Chapter 8 - The Accomplice in the Shadows
Vaughn spun around, his scotch glass slipping from his fingers and shattering against the floor in a spray of amber liquid and glass.
"James," Vaughn sneered, recovering his composure instantly as he reached into his jacket pocket. "I see you brought your checkbook."
Before Vaughn could pull his hand out of his jacket, Christopher burst through the doorway behind me, his weapon drawn and leveled squarely at Vaughn’s chest.
"Federal marshals! Don't move an inch, Vaughn! Hands where I can see them!"
Vaughn froze, his fingers hovering over his pocket. He looked at Christopher’s badge, then at the gun, and slowly raised his hands in the air, a sickening, smug smile spreading across his face.
"You're a bit late, counselor," Vaughn chuckled softly. "The federal marshals you’re waiting for? They’re currently answering a diversion call at my primary residence across town. You came into this rat hole completely alone."
"Not quite alone, Dr. Vaughn," a dry, cold voice echoed from the dark doorway behind us.
We all turned.
Stepping out of the shadows of the corridor was Norma Richard.
My mother-in-law held a small, nickel-plated revolver in her right hand, steady as a rock, pointed directly at my chest.
I stared at her in utter disbelief. "Norma? What... what are you doing?"
Norma looked at me with pure, unadulterated contempt. "Someone has to protect this family from idiots like you, James. You think you’re so smart with your corporate consulting and your little business trips. You brought nothing into this family except distraction."
Melissa stared at her mother in horror, her eyes wide. "Mom? You... you’re working with him?"
"I’m securing our future, Melissa," Norma snapped, never taking her eyes off me. "Your husband was never going to give you the life you deserved. Adrian understands power. He understands empire. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and let the girl take the fall."
"She’s eight years old!" I roared, stepping forward despite the gun pointed at my heart.
"She’s a liability," Norma said coldly, tightening her finger on the trigger.
Time seemed to slow down. I saw Norma’s knuckles whiten. I saw Vaughn grinning in the background. I saw Melissa crying out in terror.
And then, with the speed of a striking snake, Christopher didn't shoot Norma—instead, he pivoted his aim three inches to the left and fired a single warning shot into the concrete floor right between Vaughn’s expensive Italian shoes.
The deafening roar of the gunshot shook the basement walls. Plaster dust exploded into the air.
Vaughn shrieked like a frightened child, dropping to his knees and covering his head with his hands.
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Startled by the blast, Norma’s hand jerked upward, her shot going wide and shattering a overhead light fixture in a shower of sparks.
Before she could recover, Christopher closed the distance in two strides, kicked the revolver out of her hand with a swift, brutal sweep, and slammed her against the concrete wall, snapping cuffs around her wrists with professional precision.
