Chapter 10: Breaking Point
As dawn began to paint the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange, John and Clara emerged from the secret cellar exit onto the overgrown perimeter road. But their escape was cut short. The flashing red and blue lights of police cruisers illuminated the treeline, blocking the main gates.
"They called the cops," Clara whispered, gripping John's arm. "They're framing us."
"Stay behind me," John instructed, his voice steely. He pulled the original will out, holding it tightly. He wasn't going to run anymore. Running was what got him exiled in the first place; standing his ground was the only way to end this nightmare.
Before the officers could draw their weapons, the heavy oak front doors of the mansion swung open. Supported by two nurses, eighty-year-old Arthur stepped out onto the grand veranda, wrapped in his blue velvet bathrobe. His voice, frail yet carrying the undeniable authority of a patriarch, rang out across the courtyard.
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"Hold your fire!" Arthur commanded, raising a trembling hand. "The only criminal is inside my house!"
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