Chapter 6 - The Glass and the Blade
The blade sliced through the air inches from Julian’s neck.
Instinct took over. Julian threw his weight sideways, rolling across the polished hardwood floor as the steel tip of the knife bit deep into the floorboards where his shoulder had been a second before. He kicked out with his right leg, his heavy boots striking Weber squarely in the knee with a sickening CRACK.
Weber grunted in pain, stumbling back against the rosewood door of Sarah's study.
Julian scrambled to his feet, sweeping his arm across a heavy marble pedestal that held a bronze bust of his grandfather. He heaved the fifty-pound sculpture through the air, sending it crashing into Weber’s chest. The impact shattered the wooden doorframe behind the doctor, throwing both the man and the broken door into the pitch-black interior of Sarah's study.
Outside, the storm reached its crescendo. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing Weber lying amid the splinters of wood, gasping for air, the silver knife thrown five feet away across the rug.
Julian walked into the room, his boots stepping over the broken threshold. He picked up his fallen 9mm pistol from the hallway floor, racking the slide to chamber a fresh round.
"It's over, Weber," Julian said, stepping over the threshold.
From the dark corner of the study, a low, wet chuckle escaped Weber’s lips. "You think... you think it's just me, Vance? You think Victoria and I were the only ones?"
Weber coughed, blood staining his white teeth under the pale moonlight. "Look at the desk. Look at the chair. Your wife wasn't just hiding research from us. She was hiding it from you."
Julian froze. He turned his head slowly toward the center of the room.
Sitting behind Sarah's desk, bathed in the dim silver light of the storm, was Elena.
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She was not holding her tray. She was not wearing her gray maid's uniform apron. In her left hand, she held a sleek silver laptop connected directly to a hidden safe built into the floor beneath Sarah's rug. In her right hand, she held a suppressed pistol, pointed directly at Julian’s heart.
"Lower the weapon, Mr. Vance," Elena said softly. Her voice was no longer that of a humble, obedient housemaid. It was cold, clinical, and absolute.
