Chapter 7: The Hostage in the Storm
"Emma!" Christopher screamed, his voice breaking as he sprinted away from the front gates, leaving Julian and a groaning Thomas behind.
The rain was pouring in sheets now, blinding him as he ran across the grand lawn. Juliette was running toward the western edge of the estate, where the security wall was lower and covered by heavy trees. She was carrying Emma, who was crying and kicking violently.
"Let me go! Daddy! Daddy!" Emma screamed, her small voice cutting through the sound of the thunder.
"Shut up, you little brat!" Juliette yelled, stumbling in her wet satin dress but managing to keep her grip on the child.
Christopher’s boots tore into the wet grass. He was faster, his long strides closing the distance between them. "Juliette! Stop! If you hurt her, I swear to God you won't leave this property alive!"
Juliette reached the tree line and stopped, turning around to face him. In her right hand, she held a small, sharp silver letter opener she had stolen from Christopher's study. She held it close to Emma's neck.
"Don't come any closer, Christopher!" Juliette shouted, her hair ruined by the rain, her eyes wide with a manic desperation. "I mean it! One more step and I’ll cut her!"
Christopher skidded to a halt on the wet grass, his hands raised in a defensive gesture. He was twenty feet away. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The watch, he remembered. My heart rate is too high. If she looks at it, she’ll know I lied about the deletion signal. He carefully lowered his wrist behind his back.
"Okay, okay... I’m stopping, Juliette. Look at me. I’m not moving," Christopher said, his voice forced into a calm, steady rhythm despite the panic screaming in his mind. "Let’s talk about this. You want money. That’s all this is. Money."
"Of course it's about money!" Juliette screamed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I spent two years pretending to love you, pretending to care about this giant, boring house! I endured your mother's insults every single day! I deserved to be the mistress of the Pierce estate! And then you brought this... this bastard child into the house, and your father changed his will! She took what belonged to me!"
"She’s a child, Juliette! She has nothing to do with my father’s business decisions!"
"She has everything to do with it!" Juliette hissed, tightening her grip on Emma, who was sobbing quietly now, her tiny face red and covered in tears and rain. "My brother Marcus spent months setting up the offshore accounts. We had the perfect plan. We were going to transfer the forty million, marry you, and then slowly bleed the company dry from the inside. But you had to start investigating. You had to listen to that old witch Yvette!"
From behind the trees, a bright set of headlights suddenly flashed. A silver sedan pulled up along the small service road that ran right outside the estate's western wall. The driver's side door opened, and a man in a leather jacket stepped out, holding an assault rifle.
"Juliette! Hurry up!" the man shouted over the wall. "The police scanner says they’re five minutes away! Get the kid and let’s go!"
"Marcus," Christopher muttered, recognizing the man from Julian’s description.
Juliette looked at her brother, then back at Christopher. "Give me the gold microchip, Christopher. I saw you at the gates. I know you have it. Throw it on the grass right now, or I take Emma over this wall, and you will never see her again."
Christopher looked at his daughter. Emma’s wide, terrified eyes met his. She was shaking from the cold and the fear.
"Daddy... please," she whispered.
Christopher felt a tear mix with the rain on his cheek. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, glittering gold microchip. "Here. It's right here, Juliette. Take it. Just put her down."
"Throw it over here! Now!" she demanded, gesturing with the silver blade.
Christopher prepared to toss the chip, but before his arm could move, a sharp, loud crack echoed through the rainy night.
A gunshot.
Juliette gasped, her eyes going wide as the silver letter opener fell from her hand into the grass. She stumbled backward, a red stain instantly spreading across the shoulder of her satin dress. She let go of Emma, falling to her knees with a cry of pain.
Christopher didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. He launched himself forward, grabbing Emma and pulling her into his arms, rolling across the wet grass to shield her with his body.
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He looked back toward the mansion. Standing on the veranda, holding a vintage hunting rifle with a steady, practiced grip, was his mother, Estelle Pierce.
The old matriarch lowered the smoking gun, her face as cold and expressionless as stone. "Nobody steals from the Pierce estate," she said into the darkness. "And nobody brings an amateur criminal into my house."
