Chapter 6 - The Paper Trail
Julian stepped into the kitchen, his face flushed with sweat, rain dripping from his leather jacket. In his right hand, he held a dark metal handgun; his left arm was bandaged where Clara had struck him earlier that day. Behind him stood Eleanor, wearing a yellow raincoat, her gray hair pulled back tight, her eyes gleaming with manic satisfaction.
"Where is the baby?" Julian roared, pointing the gun directly at Detective Vance, who was crouched behind the counter.
"Put the weapon down, Julian!" Vance ordered, his gun leveled at Julian's chest. "You're surrounded by state units!"
"Your jammer works fine, Vance, but your backup is twenty minutes away out here in the woods," Eleanor sneered, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. "Hello, Evelyn. You look remarkably sturdy for someone who took a right hook from a young man."
I didn't flinch. I stood right beside the heavy oak dining table, my hands resting lightly on the back of a solid maple chair.
"Your mother was a thief, Eleanor," I said, my voice echoing clearly through the darkened room. "And it seems the apple didn't fall far from the rotten tree."
Eleanor’s face twisted with pure rage. "My mother died in a cold cell because your father refused to grant her an extension on a minor book error! Your family destroyed my youth! You lived in luxury while I survived on state checks!"
"Your mother stole fifty thousand dollars from working families," I replied coldly. "And you raised your son to be a violent coward who attacks newborns and old women."
"Shut up!" Julian screamed, stepping past the counter, lowering his gun toward my head. "Where is the baby? Where are the trust documents?"
"They're not here, Julian," Detective Vance said, firing a shot from behind the island.
The gunshot roared like thunder in the enclosed space. Julian ducked as the bullet smashed into the doorframe behind him. He fired back twice, splintering the kitchen counter and forcing Vance to take cover as glass shattered everywhere.
While Julian was distracted firing at Vance, Eleanor rushed toward the pantry, her instinct guiding her toward the scent of formula and baby supplies left on the counter.
She saw the braided rug shifted slightly beneath the heavy baker's rack.
"Julian! Under the floor!" Eleanor yelled, grabbing the iron rack to drag it away.
I didn't hesitate. Eighty-one years of life, decades of working on this farm, and the primal need to protect my blood moved through my muscles.
I lifted the heavy maple chair, stepped behind Eleanor, and swung it with everything I had left in my upper body.
The solid wooden legs caught Eleanor square across her upper back and shoulders. She let out a sharp howl of pain, crashing hard against the pantry shelves, bringing down a cascade of glass mason jars and canned goods that shattered across the linoleum floor.
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Julian turned in shock, his eyes widening as he saw his mother on the ground. That half-second distraction was all Detective Vance needed. Vance lunged over the kitchen island, tackling Julian around the waist, slamming him hard into the stone fireplace hearth.
The gun clattered out of Julian's hand, spinning across the floor until it stopped right at my feet.
