Chapter 8 - The Trap Springs
The grand ballroom of the St. Aurelia was dimly lit, the remnants of the ruined wedding party mostly cleared away, leaving empty space under the towering crystal chandeliers.
Graham pushed the doors open slowly, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. The silence of the room was heavy, almost suffocating.
Sitting alone in the middle of the massive room, directly under the central chandelier, was Eleanor.
She sat quietly in her electric wheelchair, her back turned toward the main entrance. Her silver cane rested across her lap.
"I knew you couldn't resist coming back to the scene of your triumph," Graham said, his voice echoing loudly in the vacant room as he dragged the heavy wrench against the marble floor, creating a terrifying metallic screech.
Eleanor did not turn around. "You always were predictable, Graham. You never could leave a stage until the audience stopped looking at you."
Graham walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, approaching her from the side, his face pale, sweat running down his neck. "You destroyed everything, Eleanor! I gave you a life! I took care of you when you were nothing but dead weight!"
"You took care of me?" Eleanor’s voice was icy cold. She slowly turned her head to look at him. "You poisoned me. You tried to erase my mind so you could steal the empire I built with my own hands."
"It was mine too!" Graham screamed, raising the wrench. "I stood on those stages! I signed those deals! You were behind closed doors while I did the real work!"
"You were the face, Graham. I was the brain," Eleanor said softly. "And a face without a brain is just a mask. Tonight, the mask came off."
Graham let out a feral roar and sprinted toward her, raising the wrench high above his head to strike. "Die, you bitch!"
Eleanor didn't flinch. She didn't scream. She simply raised her right hand and tapped three times on the armrest of her chair.
Instantly, bright floodlights blindingly illuminated the ballroom from every upper balcony, bathing Graham in white light.
Before Graham’s wrench could descend, four heavy steel doors on the side walls burst open. A tactical SWAT team rushed into the room with weapons raised.
"DROP THE WEAPON! ON THE GROUND NOW!"
Graham froze, blinded by the intense light, the red laser sights of multiple rifles covering his chest and forehead.
He looked down at Eleanor. She sat perfectly calm, looking up at him not with anger, but with absolute pity.
"You thought I was sitting here alone waiting for you to attack me?" Eleanor said quietly over the shouts of the tactical officers. "I don't play games I haven't already won, Graham."
The heavy wrench slipped from Graham's trembling hands, crashing onto the marble floor with a loud clang. He fell to his knees, throwing his hands into the air as tactical officers swarmed him, forcing him face-down onto the floor and snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
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As they dragged him up, Graham looked back at Eleanor, tears of anger and defeat streaming down his face.
"It's over, Graham," Eleanor said, watching as the officers led him away into the dark corridor. "It's finally over."
