Chapter 7 - The True Target
The sirens blared as three police cruisers converged on our driveway, officers spilling out with weapons drawn, surrounding the house. Sienna rushed over, wrapping a blanket around Chloe while paramedics swarmed us.
But my mind was entirely stuck on the man standing before me.
“You’re… David?” I stared at the rugged, scarred man in utter disbelief. “The gambler? The fraud? The man Eleanor and Julian were supposedly paying off?”
David let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, wincing as he clutched his ribs. “A gambler? God, no. That was the lie my mother fed Julian so he’d agree to help her access your finances. I haven't gambled a day in my life. I’m a licensed pharmacist, Nora—which is exactly why Eleanor needed my name to acquire those immunosuppressants.”
“Wait,” I stammered, my head spinning. “If you didn't need the money for gambling, why did Eleanor use your name?”
David’s expression hardened, a deep, dark shadow crossing his face. He looked past me toward the surrounded house where Aria and Julian were currently trapped by the police.
“Because Aria and Eleanor aren't trying to steal your money, Nora,” David said quietly. “They’re trying to finish a blood debt that started twenty years ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at me, Nora,” David said, stepping closer under the flashing red and blue lights. “Look at my face. Look at my name. Do you know who my father was?”
I shook my head, completely lost.
“My father was Arthur Vance,” David said. “And twenty-five years ago, before she married into high society and changed her name, your mother—the woman who raised you—was Arthur Vance’s legal business partner. Until your mother discovered that Arthur and Eleanor were embezzling millions from her charity foundation.”
The world tilted on its axis.
“My… my mother?” I whispered.
“Yes,” David nodded grimly. “Your real mother didn't die of a natural illness in college, Nora. She was murdered. Poisoned. Slowly, systematically, over six months. Just like they were doing to you.”
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The pieces of the nightmare clicked together with terrifying clarity. Eleanor hadn't just moved into my life out of maternal affection ten years ago. She had hunted me down. She had found the daughter of the woman her family had destroyed, married her son off to me, and set out to finish the bloodline wipeout once and for all.
And right inside that house, surrounded by police, the final trap was closing.
