THE WIDOW’S REVENGE AND THE SCHOLARSHIP THIEF

The sound of the gunshot was deafening.

Guests screamed, diving beneath the heavy mahogany table. Rose pulled Lily down to the floor, shielding her granddaughter with her own body.

Arthur Vance dropped to his knees, his hands covering his ears.

One of Vanessa’s guards had drawn his weapon, smoke curling from the barrel. He aimed it directly at Vincent’s chest.

“Drop the keys, Vincent,” Vanessa ordered, stepping safely behind her armed man.

Vincent stood perfectly still. He looked at the smoking gun, then up at the massive crystal chandelier hanging directly above the guard.

“You think you planned for everything, Vanessa,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “But you forgot one detail.”

“And what is that?” she mocked.

“You forgot who actually runs this house.”

Vincent looked at me.

I was standing by the wall panel. The panel that controlled the estate’s automated maintenance systems. The same systems Vanessa had tried to cut from the budget last year.

I slammed my hand onto the emergency release lever.

Above the guard, the winch holding the six-hundred-pound crystal chandelier disengaged.

It plummeted.

The guard looked up just in time to scream before the massive fixture crashed down on top of him, pinning him to the floor in a devastating explosion of glass and brass.

The impact shook the floorboards.

The second guard hesitated in shock.

That was all Vincent needed. He lunged forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He delivered a brutal strike to the guard’s throat, disarming him as he collapsed gasping for air.

Within five seconds, Vanessa’s entire security detail was neutralized.

Silence rushed back into the room, broken only by the whimpering of the guests and the groans of the pinned guard.

Vanessa backed against the locked doors, her eyes wide with terror.

“It’s over, Vanessa,” Vincent said, tossing the guard’s gun onto the table.

But Vanessa shook her head, a manic grin spreading across her face.

“No, it’s not,” she whispered. She reached into her elegant evening bag.

She didn't pull out a gun.

She pulled out a small, tightly rolled canvas painting. It was a child’s drawing. A crude, brightly colored picture of a house with a yellow sun.

“Do you recognize this, Rose?” Vanessa asked, holding it up.

Rose, peeking out from under the table, gasped. “Where did you get that?”

“Dominic kept it,” Vanessa smiled viciously. “Because he knew what was on the back.”

She turned the drawing around.

Written in thick black ink across the back of the child’s drawing were a series of Swiss bank account numbers.

“The scholarship fund is pennies,” Vanessa laughed. “This is the real Moretti fortune. The offshore accounts your mother hid from my husband. And as of ten minutes ago, the transfer was initiated. The money is mine. You have nothing, Vincent.”

Vincent stared at the numbers. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.

“Did you authorize the transfer using my mother’s maiden name as the password?” Vincent asked.

Vanessa’s smile faltered. “Yes. Dominic told me the password years ago.”

Vincent reached into his own pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Then you didn't transfer the money to a Swiss account, Vanessa,” Vincent said softly. “Because my mother changed the password the day she found out Dominic faked his death. And she set a trap.”