Chapter 7 - The Final Confrontation Before Midnight
Camille jumped, pulling her hand back instinctively.
“What was that?” she whispered, standing up from the sofa.
Before Mason could answer, the glass French doors leading from the terrace into the library swung violently inward.
A figure stumbled out into the twilight shadows of the patio.
It wasn't an assassin or a corporate spy. It was Robert Langley—Arthur Langley’s younger brother and a desperate, junior partner in the collapsing Langley real-estate empire. He looked unhinged, his silk tie half-unknotted, clutching a heavy leather briefcase in one shaking hand and a small, antique silver revolver in the other.
“You ruined us!” Robert screamed, his voice cracking with manic desperation as he swept the barrel of the gun wildly across the patio. “You destroyed my family, Anders! My brother is facing federal prison, our assets are frozen, and my daughter can't even walk down the street without reporters shoving cameras in her face!”
Mason stood up instantly, placing his body squarely between Robert Langley and Camille. His expression didn't show fear; it showed cold, unmitigated rage.
“Put the weapon down, Robert,” Mason commanded, his voice dead-flat and lethal. “You’re already trespassing on federal evidence-tampering charges. Waving a firearm adds twenty years to a mandatory federal sentence.”
“I have nothing left to lose!” Robert shrieked, taking a stumbling step forward, his finger twitching nervously against the trigger guard. “If we go down, Anders, you lose everything too!”
Camille’s heart plummeted. Lily. Her mind raced. Lily was sleeping soundly in the staff wing on the other side of the house. If Robert started shooting—
“You want me, Robert,” Camille stepped out from behind Mason’s shoulder, her voice ringing out with astonishing, crystal-clear courage. “Not Mason. Not the company. If you have a grievance, take it up with the people who actually fought back.”
Robert’s wild eyes snapped toward her. A twisted, manic grin spread across his face. “Ah, the maid. The catalyst of our ruin. Maybe if I remove you, the board will reinstate our contracts—”
He raised the revolver directly toward Camille’s chest.
Time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl.
Mason didn't hesitate. With explosive, athletic speed, he lunged forward, tackling Robert squarely in the ribs just as the gun discharged.
CRACK.
The gunshot echoed off the stone terrace like a thunderclap, shattering a nearby glass table into a thousand glittering shards.
Mason and Robert crashed onto the stone pavers in a brutal, violent struggle. Robert tried to raise the revolver again, but Mason drove his fist downward with calculated, devastating force, striking Robert’s wrist until the gun flew from his grasp and skittered across the patio tiles.
Within three seconds, Mason had pinned Robert’s face against the cold stone, twisting his arm behind his back until the man whimpered in defeat.
Heavy footsteps echoed from inside the house as Ruth Calder and three estate security guards came rushing out through the French doors, breathless and shouting.
“Hold him,” Mason ordered coldly, standing up from the ground. He adjusted his shirt cuffs, his breath coming in measured, controlled gasps. He had a small scrape along his knuckle, but otherwise, he was unharmed.
The security guards moved instantly, hauling Robert Langley to his feet and slapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists before dragging him away toward the front gates where local police sirens were already wailing in the distance.
Mason turned around.
Camille stood frozen against the outdoor sofa, her hands clamped over her mouth, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.
Mason crossed the patio in two long strides, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her violently against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, his own body trembling with the delayed shock of what had almost happened.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “Did he touch you?”
“I’m fine,” Camille sobbed softly, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shirt. “I’m fine. But you... your hand—you’re bleeding.”
Mason pulled back just enough to look down at his scraped knuckles, then smiled faintly, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. A scratch.”
From the doorway of the French doors, a sleepy, small voice broke through the night air.
“Giant teddy bear?”
Mason and Camille turned.
Lily stood rubbing her eyes, wearing her duckling pajamas, clutching Mr. Buttons in one arm. She looked out at the broken glass, the security guards leaving in the distance, and Mason holding her mother.
“Did the dragon-horse make a loud noise?” Lily asked solemnly.
Mason walked over, knelt down, and picked the little girl up in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder.
May you like
“Yes, commander,” Mason whispered, kissing the top of her head. “A very loud noise. But the dragons are all gone now. Nobody is ever going to hurt you or your mommy again.”
Lily wrapped her small arms around his neck, yawning deeply. “Good. Because I was trying to sleep.”
