every exit.”
“Your men are loyal to whoever signs their checks!” Harold spat, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “And once I have those offshore coordinates, I’ll be the richest man on the Eastern seaboard. I’ll buy your entire security detail.”
“You won’t make it to the vault,” Eleanor Hayes said, stepping forward. The seventy-year-old woman leaned heavily on her cane, but her voice was as sharp as broken glass. “You’re a coward, Harold. You’ve always had other people do your dirty work.”
“Shut up, you old witch!” Harold yelled.
Victoria began to sob hysterically. “Harold, please! I helped you! I moved Eleanor’s seat! I stayed quiet all these years! We had a deal!”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. He looked at his mother, really looked at her, for the first time tonight.
“A deal?” Adrian repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “What deal, Mother? Why have you been protecting the man who murdered my father?”
Victoria squeezed her eyes shut, weeping openly. “I had to, Adrian! He made me!”
“How?” Adrian demanded, ignoring the gun pointed at her head.
Victoria reached blindly toward her own wrist, her manicured fingers fumbling with the sleeve of her silk gown. She pulled the fabric back, revealing a stunning, heavy sapphire bracelet sparkling under the chandeliers.
Eleanor gasped loudly.
“My God,” Eleanor whispered, bringing a trembling hand to her mouth. “That’s it. That’s the bracelet.”
Adrian frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The night your father was killed,” Eleanor said, her voice shaking with righteous fury, “the police found a piece of jewelry in the study near his body. A broken clasp. But it vanished from the evidence locker before the trial. Harold paid off the cops to make it disappear.”
Harold’s lip curled into a sick, triumphant smile. “That’s right, Adrian. Your mother wasn’t sleeping in her bedroom when your father took that bullet. She was in the study. She watched me shoot him.”
The collective gasp from the guests was deafening.
Adrian looked like he had been struck by lightning. He stared at the mother who had raised him, the woman he had protected for his entire life.
“You were there?” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking with absolute heartbreak. “You watched him die, and you did nothing?”
“I was terrified!” Victoria screamed, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. “Harold said if I went to the police, he would plant the bracelet and tell them I hired him to do it! He said he would take you away from me, Adrian! I did it to protect you!”
“You did it to protect your wealth, you selfish coward,” Adrian spat, his grief instantly calcifying into pure, unadulterated rage.
Harold tightened his grip on Victoria’s hair. “Enough family therapy. The drawing, Emily. Now. Or I paint this white tablecloth with Victoria’s brains.”
I looked at Adrian. He gave me a microscopic nod. Do it. Play along.
I set Leo down gently, whispering for him to hide behind the heavy oak sideboard. The little boy scrambled into the shadows.
My hands shook as I took a step toward Harold. The paper felt heavy as lead.
“Just take it,” I said, extending my arm slowly. “Take it and let her go.”
Harold grinned, his eyes wide with greed. He reached out with his free hand to snatch the child’s drawing from me.
But before his fingers could touch the paper, a blur of red silk slammed into his side.
Vanessa had charged him.
She hit Harold with the force of a desperate animal, grabbing his wrist and twisting the gun violently upward.
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. The bullet shattered the massive crystal chandelier above the table. Shards of glass rained down like lethal hail, smashing into the china and crystal below.
Guests screamed in absolute terror, scrambling for the exits.
Harold stumbled backward, releasing Victoria, who collapsed to the floor in a weeping heap. He swung his arm wildly, striking Vanessa across the face with the heavy barrel of the gun.
Vanessa fell to the marble floor, blood instantly pouring from a gash on her cheek.
Adrian didn't hesitate. He lunged.
He hit Harold like a freight train, driving the older man into the wall with a sickening crunch. The gun clattered out of Harold’s hand, skidding across the marble floor.
Adrian grabbed Harold by the throat, lifting him off the ground, his fist pulling back to deliver a lethal blow.
“Adrian, stop!” Vanessa screamed from the floor, clutching her bleeding face.
Adrian froze, his fist inches from Harold’s face. He looked back at his fiancée, breathing heavily.
“Don't kill him,” Vanessa gasped, spitting blood onto the pristine floor. “If you kill him, we’ll never find out who’s really giving the orders.”
Adrian frowned, his grip tightening on Harold’s throat. “What are you talking about? Harold is the mastermind. He’s been running this syndicate from the shadows for twenty years.”
Vanessa let out a dark, bitter laugh. She pushed herself up onto her knees, looking at her uncle with absolute disgust.
“Harold?” Vanessa mocked. “Harold couldn't run a lemonade stand without messing it up. He’s a frontman. A puppet. He didn't order the hit on your father, Adrian. He just pulled the trigger.”
Harold’s eyes bulged in terror. “Vanessa, shut your mouth!”
“No,” Vanessa spat, standing up slowly. She turned to look directly at me. Her eyes were completely devoid of the cruel superiority she usually wore. Now, they were filled with something far more dangerous. Pity.
“You think your sweet, quiet father was a victim, Emily?” Vanessa asked softly.
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I backed up, clutching the drawing to my chest. “My father was a good man!”
“Your father didn't just audit the accounts,” Vanessa revealed, her voice echoing in the ruined dining room. “Thomas Carter was the one pulling Harold’s strings. Your father was the true boss of the syndicate, Emily. And I have the proof upstairs to show you.”
