Chapter 8 - The Ruined Castle
The storm from four days ago had passed, leaving the cliffside estate looking gray, washed out, and utterly pathetic.
Clara stood in the grand foyer, the very spot where Victoria had slapped her. The heavy oak doors swung open, and Victoria marched in, looking haggard. Her designer clothes were wrinkled, her hair unkempt. Behind her stood Arthur Vance, holding a revolver.
"You really are stupid, Clara," Victoria spat. "Did you really think I'd come alone? If Vance shoots you here, we claim you broke in and attacked us. Self-defense."
Clara didn't blink. "You’re predictable, Victoria. Both of you."
From the shadows of the second-floor landing, Julian stepped into view, flanked by three heavily armed private security contractors.
"Drop the gun, Arthur," Julian said, his voice echoing off the marble floors. "Unless you want to find out how fast my men can repaint this foyer."
Vance’s hand shook. He looked at Julian, then at the lasers pointed at his chest. He dropped the gun. It clattered uselessly to the floor.
Victoria screamed in frustration, lunging toward Clara with her hands outstretched like claws.
Clara didn't flinch. She simply sidestepped, grabbed Victoria by the wrist, and twisted, using the older woman’s momentum to send her crashing to her knees on the hard marble floor.
"You don't own me anymore," Clara whispered, looking down at the woman who had tormented her for years. "You have nothing. You are nothing."
The sound of police sirens began to wail in the distance, growing louder as squad cars tore up the winding driveway.
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"You called them?" Victoria sobbed, looking up in sheer terror.
"No," Julian said, descending the stairs and wrapping an arm around Clara’s waist. "I called the FBI. Corporate espionage, human trafficking, and conspiracy to commit murder. Enjoy federal prison, Victoria."
