Chapter 10 - The Barrel of the Past
The metallic glint of the revolver under the chandelier's light brought a sudden, suffocating halt to Marcus's advance. He froze halfway across the room, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails broke the skin of his palms.
"I wouldn't take another step, Marcus," Edward said, his voice as steady as a surgeon's scalpel. He rested his weight against the polished banister, holding the heavy leather diary in his left hand while keeping the gun perfectly aimed at his nephew's heart. "Your father was always far too impulsive, and look where that got him. A pile of ash and a forgotten marker in the municipal cemetery."
"Put the gun down, Edward," Victoria demanded, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to maintain control. She slowly reached inside her emerald trench coat, her fingers brushing the outline of her own hidden weapon. "You can't shoot your way out of this. The entire estate is surrounded by municipal police and federal auditors."
Edward chuckled, a dry, phlegmy sound. "Police? Victoria, my dear, do you really think I walked back into this house without checking the perimeter? The officers outside are currently dealing with a completely unrelated disturbance twenty blocks away, courtesy of a very generous cash bribe I wired to their precinct commander this morning."
Julianna lifted her head from the floor, her eyes bloodshot and wide with manic hope. "Uncle Edward! You're alive! You came back for us!"
Edward glanced down at her with pure disdain, his lip curling in disgust. "Shut up, Julianna. You and Arthur ruined everything with your greed. You couldn't just play the long game; you had to embezzle from the operating accounts and draw the attention of federal forensic accountants. You are both absolute fools."
Julianna flinched as if she had been slapped, her royal blue dress absorbing the humiliation like a sponge. She crawled backward, shrinking away from the patriarch she had once idolized.
Lily peeked out from behind the cream-colored sofa, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at the black barrel of the gun. She didn't cry; her shock was too deep, too absolute. She simply reached out blindly, her small fingers clutching the edge of the sofa cushion for anchor.
"Daddy," Lily whispered, the word barely audible over the hum of the old radiator. "Make him go away."
Edward heard her. His cold eyes shifted downward, landing on the seven-year-old child. A strange, twisted expression crossed his lined face—a mix of recognition and morbid curiosity.
"Well, well," Edward murmured, lowering the gun by a fraction of an inch to get a better look at the little girl. "The little bastard child who holds the entire multi-billion-dollar trust in her name. You look just like your mother, you know. Right down to those pathetic, wide brown eyes."
Marcus took a slow, calculated step sideways, placing his body completely between Edward’s line of sight and Lily. "Don't you dare look at her. Don't you dare speak her name."
"And what are you going to do about it, boy?" Edward sneered, raising the barrel right back to Marcus's chest. "You have no leverage. You have no money. You are standing in a house that belongs to a dead man, surrounded by people who lied to you your entire life."
"He's not alone," a calm, chillingly familiar voice echoed from the front entryway.
The heavy oak door, which had been pulled shut earlier, slowly clicked open. A man in a sharp grey suit stepped into the foyer, holding a Federal Marshal's badge high in the air.
May you like
Edward spun around, swinging the revolver toward the new arrival, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a gunshot rang out through the living room.
---
