Chapter 10 - Chemical Vengeance And Flight
A muffled, agonizing shriek tore from Arthur’s throat as the concentrated pepper spray struck his eyes with brutal precision. He dropped the manila folder, his hands flying wildly to his face as he stumbled backward, crashing hard against the heavy mahogany desk. Papers scattered like falling leaves across the dark hardwood floor, and the vintage black wooden box hit the ground with a sharp, heavy clatter.
"Ahhh! You bitch!" Arthur screamed, blindly swinging his arms as a burning, blinding pain paralyzed him. He tripped over the edge of the rug, slamming his shoulder into the corner of a bookshelf before collapsing onto his hands and knees, coughing and violently rubbing his burning eyes.
Victoria didn't hesitate for a single microsecond. She didn't check on him, and she didn't waste time exchanging parting words. She dove down onto the floor, scooping up the manila folder and grabbing several critical photographs that had spilled from the box. She jammed them ruthlessly into the inside pocket of her navy blue pantsuit, securing the undeniable proof of the Sterling family's decades-old murders.
Arthur thrashed on the floor, gasping for air as he clawed at his face. "Guards! Security! Someone stop her!" he choked out, his voice hoarse and broken.
Victoria turned and sprinted out of the open study, her heels slamming furiously against the hardwood of the private hallway. The echoes of Arthur’s desperate shouts bounced off the ornate walls behind her, but no security guards appeared—Eleanor's arrest earlier in the evening had thrown the entire estate into disarray, leaving the staff confused and disorganized.
Victoria hit the top of the grand staircase, descending the steps at a breakneck speed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She burst back into the cavernous ballroom, breathing heavily, her sleek blonde ponytail slightly undone from the frantic struggle upstairs.
The elite guests were almost entirely gone now, leaving only a few terrified caterers cleaning up spilled champagne. But waiting anxiously near the center of the room, standing right where she had left them, were ten-year-old Leo and his six-year-old sister. The moment Leo saw Victoria sprinting toward them, his eyes widened with alarm.
"Victoria! What happened?" Leo asked, stepping forward to shield his crying sister with his small body once again. "We heard screaming upstairs!"
"We're leaving. Right now," Victoria commanded, grabbing Leo by the hand and scooping the little girl up into her arms in one fluid, desperate motion. "Don't look back, just run."
They bolted toward the massive front entrance of the Sterling estate, ignoring the shouts of a stray security guard who poked his head out from the west wing. Victoria pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping out into the cool New York night air. The flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers were gone—the officers had transported Eleanor to the precinct—leaving only the quiet rustle of the wind through the manicured hedges.
Victoria yanked open the door of her sleek black BMW parked in the private driveway, hurriedly placing the children in the back seat before sliding into the driver's seat and slamming her own door shut. Her hands shook violently as she shoved the key into the ignition.
The engine roared to life, the headlights cutting a sharp beam through the iron security gates of the estate. Victoria slammed her foot down on the gas pedal, launching the car forward into the night.
In the rearview mirror, Victoria caught a brief glimpse of the massive, imposing Sterling mansion vanishing into the darkness. She patted the inside pocket of her jacket, feeling the bulky outline of the stolen manila folder pressed safely against her chest. She had the evidence. She had the truth. She had successfully escaped the lion's den.
Or so she desperately wanted to believe.
As the BMW sped down the empty highway toward the Manhattan bridge, the dashboard navigation screen suddenly flickered violently. The map application minimized on its own, replacing the GPS route with a live video feed from an unknown, encrypted external source.
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Victoria slammed on the brakes, sending the car skidding slightly onto the highway shoulder. Her blood ran ice cold as the dashboard screen lit up with a clear, live-action view of the interior of her own apartment—and a chilling figure standing calmly in her living room.
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