Chapter 8 - The Barrel of a Gun
The rain seemed to freeze in mid-air as Julian stared down the barrel of the revolver in his wife’s hand. The polished steel gleamed under the harsh white glare of the spotlight Victoria had mounted on her designer handbag, casting long, grotesque shadows across the muddy forest floor. Martha didn't flinch; instead, she tightened her grip around Leo, pressing the boy’s unconscious face deeper into her shoulder to shield him from the weapon’s sight.
“You’re out of your mind, Victoria,” Julian said, taking a slow, calculated step to his left to place his body between the gun and the maid. “Shooting Martha in the middle of our estate woods isn't going to solve your problem. The police will trace the ballistics in an hour.”
“Let them try,” Victoria laughed, a brittle, manic sound that was nearly drowned out by the howling wind. Her hair had come completely undone, wet strands whipping across her contorted face. “By the time the county sheriff arrives, this entire forest will be cordoned off as a kidnapping scene. A crazed, dismissed servant abducts our son in the middle of the night, and in the ensuing struggle, a tragic accident occurs. It writes itself, Julian. Just like the prenuptial agreement you were too proud to read thoroughly.”
Julian felt a surge of pure, unadulterated rage override his shock. He remembered the fine print his father’s lawyers had added—clauses he had glossed over because he had trusted the woman he loved. If Victoria killed them both here, she would inherit absolute control of the Vance holdings through the survivor guardianship clause.
“You never loved anyone, did you?” Julian murmured, his eyes locked onto her trembling finger on the trigger. “Not me, not the boy, not even the man who fathered him.”
“Love is a luxury for people who don't have empires to protect,” Victoria snarled, stepping closer, her boots squelching in the mud. “Now move aside, Julian. Or you can join them in the family plot behind the east wing.”
As Victoria’s finger began to squeeze the trigger, a sudden, blinding flash of lightning split the sky directly overhead, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder that shook the earth beneath their feet.
Simultaneously, a massive oak branch high above them, weakened by years of rot and battered by the gale-force winds, snapped with a sound like a gunshot. The heavy timber plummeted straight down, crashing directly between Victoria and Julian, burying itself deep into the muddy soil with a force that sent a shower of wet earth and splinters flying in all directions.
Julian was knocked backward by the shockwave, landing hard on his back in the mud. When he shook the dirt from his eyes and scrambled back to his feet, the spotlight had rolled into the brush, its beam pointing uselessly up into the canopy.
Victoria was screaming in terror, pinned beneath a smaller offshoot of the fallen branch that had trapped her right leg against the ground. The revolver had flown from her hand, disappearing into the dark thicket of ferns ten feet away.
“Julian! Help me!” Victoria shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattered as she clawed frantically at the heavy wood crushing her shin. “Get this off me! My leg is broken!”
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Julian ignored her screams. He turned his attention back to Martha, who was slowly staggering to her feet, still holding Leo safe in her arms.
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