Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING
The lobby of the Vesper Crown was dead silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the sharp click of the mercenaries disengaging their safeties—all aimed at the Laurent family.
Arthur Laurent’s face turned an ashen gray. He leaned heavily on his cane, staring up at the man descending the stairs.
“Richard?” Arthur spat, confusion warring with rage. “What is this? I own you!”
Richard Hayes reached the bottom of the stairs. He looked different than he had in the parking garage. The slumped, defeated posture was gone. He looked exhausted, but for the first time in his life, he looked resolute.
“You don't own me, Arthur,” Richard said quietly. “You owned my debt. But Adrian Blackwood bought that debt two hours ago.”
Nora looked at Adrian in shock.
Adrian didn't take his eyes off Arthur, but he spoke softly to Nora. “When I found out Vivienne was planning the ambush, I dug into who she was using to track you. When I saw it was your father, I bought his markers from Arthur’s bookies. I offered him a deal.”
“He told me everything,” Richard said, walking slowly toward Nora. He stopped a few feet away, shame swimming in his eyes. “He told me Vivienne was going to kill you tonight. He told me Leo was in danger. I’ve been a coward my whole life, Nora. But I wasn't going to let them kill my children.”
Richard turned to Arthur.
“I took the money you gave me to bring Leo to the garage,” Richard said, his voice hardening. “And I used it to pay these men double what you were paying them. They work for me tonight.”
Vivienne let out a shrill, manic laugh. “You idiots! He doesn't have any money! Adrian froze the accounts!”
The lead mercenary shrugged. “Mr. Blackwood wired the funds to an offshore account in my name ten minutes ago. We’re good.”
Arthur Laurent looked like a man who had just watched his empire crumble to dust in the palm of his hand. He stumbled backward, his cane slipping on the marble floor.
“Give her the folder, Vivienne,” Arthur rasped, suddenly looking every bit of his seventy years.
Vivienne clutched the manila folder to her chest. Her beautiful face was twisted with hatred.
“No!” she screamed. “This is ours! We built this city! She’s nothing! A waitress!”
“I’m the owner of this building,” Nora stepped forward, her voice ringing clear and authoritative through the lobby. She didn't feel like a waitress anymore. She felt like Eleanor Caldwell’s daughter. “And you are trespassing.”
Vivienne’s eyes darted around the room. She was trapped. She looked at Adrian, trying one last, desperate manipulation.
“Adrian, please,” Vivienne’s voice broke, tears welling in her eyes. “You loved me. We were going to be married.”
Adrian looked at her with an indifference so cold it could freeze glass.
“I never loved you, Vivienne. It was a merger. And the deal is off.”
With a scream of pure frustration, Vivienne lunged forward. She didn't go for Adrian. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small, pearl-handled derringer, aiming it directly at Nora’s face.
Everything happened in a fraction of a second.
Nora froze.
The mercenaries yelled.
Adrian threw his body in front of Nora.
But it was Richard who reached her first.
Her father threw himself between Vivienne and Nora just as the tiny gun cracked loudly in the lobby.
Richard gasped, stumbling backward into Nora’s arms. They both went down to the marble floor.
Before Vivienne could aim again, Adrian tackled her, pinning her to the ground and kicking the gun across the floor. The mercenaries immediately swarmed Arthur, wrestling him to the ground and securing his hands with zip-ties.
“Dad!” Nora screamed, pressing her hands to her father’s chest.
Blood was blooming rapidly across his cheap suit.
“Nora...” Richard wheezed, his hands shaking as he reached up to touch her face.
“Hold on,” Nora sobbed, looking frantically at the mercenaries. “Call an ambulance! Call someone!”
“It’s okay, Nora,” Richard whispered, his eyes filled with tears. “I finally did something right.”
“Don't talk,” Nora pleaded, pressing harder on the wound.
Richard reached into his inner pocket with trembling, bloody fingers. He pulled out a worn, sealed envelope and pressed it into her hands.
“From your mother,” he gasped. “She wrote it before she died. Told me to give it to you when you were ready. I’m sorry... it took me so long to be a father.”
Richard’s eyes fluttered shut, his breathing turning shallow.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. Adrian had called the real police, the ones outside of Arthur’s payroll, the moment the mercenaries flipped.
Adrian knelt beside Nora, his hand resting firmly on her shoulder.
“Help is coming,” he said softly.
May you like
Nora looked down at the envelope in her hands. Across the front, in her mother’s beautiful handwriting, were two words:
My Heir.
