Chapter 3 - THE NIGHT NURSE
The screaming started instantly.
Investors in tailored suits scrambled backward, knocking over cocktail tables. Glasses shattered. The string quartet in the corner dropped their instruments and dove behind the heavy velvet curtains.
"Nobody move!" Julianne screamed, waving the matte-black handgun in a wide arc. Her hands were shaking violently. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and fixed entirely on Sterling.
Martin pushed me behind him, shielding my body with his own. Harper grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the safety of the heavy mahogany bar, but I planted my feet. I wasn't running. Not again.
"Julianne," Sterling said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. His voice was remarkably steady for a man staring down the barrel of a gun. "Let's talk about this. You don't want to do this here."
"You promised me I was safe!" she shrieked, taking a step into the ballroom. Water dripped from her coat onto the polished marble. "You said if I left the country, they wouldn't find me!"
"Who wouldn't find you?" I shouted from behind Martin.
Julianne’s wild eyes darted toward me. For a moment, the madness in her gaze softened into something that looked like profound guilt. "Eleanor. Oh, God, Eleanor, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to do it. But he said if I didn't lower the oxygen levels, he would tell the police about my husband."
The room collectively gasped. A forced confession, live in front of the entire Vance Industrial board.
Sterling’s jaw clenched. "She’s insane. She’s been stalking me for months."
"I have the recordings!" Julianne screamed, reaching into her coat pocket with her free hand.
Sterling’s eyes widened. He lunged forward, not toward Julianne, but toward me. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it hard, and yanked me in front of him as a human shield.
"Let her go!" Martin roared.
"Shut up, Martin, or I swear to God I'll break her arm," Sterling hissed in my ear. His grip was like a vice.
Harper stood frozen, the sapphire on her finger catching the light as she raised her hands to her mouth.
"Julianne," Sterling called out, hiding behind my back. "If you pull that trigger, you'll hit Eleanor. And you loved Richard too much to hurt his daughter, didn't you?"
Julianne’s hands shook harder. "Let her go, Sterling."
"Put the gun down, and we'll walk out of here together," Sterling bargained. "I have a jet fueled at Teterboro. We can leave tonight."
"He's lying to you, Julianne!" Harper suddenly yelled, stepping out from behind the bar. "He was never going to let you live! Look at what's in his pocket!"
Sterling flinched.
Before he could react, I drove the heel of my stiletto directly into his instep. He howled in pain, his grip loosening just enough for me to twist away. As I broke free, Martin lunged, tackling Sterling to the ground. The two men crashed into a champagne tower, sending a tidal wave of glass and expensive liquor across the floor.
Julianne didn't fire. She just stood there, crying hysterically.
I scrambled to my feet, my dress soaked in champagne. I ran to Julianne, ignoring the gun.
"Julianne, give it to me," I said softly, reaching out. "Please."
She collapsed to her knees, dropping the gun on the floor. I kicked it away and pulled her into a hug. She was freezing, shivering uncontrollably.
"He was going to kill me," she sobbed into my shoulder. "Just like he killed him."
"I know," I whispered. "It's over now."
The police sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had finally called 911.
Across the room, Martin had Sterling pinned to the floor. Sterling's nose was bleeding, his custom tuxedo ruined.
"It's over, Sterling," Martin growled, pulling Sterling's arms behind his back.
But Sterling just started laughing. A wet, hollow, terrifying laugh.
"Over?" Sterling wheezed, spitting blood onto the marble. "You think I'm the one running this? You think I'm the one who wanted Richard dead?"
He looked past Martin, his eyes locking onto me.
"Tell her, Martin," Sterling smiled, his teeth stained red. "Tell her whose bank account that fifty thousand dollars actually came from."
I froze. I looked at Martin.
Martin’s face had gone completely pale. His grip on Sterling loosened.
"Martin?" I asked, my voice breaking.
Martin slowly stood up, backing away from Sterling. He wouldn't look at me. He looked at the floor.
"Martin, tell me he's lying," I begged.
May you like
Martin reached into his suit jacket. Not for a weapon. But for a silver pocket watch. My father's pocket watch. The one he was supposedly buried with.
"I'm sorry, Eleanor," Martin whispered. "But your father wasn't the man you thought he was."
