Chapter 8
The transition from the blinding, natural sunlight of the patio to the cool, shadowed interior of the estate was jarring. Jessamine burst through the heavy glass sliding doors, her flats sliding dangerously on the highly polished hardwood floors of the grand living room. She clutched Piers tightly to her chest, his small heart hammering rapidly against hers.
"Stop her!" Marcelline’s furious voice echoed from the backyard, followed by the heavy, thudding footsteps of the male relatives giving chase.
The interior of the house was decorated in muted, expensive tones, a stark contrast to the bright video colors outside. Jessamine didn't hesitate. She knew the layout of the massive house perfectly. She sprinted past the plush white sofas and the grand piano, heading directly for the main foyer and the heavy oak front doors.
"Mommy, they're coming!" Piers cried, looking over her shoulder with wide, terrified eyes.
"I know, baby, don't look," Jessamine panted, her chest heaving as she pushed her body to its absolute limit.
As she rounded the corner into the grand foyer, her heart plummeted into her stomach.
Standing directly in front of the heavy oak doors, blocking her only exit to the driveway, was Arthur, Marcelline’s husband. The tall, broad-shouldered man wore a crisp blue button-down shirt and a dark scowl. He had clearly heard the commotion from inside and had moved to intercept her.
"Put the boy down, Jessamine," Arthur commanded, his American accent low and threatening. He crossed his arms over his chest, an immovable barrier of flesh and bone. "You aren't taking him anywhere. Marcelline wants that envelope."
"Get out of my way, Arthur," Jessamine warned, her voice vibrating with a lethal, desperate edge. She stopped ten feet away from him, her eyes darting frantically around the foyer, searching for a weapon or a secondary escape route.
"You're being hysterical," Arthur said smoothly, taking a slow, measured step toward her. "Thomas is gone. The money is safe. You have a comfortable life here. Don't throw it all away because you found a piece of paper you don't understand."
"He didn't just walk away!" Jessamine screamed, the agonizing realization fueling her fury. "You killed him! You paid him off and then you killed him to keep him quiet!"
Arthur’s fair, rosy face tightened, his eyes narrowing. He didn't confirm the accusation, but his silence was a deafening confession. The syndicate within the family had eliminated her husband to protect their embezzlement, and they had kept her trapped in a gilded cage of grief for three years to maintain the illusion of a tragedy.
Hearing the heavy footsteps of the cousins rushing into the living room behind her, Jessamine knew she was out of time.
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She turned sharply to her left. Instead of running at the massive man blocking the front door, she charged directly toward the heavy, wooden double doors of the estate's private library.
Arthur lunged to grab her, but he was a second too late. Jessamine slipped past his reaching hands and threw herself into the dark, wood-paneled room. She slammed the heavy doors shut behind her. With frantic, trembling hands, she twisted the thick brass deadbolt until it clicked solidly into place, locking them inside just as Arthur’s heavy fists began pounding violently against the wood from the hallway.
