Chapter 8 - A Mother’s Favorite Weapon
Marissa pulled me away from the camera monitor.
“Do not open that door.”
Outside, Bernice pressed the gun harder against Keaton’s skull.
He winced.
Police were already on their way, but the nearest patrol was estimated to be seven minutes away.
Seven minutes could become an eternity when someone held a gun.
Bernice looked directly into the security camera.
“I know you can hear me, Claire.”
Her voice came through the speaker with eerie clarity.
“You have always mistaken money for power. Open the door, and perhaps tonight you’ll learn the difference.”
Keaton’s lip was split. One eye was swollen.
“Don’t do it,” he said.
Bernice struck him across the face with the gun.
“Quiet.”
Marissa whispered, “We keep her talking.”
I pressed the intercom button.
“What do you want?”
Bernice smiled.
“My files.”
“I don’t have them.”
“You have copies of the bank records and company documents.”
“So do the police.”
“Not the records from your employer.”
I understood.
She wanted anything proving the fraudulent vendor payments had been created by someone else.
“You framed me,” I said.
“You made it easy. Successful people sign too many things and believe passwords make them safe.”
“Why Keaton?”
Her expression barely changed.
“My son became weak.”
Keaton turned toward her.
“I tried to stop you from sending Claire to prison.”
“You tried to destroy twenty years of work over a woman who served noodles for dinner.”
Even now, Bernice reduced everything to obedience.
To meals.
To a wife’s duty.
To a mother’s authority.
“You planned to have me arrested?” I asked.
Bernice gave a small shrug.
“Someone had to accept responsibility. Dominic cannot operate openly. Austin is careless. Keaton lacks courage. You had the education and access. People would believe you designed the system.”
“You expected Keaton to stay married to me after I went to prison?”
“He would have testified that you manipulated him.”
Keaton closed his eyes.
I looked at him through the screen.
“Did you agree to that?”
“No.”
Bernice laughed.
“He signed the statement.”
Keaton’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“You never know what anything is,” she said. “That has always been your most useful quality.”
The cruelty in her voice was casual.
Familiar.
Keaton had spent his entire life beneath it.
That did not excuse what he did to me.
But for the first time, I understood the machinery that had built him.
“Where is Dominic?” I asked.
Bernice’s smile disappeared.
“Concern yourself with the gun in my hand.”
“He left you.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You know nothing about him.”
“He abandoned the clinic, the house, Austin, and Grant. Now you’re standing in a backyard doing your own dirty work.”
Keaton glanced sideways.
Bernice’s attention shifted for half a second.
He moved.
He drove his elbow into her ribs and dropped to the ground.
The gun fired.
The security monitor filled with white static for an instant as the bullet struck near the camera.
Marissa screamed.
Keaton grabbed Bernice’s wrist. They fell against the patio furniture, fighting for the weapon.
I ran toward the rear hallway.
Marissa followed.
“What are you doing?”
“The door stays locked. But if she shoots him, we need to see where she goes.”
We watched through a narrow side window.
Keaton twisted Bernice’s arm.
The gun slid across the patio.
Bernice struck him with a metal lantern and crawled toward it.
Before she reached the weapon, floodlights exploded across the backyard.
“Police! Do not move!”
Bernice froze.
Officers rushed through the side gate with weapons drawn.
Keaton collapsed onto the grass.
Bernice raised her hands slowly.
For one second, relief swept through me.
Then the garage alarm sounded.
Someone had entered the house from the front.
Marissa and I turned.
A man stood at the end of the hallway.
Dominic Voss.
He wore a dark suit and black gloves. His silver hair remained perfectly combed, as though he had arrived for dinner rather than broken into a secured home.
He held no visible weapon.
That frightened me more.
“Mrs. Bennett,” he said calmly. “Your mother-in-law has always been too emotional.”
Marissa moved toward the kitchen counter where she had left her phone.
Dominic raised one gloved hand.
“I wouldn’t.”
A small remote rested in his palm.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Insurance.”
He nodded toward the garage.
“Your friend’s car contains enough accelerant to remove this house, the evidence on your devices, and everyone inside.”
Marissa went pale.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Perhaps.”
Outside, officers shouted as they arrested Bernice.
They did not know Dominic was already inside.
He stepped closer.
“You will walk out through the garage with me. You will tell the police you are unharmed and leaving voluntarily.”
“And if I refuse?”
He pressed his thumb lightly against the remote.
“You promoted yourself into a dangerous world, Claire. You should have remained the grateful wife your family needed.”
There it was again.
The same belief dressed in more expensive language.
My success existed only to be used.
My work belonged to them.
My home belonged to them.
My identity belonged to them.
Dominic extended his free hand.
“Come.”
I looked past him toward the front hallway.
On the polished floor behind his shoe, I saw a thin trail of blood.
He had been injured.
More importantly, he had entered through a house protected by alarms and cameras.
He had needed help.
Then a shadow moved behind him.
Officer Grant stepped into view.
He raised his gun.
But he did not aim it at us.
He aimed it at Dominic.
“You promised me immunity,” Grant said.
Dominic did not turn.
“You were paid for information, not opinions.”
Grant’s hand shook.
“The task force knows.”
“They know you betrayed them. That is why you need me.”
Dominic’s thumb hovered over the remote.
Grant swallowed.
Then his eyes moved toward me.
May you like
“Claire, get down.”
The gunshot shattered the hallway mirror.
