Chapter 23 - The Trap Closes
Victoria charged up the winding gravel path leading to the cottage, her heels sinking into the wet earth, slowing her down but fueling her manic momentum. She didn't care about the mud, the rain that had just begun to spit from the sky, or the sheer absurdity of her assault. She was driven purely by a psychotic need for vengeance, clutching something metallic inside the pocket of her coat. Margaret watched her approach from the top of the stone steps, remaining entirely still until Victoria reached the wrought-iron gate at the base of the property. The gate, normally unlocked for guests, remained firmly shut. Victoria rattled the bars with both hands, shaking them violently like a trapped animal at a zoo. "Open the gate! Open it right now or I swear to God I'll burn this entire cliffside down!" Victoria shrieked, spittle flying from her lips as she kicked the iron bars with her ruined Louboutins. "You think your money protects you? I lost everything in federal court because of your goddamn auditors! I have nothing left to lose, Margaret! *Nothing!*" Slowly, deliberately, Margaret descended the exterior staircase, her boots clicking rhythmically against the stone steps. She stopped two feet behind the locked gate, separated from Victoria only by the heavy iron scrollwork. She looked down at the younger woman with a chilling, detached pity that infuriated Victoria even more. "You never understood, did you, Victoria?" Margaret said, her voice carrying a low, resonant calm that cut through the howling coastal wind. "You thought wealth was just a balance in a checking account, a way to buy compliance and status. You thought you could slap the hand that fed you and walk away unscathed." Victoria stopped shaking the gate, her chest heaving as she glared through the bars, her hand dipping deeper into her coat pocket. "Shut up! Shut your lying mouth!" "You lost everything not because of my auditors," Margaret continued, unfazed, "but because you are fundamentally hollow. You built your entire existence on sand. And now, the tide is coming in." With a sudden, explosive movement, Victoria pulled her hand from her pocket, revealing a heavy, industrial-grade can of corrosive drain cleaner she must have stolen from the floatplane's maintenance locker. "I’ll melt your face off, you arrogant witch!" she screamed, twisting the cap off with her teeth and cocking her arm back to spray the blinding, caustic liquid directly through the iron bars at Margaret’s eyes.
