Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Hallway
I immediately shoved the silver key and Walt's note into the pocket of my cardigan, stepping back toward the fireplace. Julian instinctively moved in front of me, putting his broad frame between me and the two men.
"You followed us, Arthur?" Julian sneered. "Desperate, aren't you?"
"I’m saving my family!" Arthur yelled, his voice cracking with unhinged panic. "That land deal signs in nine hours! Ninety million dollars! Do you think I’m going to let a dead man’s scrawled note and an old key ruin thirty years of building an empire?!"
The heavy-set man in the leather jacket stepped past Arthur, raising the iron crowbar. He was a hired enforcer—the kind of muscle wealthy men call when their back is against the wall.
"Give him the key, lady," the man grunted, taking a step toward us. "Nobody needs to get hurt on Christmas."
"Touch her and you won't walk out of this house," Julian growled, stepping forward into a fighting stance.
"Julian, no!" I screamed.
The heavy-set man swung the crowbar. Julian ducked, tackling the man around the waist, sending both of them crashing hard into my oak coffee table. Lamp glass shattered, books flew everywhere, and the sound of violent struggle echoed through my small home.
Arthur ignored the fight. His greedy, desperate eyes were locked entirely on me.
He lunged forward, reaching for my cardigan pocket.
"Give it to me, Evelyn!" Arthur spat, grabbing my shoulder.
I’m sixty-one years old. I’ve broken up fights between two-hundred-pound high school seniors in crowded cafeterias. I didn't scream. I didn't freeze.
I grabbed the heavy bronze candleholder sitting on the fireplace mantle and swung it with everything I had straight into Arthur’s shoulder.
Arthur shrieked in pain, stumbling backward into the wall, clutching his shoulder.
Before he could recover, headlights blinded the living room windows through the front curtains. The sound of tires screeching echoed from the driveway, followed instantly by the blare of police sirens.
The front door burst open again.
Ethan rushed in, followed by two uniformed Wake County Sheriff's deputies with their guns drawn.
"Drop the weapon! Hands where I can see them!" the deputies shouted.
The man on the floor released Julian instantly, throwing his hands up. Arthur collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor, sobbing hysterically as the reality of his total downfall finally crashed over him.
Ethan ran past the deputies straight to me, pulling me into a fierce embrace.
"Mom! Are you okay?!" Ethan cried out, his body trembling.
"I’m fine, son," I panted, looking over at Julian, who was wiping a small cut on his lip as he stood up from the floor. "I’m fine."
Ethan turned to Arthur, his eyes full of utter disgust.
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"I called the police the second you left the house, Arthur," Ethan said coldly. "Brooke told me everything. She found the offshore account records in your home office desk while you were chasing us."
Arthur covered his face with his hands, weeping openly on my living room floor.
