Chapter 7 - The Barrel of a Gun
The barrel of the hunting rifle looked impossibly dark against the sterile white walls of the hospital room. Evelyn instinctively spread her arms wide, placing her body between Helena and the bed where Clara lay trembling.
"Put the gun down, Mrs. Vanderbilt," Evelyn said, keeping her voice remarkably steady despite the cold sweat running down her spine. "The police are already on their way. Vance is gone, and the truth about what you did is out."
Helena let out a harsh, bitter laugh that lacked any real warmth. "Vance is a fool who lacks true conviction. He thinks a paycheck buys loyalty, but a dynasty requires sacrifice. Do you honestly believe a few cops can touch me? This hospital sits on land leased in perpetuity by the Vanderbilt trust. I own the board, I own the director, and very soon, I will own every breath this wretched girl takes."
Clara pulled herself up slightly, leaning against the headboard, her face pale as paper. "You can't hide it anymore, Helena," Clara spat, defiance cutting through her fear. "Julian knows. He saw you in the hallway. He knows you tried to kill his child."
"Julian is weak," Helena hissed, her grip tightening on the wooden stock of the rifle. "Just like his father before him, he cares too much about sentimentality and honor. He doesn't understand that empires are built on blood and silence. Arthur made his choice on his deathbed, but I rewrote the future long before that."
"The real will is in my coat," Clara said, her voice ringing clear and sharp in the damp room. "Julian will find it. Even if you kill us both, the documents are already in the hands of his federal contacts in Washington."
Helena’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, the water dripping from the hem of her black dress pooling on the floor. "Bluffing won't save you, Clara. You were nothing when my son picked you out of that roadside cafe, and you will be nothing when you're buried in an unmarked paupers' grave."
Evelyn calculated the distance between herself and the rifle. Ten feet. Too far to lunge without taking a round to the chest. But as she shifted her weight slightly, she noticed the emergency oxygen tank mounted to the wall just behind Helena’s shoulder. The pressure valve was loose, hissing faintly where Vance had struck it earlier during his escape.
"You really think Julian will forgive you for this?" Evelyn stalled, locking eyes with the older woman. "He looked at you in that hallway, Mrs. Vanderbilt. He didn't see a mother anymore. He saw a monster."
Helena flinched, the insult landing a direct hit on her armored ego. Her finger twitched on the trigger. "Shut your mouth!" she screamed, raising the barrel directly toward Evelyn’s forehead.
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At that exact moment, Evelyn slammed her foot down hard on a metal surgical tray lying on the floor, kicking it violently into the wall-mounted oxygen valve. The heavy canister broke loose from its bracket, hissing wildly as it spun out of control, rocketing directly toward Helena’s legs and knocking the rifle skyward just as it discharged with a deafening roar.
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