Chapter 8 - The Wolf Sheds His Sheepskin
Julian stared at Morgan, taken aback for a second by the clarity and strength in her voice. Then, he let out a harsh, mocking laugh that bounced off the pine rafters.
“Still playing the smart accountant, aren't you?” Julian sneered, pulling a chair around and sitting directly across from her. “It doesn't matter anymore, Morgan. You’re not leaving this peninsula.”
Victoria pulled a stack of legal documents from her briefcase and slid them across the table, along with a heavy Montblanc pen.
“Quitclaim Deed for the Door County property,” Victoria said clinically. “And an authorization rider transferring all personal estate authority to Julian in the event of medical incapacitation. Sign both. Right now.”
“And if I don't?” Morgan asked, her voice steady, her eyes locked on Victoria.
“Then this ends much more painfully,” Julian snapped, his temper flaring. He slammed his fist onto the table. “You think you’re so righteous, Morgan! You kept me on an allowance! You looked at me like I was a failure every time one of my investments didn't pay out!”
“Your investments were scams, Julian. You didn't want a business—you wanted an inheritance to steal.”
Julian leaned across the table, his face inches from hers, venom spitting from his lips. “Your little cottage is worth six hundred thousand to developers who want to build luxury condos on this bluff. Your life insurance pays out one point five million. Do the math, accountant! That’s over two million dollars. You were never worth that much to me alive.”
“Just like Claire?” Morgan asked quietly.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. Even the raging wind outside seemed to pause.
Julian froze. His eyes widened, the pupils dilating with pure, feral shock. “What did you just say?”
“Claire Vance,” Morgan repeated, her voice ringing with deadly authority. “Your first wife. The artist. The girl whose apple orchard you sold after you poisoned her with an antique silver locket.”
Victoria’s head snapped toward Julian, her eyes blazing with fury. “Julian! Did you talk? Who the hell did you tell?!”
“I didn't tell her anything!” Julian shouted, panicked, jumping to his feet. He lunged toward Morgan, grabbing her by the collar of her sweater, his face contorted in madness. “Who told you about Claire?! Who have you been talking to?!”
Morgan didn't flinch. She grabbed the replica necklace around her neck, ripped it off with a single sharp tug, and threw it directly into Julian’s face.
“You’re pathetic, Julian. You think you’re a mastermind? You’re just a cheap, cowardly thief.”
Julian caught the necklace. He looked at it, then looked at Morgan’s skin. There was no rash. No swelling. No dilated pupils. Her pulse was strong, her skin flushed with defiant rage, not cyanotic failure.
“Why aren't you dying?” Julian whispered, horrified, turning the gold chain over in his hands. “The chemical... it should have entered your bloodstream hours ago!”
“Because your toxic little toy is sitting in a locked evidence vault in Evanston,” Morgan said, a triumphant smile touching her lips. “And that chain in your hands? It’s a police wire.”
Victoria gasped, instantly slamming her briefcase shut and bolting for the back door.
“Freeze! Door County Sheriff! Nobody move!”
The wooden front door burst open with a deafening crack! Four armed sheriff’s deputies, guns drawn, stormed into the cabin, followed by Detective Marcus Kane and Evelyn Vance.
“Down on the ground! Both of you! Down on your knees!” Kane roared, his service weapon trained on Julian’s chest.
Victoria shrieked, dropping her briefcase as a deputy grabbed her arms, pinning her against the cedar wall and slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto her wrists.
Julian went completely berserk. Cornered, exposed, and facing life in a maximum-security prison, he grabbed a heavy cast-iron fireplace poker from the hearth and swung it wildly toward Morgan.
“You ruined my life!” he screamed.
Morgan didn't cower. She anticipated the move. Remembering the cottage’s layout from her childhood, she ducked low, kicked the heavy oak dining chair directly into Julian’s shins, and scrambled out of his reach. Julian stumbled forward, off-balance.
Before he could swing again, Detective Kane closed the distance, tackling Julian into the wooden floorboards with the force of a freight train. The poker clattered harmlessly against the stone hearth. Kane drove his knee into the small of Julian’s back, wrenching his arms behind him with an agonizing twist.
The metallic *click-click* of handcuffs echoed through the cottage.
Julian thrashing on the floor, weeping and cursing, his face pressed against the dusty boards.
Evelyn Vance walked slowly into the room. She stood over Julian Mercer. She didn't shout. She didn't strike him. She simply looked down at him with an expression of profound, unbroken dignity.
“Claire sends her regards, Julian,” Evelyn said softly.
May you like
Julian’s curses died in his throat. He looked up into the face of his former mother-in-law, his eyes hollow with the sudden, crushing realization that his game was finally, permanently over.
***
