Chapter 13 - The Voice in the Fog
The voice reverberated through the heavy glass windows of the estate, carrying a shrill, theatrical cadence that brought the nightmare of our tenth anniversary rushing back into my throat. The microphone. The ballroom. Three hundred socialites holding champagne glasses while my sister rubbed her swollen belly and smiled at my husband.
"Julian, turn off the interior lights," I whispered, though the house was already dark except for the dying embers.
Julian moved silently toward the heavy drapes, parting them by a fraction of an inch to peer out across the manicured lawn toward the tree line. Thick mountain fog was rolling down from the ridge, curling around the base of the maple trees like white smoke.
"I see two figures," Julian murmured, his hand resting firmly on the grip of his sidearm. "One is near the decorative fountain. Woman, wearing an oversized trench coat. Natalie. The other is fifty yards back near the perimeter gate, holding something in his hands. Looks like a crowbar or a bolt cutter."
"Eric," I spat out.
"Eleanor!" Natalie’s voice pierced the fog again, laughter threading through the words. "Come out onto the porch! Let's talk about family legacy! Let's talk about how you took everything our parents built and put it under Vance Capital! Did you really think you could erase me? You can't erase blood, Ellie! And you certainly can't erase his son!"
My mother buried her face in her hands, weeping silently on the sofa. My father’s fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. "She’s insane," my father rasped. "She’s completely lost her mind."
"She’s desperate," I corrected, stepping toward the window beside Julian. "The child was placed in permanent state custody six months ago after she was declared legally unfit during her fraud sentencing. She doesn't have the baby. She doesn't have the money. All she has left is the spectacle."
"Spectacle can still pull a trigger," Julian said grimly. "Look at Eric."
Through the parted drape, I focused my eyes into the gloom. Eric was staggering toward the porch steps. Even in the dim fog, his posture was unmistakable—the loose, unearned arrogance had rotted away, replaced by the twitching, hollow desperation of an addict who had run out of lies. He was clutching a heavy iron wrench in one hand and a plastic container in the other.
A red five-gallon fuel can.
"He's going to torch the house," I whispered, the blood turning to ice in my veins. "If he can't have the equity, he wants the ashes."
"He won't touch this porch," Julian said, his voice dropping into a deadly register. He pulled his phone from his coat, checking the screen. "Cell towers are jammed. They brought an illegal signal jammer with them. Clever. But they forgot that our security system doesn't rely on cellular relay."
"Hardwired landline to the county sheriff," I realized.
"Activated sixty seconds ago," Julian replied. "Troopers are five minutes out. But five minutes with an accelerant is four minutes too long. Eleanor, stay with your parents. I am going out the side mudroom to flank him."
"No," I grabbed Julian’s arm, my fingers digging through the fabric of his coat. "If Eric sees you coming with a weapon, he’ll drop that match. He wants you to react. He wants this to become a tragedy where he can play the wronged husband defending his family against the corporate shark. He needs to see me."
"Eleanor, that's suicide," Julian snapped, his eyes flashing with protective fury.
"It’s leverage," I said fiercely. "Eric spent ten years manipulating me because he thought I was soft. He thinks I'm still the woman who bought his excuses about late meetings and mysterious wire transfers. He doesn't know who I am now. But he's about to find out."
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Before Julian could stop me, I reached into the utility drawer by the island, pulled out the heavy tactical flashlight we kept for snowstorms, and stepped toward the heavy mahogany front door.
***
