Chapter 7 - THE FALSE ALLY
Vanessa's hands were shaking violently.
The heavy pistol wobbled, aiming erratically between me and Ethan.
"Vanessa?" Ethan breathed, stepping forward. "You're alive? The gunshot..."
"Silas shot the floor," Vanessa stammered, tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on her face. "Arthur told him to lock me in the pantry. He said I was... collateral. That I'd be dealt with later."
"Then how did you get out?" I asked, keeping my eyes locked on the barrel of the gun.
"The catering staff unlocked the door before they ran. I snuck out through the kitchen."
She kept the gun pointed at me.
"Vanessa, put the gun down," Ethan pleaded gently. "We're on the same side."
"No, we're not!" she cried hysterically. "This is her fault! She brought this into our house! If I just hand her over to Arthur, he'll let me go. He'll let us go, Ethan!"
I took a slow, calculated breath.
"Vanessa," I said, my voice calm, projecting absolute authority. "Arthur Whitmore just tried to murder his own son. He ordered his security to execute you. You think if you hand me over, he's going to let a witness walk out the front gates?"
Vanessa swallowed hard. The gun lowered an inch.
"He's destroying everything," she sobbed. "I just wanted to be a Whitmore. I just wanted to belong."
"He doesn't care about you," I said softly. "But I do."
She looked at me, shocked. "You hate me."
"I don't hate you, Vanessa. You were mean to me because you were insecure. But you don't deserve to die for it. Put the gun down. I will get you out of here."
Vanessa looked at Ethan.
Ethan nodded slowly. "Trust her, Vanessa. She's the only reason I'm breathing right now."
Vanessa's shoulders collapsed. She dropped the heavy pistol into the dirt and covered her face, weeping.
I walked over, picked up the gun, and checked the magazine.
Seven rounds.
Better than pruning shears.
"Vanessa, listen to me," I said, turning to her. "When you snuck out, did you hear them say anything? Where are they?"
She wiped her eyes, nodding. "Arthur... Arthur was on the phone. He was yelling about a helicopter. He said to prep the chopper on the north lawn. He's leaving."
"He's taking the ledger," Ethan realized. "If he leaves the country with those accounts, he disappears forever. And he leaves us here to take the fall for everything that happened tonight."
"Not if I stop him," I said.
I looked at Ethan. "You and Vanessa take the tree line. Head toward the main road. Get as far away from the estate as possible."
"I'm not leaving you," Ethan said stubbornly.
"Ethan, you are the heir. If Arthur dies, you control the company. You have to survive."
Before Ethan could argue, a blinding spotlight swept across the greenhouse glass.
The heavy thwack-thwack-thwack of helicopter rotors suddenly echoed through the night air.
"He's leaving now," Vanessa panicked.
"Go!" I shoved Ethan toward the back exit of the greenhouse. "Run!"
I didn't wait to see them leave.
I sprinted out the side door, into the manicured gardens, heading straight for the north lawn.
The helicopter was idling on the grass, its navigation lights blinking red and green in the dark.
Arthur was walking briskly toward it, carrying a silver briefcase.
Margaret was flanking him, scanning the tree line with her weapon raised.
I moved through the shadows of the hedges, completely silent.
I had one chance.
I raised the pistol, aiming at the helicopter's tail rotor.
A single shot there would ground the aircraft.
I squeezed the trigger.
Click.
The gun jammed.
Vanessa hadn't maintained the weapon. Dirt from the floor had gotten into the slide.
I cursed silently, dropping the useless gun.
I stepped out of the shadows, empty-handed, directly into their path.
"Arthur!" I yelled over the roar of the blades.
Arthur stopped. He turned, a cruel smile spreading across his face.
Margaret immediately leveled her revolver at my head.
"Clara," Arthur shouted over the noise. "You just don't know when to die, do you?"
"I'm not the one dying tonight," I said, walking slowly toward them.
Margaret's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Don't take another step," she warned.
I didn't stop.
"You taught me to watch hands, Margaret," I yelled. "But you forgot to watch your back."
Margaret frowned.
Behind Arthur, stepping out from the dark cabin of the idling helicopter, was a tall figure.
May you like
Silas.
And he was holding a gun directly to the back of Arthur Whitmore's head.
