Chapter 8 - The Fall of the Empire
Panic erupted inside the grand ballroom. High-society guests scrambled for the exits as the full weight of the revelation crashed down upon the Vance Foundation Gala.
Victor Vance’s face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated madness. Realizing his entire life, fortune, and empire were crashing down around him, he reached inside his tuxedo jacket, pulling a concealed compact pistol from his inner pocket.
"If I lose everything," Victor shrieked, pointing the gun straight at Eleanor, "you won't live to enjoy it!"
"Eleanor!" Ethan shouted.
In a fraction of a second, Ethan threw his body in front of Eleanor.
BANG!
A deafening gunshot shattered the air.
Ethan gasped as a sharp, burning pain ripped across his shoulder, forcing him down to one knee on the stage floor. Blood immediately began staining his crisp white shirt beneath his tuxedo jacket.
"Ethan!" Eleanor screamed, dropping to her knees beside him, her hands frantically pressing down on his wound.
Before Victor could chamber a second round, Marcus Reed vaulted over the stage railing like a panther. With one swift, brutal strike, Marcus smashed Victor’s wrist, sending the handgun flying across the polished floor. Marcus swept Victor’s legs out from under him and slammed the billionaire face-first onto the wooden stage floor, pinning his arms behind his back with iron cuffs.
"Victor Vance," Marcus growled into his ear, "you are under arrest."
Heavy brass doors at the rear of the ballroom slammed open as a squad of federal marshals and NYPD officers flooded into the room, sirens wailing loudly from the street outside.
"Ethan! Oh God, Ethan, look at me!" Eleanor cried, her tears dripping onto his blood-stained shirt. "Stay with me! Please!"
Ethan looked up at her, breathing heavily through his teeth, but despite the intense pain, a weak, triumphant smile touched his lips.
"I told you..." Ethan grunted painfully, reaching up with his good hand to gently wipe a tear from her cheek, "...I wouldn't let them burn you again."
"You idiot," Eleanor sobbed, laughing through her tears as she held his hand tightly against her face. "You absolute hero."
Paramedics rushed up the stage with a stretcher. Within minutes, Victor Vance was led out of the ballroom in heavy handcuffs, surrounded by dozens of flashing news cameras, his name and legacy destroyed forever.
As the paramedics loaded Ethan onto the stretcher, Eleanor walked right beside him, refusing to let go of his hand for even a single second.
"Is he going to be okay?" Eleanor asked the paramedic desperately.
"The bullet passed cleanly through the meat of his shoulder," the paramedic replied, applying a tight bandage. "No vital organs hit. He’s going to be just fine, ma'am."
Ethan looked up at Eleanor, his eyes warm and steady despite the morphine kick. "Hey, Claire... or Eleanor... whatever your name is."
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"It's Eleanor," she smiled softly, her eyes beaming with love. "But to you and Lily... I'll always be Claire."
"Good," Ethan whispered, closing his eyes as the stretcher rolled out into the cool New York night. "Because Lily and I... we're not letting you go anywhere."
