Chapter 8 - The Sister’s Ledger
The black muzzle of the suppressed pistol caught the amber light of the desk lamp, gleaming with a sinister, matte finish. My fingers hovered inches from the open safe, my mind racing through a dozen escape routes while calculating the exact distance between us across the Persian rug.
Vanessa didn't look like my little sister anymore. The wide-eyed, fragile act was gone, stripped away like cheap wrapping paper to reveal the cold, calculating operator underneath.
"Put your hands where I can see them, big sister," Vanessa said, her voice entirely steady now, lacking any trace of the tremor she had faked for Eric and the police. "I didn't spend eight months playing second fiddle to a cheating con artist just so you could waltz in and inherit the whole damn kingdom."
"You knew," I said, my voice chillingly calm as I kept my hands raised at shoulder height. "You knew Eric wasn't who he said he was from the very beginning."
Vanessa let out a low, bitter laugh, stepping further into the study and kicking the heavy oak door shut behind her with a dull thud.
"Eric thought he was playing me," she smiled, her eyes flashing with malice. "He thought the sex, the flattery, and the promise of a fresh start in Europe were enough to make me hand over the family trust documents. But Eric was just a blunt instrument. A tool to rattle our dear mother's cage and force her to hand over the Vance codes. And you? You were supposed to be the distraction that kept the federal agents busy while we cleaned out the accounts."
"And the phone call?" I asked, keeping her talking, buying myself precious seconds to map out the room. "The men holding Mom at the penthouse? Are they your partners, Vanessa, or are they working for the board?"
Vanessa’s expression flickered for a fraction of a second—a tiny telltale crack in her armor.
"Let's just say I have very persuasive friends," she replied, adjusting her grip on the pistol. "Now, step away from the safe. Kick the black ledger toward me. Slowly."
I looked down at the black leather ledger resting inside the open wall safe, then back up at the gun barrel pointed squarely at my chest. The distance between us was roughly ten feet. Too far to lunge without taking a round, but close enough if she got distracted by a sudden variable.
"You think the board is going to let you walk away with twelve million dollars in bearer bonds and the Vance ledger?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "They didn't kill Arthur Vance just to let a couple of small-time grifters inherit a global empire. The moment you hand them that book, Vanessa, you become a liability."
"Shut up!" Vanessa snapped, her face flushing with sudden anger as the pistol wavered slightly in her grip. "You always did this! Always treating me like a child who needed protection, lecturing me about budgets while I was starving for something real!"
"I was protecting you from yourself," I replied softly, taking a deliberate half-step to the left.
"I don't need your protection!" she screamed, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Move away from the safe right now, or I swear to God—"
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Before she could finish the threat, the heavy glass window behind the mahogany desk shattered inward in a shower of glittering shards. A dark, gloved hand reached through the broken pane, latching onto the window frame, and a heavily armored figure dropped silently into the room, tackling Vanessa to the floor before she could pull the trigger.
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